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in Germany,' he said, 'much about the guished novelists). He was very nice young English writers. Your older and kind, but as soon as I led him to writers we know very well, of course, admit that he knew Sir James intiand of these the best known is Bernard mately and asked for an introduction, Shaw. I have seen his Saint Joan in he froze up. “I never do that for anyCzechoslovakia, in Germany, and in body," he said. “If I did, Barrie Switzerland. In Prague it was per- would never forgive me.' Well, I formed in the Czechoslovakian lan- begged him to tell me what I could do; guage, and in Switzerland, as in Ger- I would do anything sooner than have many, in German.'

to go back home and say I had n't seen

Barrie. “There is a way,” he said, as if Three plays by Herr Toller are about he were thinking it over. “But it will to be performed in Berlin - two re- require a tremendous amount of courvivals of the dramas, Die Wandlung age." "Show me the way,” said I, (The Transformation) and Der Hinkels "and I'll find the courage, however mann, the latter played by the Jewish much it may want.” “Very well,” Art Theatre of New York under the said he, quite seriously, “here's your title of Red Laughter, and a comedy, plan. You go up to Barrie's flat in the Der Entfesselte Wotan, which he wrote Adelphi, and you sit down just outside during his imprisonment (1919–1924), his door and make a noise like a lost on the subject of a barber who wanted child. As soon as he hears you, it will to be the savior of the world.

worry him, and he will come to the door himself and look out to see what

is the matter, and there you are - he WHAT NOT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS ; is delivered into your hands.” “Oh,

OR HOW TO INTERVIEW BARRIE that's nonsense,” I told him. “If Sir Mr. St. John Adcock tells an amusing James looked out and saw me Barrie story in an article in T. P.'s and woman of fifty — crouching there beCassell's Weekly. An American woman having like that, he would simply draw journalist approached Mr. Adcock back and slam the door at once. And with the request that he give her an

what would he think of me introduction to Sir James, or tell her how she could get an interview with him. Mr. Adcock had to answer both questions in the negative, whereupon she Aung up her hands despairingly and burst forth:

'I have been in your country three weeks and have been moving heaven and earth to meet Sir James Barrie, but he did not reply to my application for an appointment, and nobody seems able to help me. I have interviewed a dozen of your other celebrated authors, but I would sooner see him than all of them, and he's the one famous man I can't come anywhere near. Yesterday I was in the country seeing Mr. X.

SIR JAMES BARRIE (she named one of our most distin

(Westminster Gazette]


- at my



you in.

age! But, of course, you are only the most fashionable pastimes of Epicureans joking.” “My dear lady, I am not,' and pleasure-seekers. Promenaders with he said. “It is your only way. You fans in their hands were out from early in must attend to details. Did n't you

the evening on the streets along both sides say your daughter had written to him

of the river. Countless lanterns hanging from America for an autograph and he

from the eaves of luxurious tea-houses, res

taurants, and inns on the banks of the river had sent it? Very well, that is your

flared and threw their light upon the water. cue. The moment you hear him turning Songs to the samisen came constantly from the handle you spring up and put your these summer resorts. On the water, numfoot in as the door



cry in a berless small pleasure-boats with their loud voice, 'I understand, Sir James, picturesque roofs glided leisurely as the you have been corresponding with my boatmen leaned on their oars, propelling the daughter, and I have come from pleasure-boats. America to know what it means.'

During the course of the evening DodoiNaturally he won't want you to shout

tsu-bo boasted to his patrons that he would things of that sort out there where

be able to hush all the merrymaking and

songs in the other pleasure-boats on the everybody can hear, and he will invite

river. Out of sheer pride in his voice, he took up a samisen and began to sing Dodoitsu in a fitful mood. As he predicted, the pleas

ure-seekers in all the other boats stopped A JAPANESE IRVING BERLIN

singing to listen to Dodoitsu rendered by 'ONE-LINE ragtime is the phrase used its originator. Dodoitsu-bo died in the by a writer in the Japan Advertiser to fifth year of the Kaei Era (1853), but the describe a type of short poem or song

tune he sang still continues to be popular called Dodoitsu, used by Japanese to-day among the mass of people in the

samisen world. singers to the accompaniment of the samisen. As in all Japanese poetry, the principle of order - what we should

