between the two friends. They determined to translate the book—not into
Hungarian but into German (as being a more widely received language),
and they set to work upon it in real earnest. Mme. Nadler’s competence
for this labour was quite exceptional. With a great enthusiasm for the
book and a quick appreciation of its meanings, she combined a very fine
literary sense and aptness of phrase; while Ervin with his rather
encyclopædic brain was able to interpret all sorts of references to
trades and Nature-processes. In 1906 the translation of Part I was
published in Berlin; and Parts II, III and IV followed in separate
editions in the three following years, 1907, 1908, and 1909.
But meanwhile (early I think in 1904) Mme. Nadler having decided to give
her children the advantage of an English education, and at the same time
to save them from the hatefulness of enforced military service, migrated
to this country; and so it came to pass that I made the personal
acquaintance of this remarkable and beautiful woman—an acquaintance
which, I need not say, soon ripened into friendship. Ervin, too, finding
his native land not very congenial came over to England; and thus it
happened that after the lapse of three years he and I resumed the
conversations which we had first begun over the wheelbarrow. I did not
notice that he was notably less ‘civilized’ than before, but his
experiences had very obviously altered his political and social outlook,
and his general views were decidedly more anti-governmental than they
had been at the earlier date.
These translations by Madame Nadler were, however, by no means the first
to be made into German. In 1901 or so Herr Karl Federn had come over
from Vienna and spent a day or two at Millthorpe. In 1902 he placed his
translation of _Love’s Coming-of-Age_ with a Leipzig publisher, and the
book almost immediately had a good reception. It passed through several
editions, and when a few years later, in 1912, the first German Women’s
Congress was held in Berlin the book curiously enough became a sort of
bone of contention, dividing the advanced party who took it as their
text-book, from the more conservative party who anathematized it. In
proportion as controversy raged around it the work became more
notorious, a cheap edition was printed, and before the Great War broke
out some fifty thousand copies had been sold.
[Illustration:
LILLY NADLER-NUELLENS WITH HER DAUGHTER.
]
Herr Federn was not very fortunate in his choice of a title. _Wenn die
Menschen reif zur Liebe werden_ is only a rather heavy paraphrase of
_Love’s Coming-of-Age_, and the text of the book itself suffers from a
certain heaviness and diffuseness. Still to Herr Federn himself I feel I
owe a considerable debt, not only for introducing my work to the German
public, but for the general fidelity of his translations and the loyalty
of his dealings on my account with the German publishers. In 1903 he
published also in Leipzig his translation of _Civilization: its Cause
and Cure_; and in 1905, in Jena, the translation of _The Art of
Creation_ (_Die Schöpfung als Kunstwerk_). This last was issued in
rather elaborate _format_ by the well-known firm, Eugen Diederichs, but
has never reached the circulation of the other two.
In the Spring of 1909 I was at Florence for some weeks; and
there—largely through my friend Professor Herron—I came into touch with
an interesting circle of young Italian _literati_ and artists;
especially interesting to me because they represented a strong reaction
away from the very bourgeois and commercialized Italian art-ideals of
the later nineteenth century, and towards the ideals of John Ruskin and
William Morris—ideals founded on the socialization of human activities
and the intimate relationship of all true literary and artistic work to
the actual life of the mass-peoples.
The group included such men as Riccardo Nobili, probably the best living
exponent of Fourteenth Century Italian art, whose charming little story
_A Modern Antique_ delightfully exposes the fakes of Florentine
art-dealers and the gorgeous gullibility of American globe-trotters;
Roberto Assagioli, the young philosopher, editor of _Psiche_—a
psychological Review—and author of an illuminating tract on the Talking
Horses of Elberfeldt[28]; Guido Ferrando, author of a couple of tracts
on _La Coscienza Universale_ and _La Nuova Psicologia_ (Florence
1908)—who has done me the honour to translate my _Love’s Coming-of-Age_
and my _Art of Creation_ into Italian; Count Auteri, the Sicilian
architect and sculptor; Giuseppe Rambelli, the artist, and others.