FIELDING AND STEVENSON call the metrics — is a principle of PROBABLY not many students of Engsyllable-counting: a single song con- lish literature would take issue with sists of four lines' of seven, seven, Jakob Wassermann, the Austrian novseven, and five syllables respectively. elist, who says, in an article in the As in the better-known 'hokku,' the Neue Freie Presse, that Fielding's poetic manner is intensely suggestive. Tom Jones is the kind of book that Here is an example among the many makes wholly unnecessary a cultural that Mr. Setsuo Uenoda gives:

history of the period in which it was A white heron, with its head cocked in hesita

written. Herr Wassermann rightly tion, water-mirrors itself to see whether it is accepts the book as representative of

the highest achievements of the English Dodoitsu was invented by a vaude- imagination in realistic fiction. His ville singer of Yedo, Senka Dodoitsu-bo, judgment of Stevenson will perhaps about eighty years ago. The story of even now meet with less approval. its general acceptance is told pictur- 'Compared with Fielding,' he says, esquely by the author of the article: -- ‘Stevenson is a minor figure. He has One summer evening Dodoitsu-bo was

not the same force, the same vigor, the invited by his patrons to go for a boat-ride

same high consequence. He is of a more on the Sumida River for the cooling breeze.

elegiac type, and more æsthetically In those days, taking the summer breeze by oriented. Further, he did not lead, as boating on the Sumida River was one of Fielding did, the life of a great gentle




man, and his literary life was too short. human logic. It is the story of an oldThe epic writer of a more than “lit- fashioned wet nurse in a small Tuscan erary” importance is the product of a village who is ousted after thirty years certain sum not only of personal but of of practice by a young universitynational experiences, and he matured trained woman from Turin. In the too late for that. A tale such as Dr. second act she is shown at a medical Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which is highly school to which she has gone in search thought of by his countrymen, shows, of training that will enable her to along with its striking inventiveness compete with the newcomer. In the and its charming descriptive skill final act she is shown returning to her (with what sureness and precision, for village only to find that her rival has example, in three or four strokes, in in the meantime thrown over all her half a dozen cogent but discreet details, university airs and installed herself is a London advocate drawn!), his evi- in Teresa's place without any pretense dent shortcomings. The theme, de- of superior technic. Even this brief rived from Poe and E. T. A. Hoffmann, outline of the play suggests that it is in spite of an elaborate development, in no very different vein from Right does not succeed in rising above the You Are if You Think You Are. bizarrerie in which the author's clever- One of the leading dramatic critics ness confines it.

in Frankfort, where several of Piran'What attracts one particularly in dello's plays were given during a recent Stevenson is his style, the delicacy of visit by the playwright, summed up his his touch, the finesse of his coloring, talent in these words: 'He is the poet and the veil of melancholy that lies of interrogation marks — of ingenious over his tales. For they are tales, in questions that life does not put. He the fine old sense, unusual or strange troubles the little pool so as not to offer events, recounted by one who trans- perfectly clear water, for clearness forms for his listeners bad luck or good might be mistaken for banality.' luck or the mere pleasure of observation and experience into a restful feeling of having observed and experi

ONLY FOUR? enced themselves.'

JEREMIAD of a Lancashire lawgiver, as

reported in the Westminster Gazette: PIRANDELLO IN ROME AND FRANKFORT

Mr. Austin Hopkinson, Ind. M.P. for the A NEw play by Signor Pirandello - or, Mossley Division of Lancaster, addressing rather, an adaptation by another writer the members of the Mossley Conservative of a novel by him — has recently been

Club, said that in the ranks of the Liberal performed at the Odescalchi Theatre in Party in the House of Commons there were Rome, under the title, The World of at least four of the most appalling bores

that ever sent Members of Parliament to Yesterday. From the accounts of the

sleep. play we should judge that it is but one

It is marvelous how the Liberal Party more vehicle for Pirandello's char

had collected such a lot of bores; they could acteristic and perhaps somewhat mo- never say anything that could possibly notonous sense of the perversity of interest or inform anyone.

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The World Court, by Antonio S. de Bustamante, rule, have very little to say for themselves. They

Judge of the Permanent Court of International are seen rather than heard. It is not so much that Justice. English version of the original they are inarticulate, for they will often talk a Spanish and French editions. London and great deal and well about subjects unconnected

New York: The Macmillan Company. $3.00. with their art, as that their art itself does not (Revue de droit international et de législation

lend itself to verbal discussion by a person encomparée)

gaged in its practise. Pictures, like anything else,

can be talked about from the outside, but when a This work is destined to hold first rank in the painter can talk about his pictorial intentions he abundant literature that has grown up around is generally a bad painter. He may have ‘ideas,' the Permanent Court of International Justice.

but they are not pictorial ideas. It cannot be The author is himself a member of the Court, and said that Mr. Lubbock quite convinces us that brings to his study of this institution the fruit of Channon was a painter of genius, Channon his personal experience. He first traces simply himself talks far too much about his ideas and his and logically the origin of the idea of a court with intentions for that, — but he has certainly world-wide jurisdiction and the efforts made created the impression of a man of genius. Perbefore the Great War to establish such a tribunal, haps the fairest way to put it is that Channon and then describes the organization, jurisdiction, strikes one as a man of genius who was a bit of a procedure, decisions, and sanctions of the present charlatan as a painter. Court.