More or less associated with this group—and on a second visit—I made the
acquaintance of Teresina Bagnoli, a gifted young woman who had already
been in correspondence with me with regard to a translation of _T. D._
(of which she sent me batches from time to time for criticism and
revision). I found her swift and penetrating and original, and verging
on Anarchism in her political and philosophic outlook; and I have to
thank her for her excellent little volume _Verso la Democrazia_[29]
which has brought me into touch with Italian readers in that intimate
field.
It is curious, but perhaps not unexpected, that my best translators have
been women. To a third lady friend, Mademoiselle Senard, I owe a very
excellent version of _Towards Democracy_ into French (Parts III and IV
only). After some little preliminary correspondence Mlle. Senard came
over from Paris in the summer of 1913 and spent a couple of months in
the country in my neighborhood. Sprung from an old-fashioned and rather
aristocratic family in Burgundy she had managed at a comparatively early
age to emancipate herself from a convent school and education, and by
her resolution had almost compelled her parents to find for her a way
out into the great world. She had become a perfect linguist in English,
German and Italian; and I found her a fine-looking and attractive person
of thirty-five or so, always, like a true Frenchwoman, perfectly dressed
and _chic_, yet simply dressed and absolutely natural in her
conversation and movements. It was a pleasure to spend many a morning or
afternoon with her, looking over her translation work or rambling
through the garden and the fields.
However well one may know a foreign language it is rarely possible to
follow every _nuance_ of meaning or to succeed entirely in avoiding
errors; and a foreigner dealing with English has perhaps all the more
difficulty in that way on account of the idiomatic and irregular
character of our language. I have not always cared so much about the
other books, but with _Towards Democracy_ I have been very anxious that
the renderings should be faithful; and it has been fortunate for me that
in these three cases I have had such very competent translators, and
been sufficiently versed myself in the languages concerned to be able to
assist them in doubtful places.
Marcelle Senard wrote also a little brochure of her own on _Edward
Carpenter et sa Philosophie_,[30] which shows the clearness and
penetration of a well-balanced French mind. Then, on the outbreak of the
War in 1914 she took up Nursing work, and with extraordinary energy and
devotion organized and helped to equip a new Hospital for the Wounded at
Nevers, south of Paris, where she remained for a year as Manageress and
Secretary, till exhausted with the incessant labour she was at last
compelled to relinquish the post.
In connection with French translations I must not forget to mention my
friend Paul Le Rouge who is now assistant judge in French Morocco, and
who translated and published my _Prisons, Police and Punishment_ in
Paris some ten years ago. I am sorry to say I have not found an English
judge or police-magistrate who has taken an equal interest in the
original book!
Early in 1910 I received one or two letters from a young Japanese
illustrating the sad state of commercial slavery and militarism into
which Japan had fallen since the Russo-Japanese War. Women and children
as well as men were being worked twelve hours or more a day in the
factories which were springing up on all sides, and for a miserable
pittance; there were no regulations to curb the greed of employers; and
any public protest was treated as anti-governmental Socialism, with the
result that papers were suppressed in the most arbitrary way, and
speakers committed to prison. A Japanese lady, Mme. Fukuda, had been
imprisoned for five years for thus voicing the wrongs of the workers;
and my correspondent, Sanshiro Ishikawa, was awaiting trial on a similar
charge. He had, being a fair English scholar, been interested in my work
for some time; and told me (what I had heard before) that a translation
of my Civilization book had circulated pretty widely in his country at a
quite early date. That translation, however, had gone out of print, and
he, Ishikawa, was preparing a new one for the press, when—the Japanese
Censor interfered and forbade its publication!
This shows up pretty clearly the state of darkness which had descended
on the land of the Rising Sun! It was not of course on account of his
interest in my book that he had been arrested, but on account of his
general work in the cause of Labour.
The result of his trial was that he was sent to prison for three months,
and that on his emergence he had to keep rather quiet on account of the
attentions of the Police. He retained however his interest in my
writings, made translations of portions of them, and embodied these
together with some biographical matter in a book of some three hundred
pages beautifully printed in Japanese characters and published in Tokyo
in 1912; but of course for the most part a sealed book to me. Some small
portions, however, are printed in our language and characters, including
a letter from myself written to him while he was in prison—which I may
as well reproduce here as it serves to throw light on the situation:—
DEAR FRIEND ISHIKAWA SANSHIRO,
Just a line to cheer you in prison—though you will be nearly coming
out when this reaches you. I received your letter of March 27 with
much pleasure. You were to go to prison next day. They seem to be very
severe and despotic in Japan, when one cannot even publish
_Civilization: its Cause and Cure_ there. But your countrymen are too
sensible to bear this sort of treatment for very long. I suppose it is
_patriotism_ which is so very strong in the nation just now, and which
forms an excuse for anti-socialism. King Edward VII’s death is causing
a great wave of patriotism here; yet the future of mankind is leading
us beyond patriotism to _humanity_.
I cannot write much now, but thought I would send you a few lines. I
believe I did send you my photograph. If it did not reach you let me
know, and I will send another.
With hearty greetings and thanks to you for what you have done in the
great Cause.
Yours very truly,
EDWD. CARPENTER.
_21 May, 1910._
After a time—I hardly know whether on account of troubles in Japan or of
attractions towards Europe—Sanshiro determined to come to these Western
lands; and one day in the autumn of 1913, as I happened to be in London,
he came to call on me there. Anything less dangerous-looking as a
revolutionary it would be hard to imagine. Small in stature, timid in
manner, and with a very gentle voice, he seemed the embodiment of
quietude and sympathy. It was not difficult however in his case, as in
that of many Japanese, to discern, beneath that composed exterior, a
strong undercurrent of resolution and courage.
He read English with ease, but spoke it rather slowly and with
difficulty, was intelligent, and like many Orientals skilful with his
fingers and apt at housework. We tried to find him employment and a
means of living in our neighborhood or in Sheffield or Manchester, but
without success, and after similar efforts in London he migrated to
Brussels where he knew of a friend in Paul Reclus, son of Elie and
nephew of Elisée Reclus, and where he obtained occupation in decorative
painting. This was early in 1914. In August, of course, the War broke
out, and a few weeks later the Germans entered Brussels. The Reclus
family—before their entry I imagine—retired to Paris; but Sanshiro
remained in Brussels—I believe as caretaker of their apartments. It was
a somewhat risky position. The Germans drew a cordon round the city, and
ruled severely within it. Once or twice only he got messages through to
me.
But as the weeks went by he began to feel that he must escape at all
costs; and in the end he succeeded in doing so—by representations I
believe to the Japanese Government, which led to his liberty being
granted in exchange for a German prisoner taken at Kiao-chow; but of
this I am not certain. I have not seen him since, but anyhow he got to
Liancourt (near Paris) where he now is [1915].
Another Japanese friend, Mr. Saikwa Tomita, the youthful author of _The
Matanjitenshô_ or _Psalm of the Last Day_, has translated and published
large portions of _Towards Democracy_ in current Japanese magazines, and
intends apparently to bring the whole out in book form—as well as
versions of _The Art of Creation_ and some of my other works. Speaking
(in a letter) of the present War, he says: “Japan is at her crisis as
well as Europe is. Here in this country, as you well know, he who is for
the lower classes and vagabonds, or who is for [the] cosmopolitanism, is
treated by the authorities under the name of ill-fame and has to suffer
from a bitter experience.” And Sanshiro Ishikawa above-mentioned speaks
likewise: “Is not this a terrible epoch, that the violent force only
holds the supreme power in this world, and humanity has no influence, at
least in [the] international affairs. The present situation of Japan is
in most dangerous step [stage]; many peoples are becoming admirers of
militarism. Commercialism is already too powerful; and I feel a duty
that I must fight with full-hearted spirit against them.”
Let us pray that these true-hearted fighters for Internationalism may
prevail—all over the world, and among all nations!
I am proud to find that among the Bulgarians—who are supposed just now
to be our enemies—I have many friends. Messrs. Vaptzaroff and Dosseff,
editors of the magazine called _Renaissans_ at Burgas and Tchirpan,
published in it shortly before the War various chapters of
_Civilization_, including “The Defence of Criminals,” “Custom,” “Modern
Science,” etc., and later the whole of that book, and of _England’s
Ideal_. With the outbreak of the war however they retired to Maikop in
the Kuban Territory (east of the Black Sea), being in touch there with
another friend of mine, the Russian novelist and mystic, Ivan Najívin.
M. Najívin, who makes his home apparently in the country near
Novorossisk on the shores of the Euxine—working there among his bees,
and in his vineyard and vegetable garden—has written to me for some
years, chiefly about Cosmic Consciousness and Sandals! He is, as may be
imagined, particularly interested in the Indian Sannyasis and mystics,
and was lately much surprised to find that some of the Russian peasant
sects (notably the _Stranniks_) among whom he had lived so long were all
the time unbeknown to him holding views and favouring practices very
similar to those of the Hindu mystics. “Bientôt je vous écrirai des
choses extraordinaires à propos du _gñanam_ et _samadhi_, etc. Tout cela
existe parmi le bas peuple et les moines Russes!” (letter of May 1913).
He has translated my _Visit to a Gñani_ into Russian under the title _I
Am_, also large portions of _Towards Democracy_ and the whole of
_Civilization_. Besides M. Najívin I am indebted to M. Sergius Orlovski
and M. G. Rapoport and others for introductions to the Russian public.
[Illustration:
MARCELLE SENARD.
(_Photo: L. Fréon, Neuilly, Paris._)
]
To my young friend Illit Gröndahl of Kloften, Norway, I owe the
circulation of my works in Norway, especially in Bergen. In Amsterdam a
translation of _Civilization_ (_De Beschaving: hare oorzaak en hare
Genesing_) was issued as long ago as 1899—with Preface by Leo Tolstoy
(the same preface which Tolstoy wrote to the chapter on Modern
Science[31]); and in the same city a translation of _Love’s
Coming-of-Age_ (_Liefde’s Meerderjarigheid_) was issued in 1904.
XVI
RURAL CONDITIONS
In contrast with the Artisans and Town-workers whom I had got to know so
well, the farm-populations and rustics among whom I found myself
embedded when I settled at Millthorpe were decidedly interesting. In the
working masses of the towns—at any rate of the Northern towns—what
attracted one was the ferment of the New Life coming on: the social
dreams of a better future; the efforts to realize such dreams, even in a
small way; the push towards independence; the greater alertness and
education; the busy hum and activity of Trades Unions and all manner of
Labour Associations. What interested me in the country was something
quite different. It was in fact the Old Life—the old immemorial rustic
existence still going on, still there though giving signs of passing of
course. As it happened, I could hardly have found a more old-world,
purely agricultural parish, if I had searched for it—certainly not in
the North of England—than Holmesfield when I first came there. (Now—oh,
irony!—it is already beginning to be civilized!) It was all in the old
rural style—the leisurely long day with its varied occupations and
interests, the life of the open air and the fields, the cattle and the
crops, the barn and the public-house; the absolute acceptance of things
as they are, complete non-interest in reform, positive indifference to
anything not patently visible to the eye, or to abstractions of any
kind. The good folk would talk about a particular field—and really with
amazing detail about its history, its climate, its soil, its suitability
for such and such crops, and so forth; but if you broached any phase of
the Land Question (however really important to them)—their eyes would
soon glaze and their conversation revert to their pigs or potatoes.
A few years after my arrival at Millthorpe, having found out some facts
about the Commons Enclosures in the neighborhood, I wrote a four-page
tract entitled _Our Parish and our Duke_—giving some account of the
circumstances under which our common lands were eaten up by our local
landlords early last century—and circulated it around. It was printed in
the London _Star_ (July 8, 1889) and quoted and commented on in other
papers; and it sold and circulated in leaflet form some twenty thousand
or more copies; but in the Parish itself it elicited no response! One
old farmer whom I knew pretty well said “It’s very well put together,
Mister, and it’s just exactly true”—and that was all the backing I got.
Probably if there were others that approved they did not dare to say so.
The fact that it challenged a Duke gave them pause! The tract, somewhat
enlarged and altered and under the title _The Village and the Landlord_,
is now published by the Fabian Society (Tract No. 136, 1d.).[32]
Thus, as I think I have said before, on first coming to Millthorpe I
experienced a certain sense of isolation among the people there. Whereas
in Sheffield and even at little Bradway I was received as a friend and
commonly called by my christian name, at Millthorpe I was a stranger—and
like all strangers an object of suspicion—and was addressed as “Mister.”
It was a curious situation, and I found myself leading a double and
divided life. How I came in the end to bridge the gulf and (so far) to
overpass it I hardly know; but Time does wonders, and by slow degrees
the rustics have accepted me almost as one of themselves and given me,
some of them, their warm friendship. I am indeed bound to say that
despite the great differences between them and the town-workers, and the
greater general intelligence and alertness of the latter, I admire the
character of the country-folk most—their extraordinary serenity and good
humour, their tenacity, sincerity, and real affectionateness. Even their
silent ways—though irritating at times—are a relief from the eternal
gabble of the cities. Said a farmer youth to me one day—after we had
been listening for some time to the rather cheap talk of an elderly and
radical “citizen”—“They do talk, those townsfolk,” he said; and then
after a pause—“them as talks so much _they must tell a lot o’ lies_.”
And I entirely agreed with him.
Talking about the gulf fixed between the Old and the New, and especially
between the mentality of the downright manual worker and that of the
artist—at one time we had an artist friend staying with us who was
rather down on his luck and making only a poor living. He was working on
a landscape picture, and every morning used to sit in one of my fields
and close to the wall which divided it from the high-road. An old
road-mender (the same who had told me years before how he remembered the
Commons “going in” i.e. being enclosed)—a good old man but bowed with
age and labour—used to come that way every morning to his work; and
every morning, as sure as Fate, made some patronizing remark to the
painter, which at last enraged the latter beyond endurance. “That’s a
nice pastime for you, young man.” And then the next morning, “I see
you’re amusin’ yoursen again, young man”; and so on. (“Pastime, indeed!
amusing myself! I wish the old fool had to do it instead of me. But I’ll
be even with him yet!”) So the next morning the artist inveigled the old
man into conversation, and after submitting meekly to more patronage,
said: “Well you see I have to do this for my living.”
“Do it for your livin’, do ye?”
“Yes.”
“Do you sell them paintin’s, then?”
“Of course I do.”
_Old Man_ (a little taken aback): “And how much might you get for a
thing like that?”
_Artist_ (stretching a point): “Well I might get ten pounds.”
_Old Man_ (astonished): “Ten pun! well I never!”
_Artist_ (following up): “Or I might get more of course.”
_Old Man_ (thoughtfully and with deep respect): “Ten pun! Well, I
never—_and sittin’ down to it too_!”
But Hodge is passing away. The old agricultural population (farmer and
labourer) is changing under the pressure of modern life; and soon—for
good or evil—will be a thing of the past. The motor-car and the cycle,
the telephone and the daily paper, are ploughing up the country
districts, torrents of townsfolk pour over the land on holidays, and the
seeds of new ideas are being sown. Already I can see, even in this
little corner of the land, a new type of native arising.
The great drawback of the country folk in England (worse here no doubt
than in Ireland) is their want of initiative. Centuries of smothered
life under the incubus of the Landlord and the Parson have had their
inevitable effect. They never _will_ speak their minds, or commit
themselves to any action which is not entirely customary and approved by
the powers that be. It may be different in other parts of the country,
but here the one answer to any question of importance (especially if put
by a stranger) is “I don’t know—I don’t know.” So fearful have they been
for generations lest their words should be by chance reported in ruling
quarters that the habit of concealment has at last got into their blood.
One sees from this how paralysing our land system is towards all manhood
and resourceful initiative in the country.
Nor is the matter much different in many other lands. When in Sicily (in
1909) we found that among the peasants the children were systematically
taught to _lie_, and punished by their parents for truth-speaking. And
for a very simple reason. For if a stranger came along and asked
questions of a child—“How much land has your father?”—“How many goats
does he keep?”—ten to one that stranger was an emissary of the Church
(the chief landlord of the old days), or a taxgatherer, and so an
emissary of the State; and the truth would mean more rent or more taxes.
Thus deceit was the only salvation, and lying the chief foundation of
“Morality.” Here in England the parson and the landlord have a similar
paralysing influence; and whether they actively and consciously are
conspiring against the people, or whether their questionings (as
sometimes may happen) are inspired by pure kindness, the result is the
same—namely the corruption of the people; and perhaps a worse corruption
in the second case than in the first.