The theme of the story is the gradual discovery (Revue de droit international privé]

of Channon's vulgarity of soul by a young worTHE author ... does not conceal the diffi.

shiper, Austin, himself a man of great if unreal. culties, the conflicts of interests, the opposition,

ized mental powers, whom Channon takes up as a and the fears that the Court has encountered, but

sort of survival of his own youth and therefore

capable of seeing him as he really is above the in spite of this he records a remarkable achieve

tumult of his success. Channon's vulgarity does ment. . . . He shows how ... its jurisdiction

not, of course, disturb the impression of his genis increasing daily through the adhesion of new States and the signing of new treaties.

ius, because many men of genius have been vul

gar; and one has, all through the book, the odd (Revue de droit international de sciences diplo- feeling that Mr. Lubbock has seen the man truly matiques, politiques et sociales)

but mistaken his profession — as the reader will In a general way, the plan of the work, which

almost certainly mistake it in the first two chapis happily conceived and amply documented, is

ters. Channon ought to have been a great operto trace the genealogy of the World Court, to

atic composer - of the Wagner type. At any describe the historical forces that have found

rate, it is the excess of genius on the expansive side their fruition in this institution, and to explain

that he represents, just as Austin represents it on

the side of caution. Austin is a little too nice for the organism itself in the light of all the doctrines and precedents that it incorporates. The author's

his job as a writer. It will be seen at once that thesis is worked out with the remarkable clarity

contact between these two extremes of genius that anyone who had ever heard this great jurist

is bound to be fruitful in reactions, and Mr. Lub

bock has followed them with exquisite perception analyze a complex legal question, or had read his previous writings, would expect. The book is

and superlative art. It is in default of any other written with the background of a profound

comparison that one says that he reminds you a knowledge of international affairs and with the

little of Henry James, but there is really nothing scrupulous objectivity of a mind trained in the

to compare with the flexible grace and continuous impartial attitude of the bench.

movement of his narrative. The people — Mrs.

Channon, Lady Cordelia, Bumpus, Sir James The Region Cloud, by Percy Lubbock. London: Clitherow (to call him 'R. A.' seems a clumsy Jonathan Cape; New York: Scribner's. $2.50. dotting of i’8), and Streeten, 'a hollow-cheeked

young man with a loop of black hair dipping over (Manchester Guardian)

a large dead eye' - are reflected in the narrative What makes it difficult to present the painter of as in a moving stream rather than presented genius in fiction is that painters of genius, as a directly. You see them in Austin's mind, and


when they speak it is as if you overheard. The crisis comes when Austin brings to Channon ‘the understanding that he does n't want, and so, with Mrs. Bewlay, the companion of Chandon's days of struggling, he is left on the rubbish-heap to muse upon the vision of greatness now masked by 'the region cloud.'

are dreamed of in a concrete philosophy. He may be congratulated on bis illustrator, a young artist whose strong work does not explain but decorates the stories. It is better not to explain Mr. de la Mare,


France and the French, by Sisley Huddleston.

London: Jonathan Cape; New York: Scribner's. $3.00.

(Times Literary Supplement] This book on France supplies a need, for there has been nothing of its character published since the war. Those who are led by its title to expect an imaginative essay on the French people will be disappointed. Mr. Huddleston does not display much imagination, he does not go deep; but he is a careful observer who has had many excellent opportunities for observation, and by dint of watching he has collected a vast amount of information. His book is a repository of facts, marshaled with judgment; as such it should assist in clearing away a whole maze of misconceptions and prejudices and serve as a sort of pocket encyclopædia on modern France. It is hard to think of any aspect at which he has not at least glanced. His book is divided into two parts: social and intellectual, and political and economic. In the first he deals with questions such as law, family life, the social classes, literature and the arts, science and education; in the second, with the constitution, politics, the army, immigration, the Church, the colonies, taxation and finance. Some of these chapters are fuller than others; that on literature is hardly more than a list of names, and he has here tried to achieve more than his space will permit; those on the finances, taxation, the problem of inflation, and foreign debts are, on the other hand, excellent summaries.

Broomsticks and Other Tales, by Walter de la

Mare. With wood engravings by Bold. London: Constable; New York: Alfred A. Knopf. $3.50.

(Morning Post) THERE is no such thing as a story for children unless by a process of eliminating those unsuited to children we arrive at a residue. It is a fairly large one. Children cannot be lumped in a mass, and the more earnestly one examines their likes and dislikes the more bewildering grows the search for any formula of what they most enjoy. But there are writers whose inspiration leads them to weave tales which many children appreciate, and among them Mr. de la Mare is a first favorite.

His method is an appeal to the imagination by creating an atmosphere of wonder, but this does not prevent him from giving that precise detail in concrete things that children love. He takes them into a world half-human, half-spirit, with an eeriness that Mr. de la Mare never resolves into reality. His stories lose themselves in a mist of enchantment. What do they mean? 'You must invent your own meaning,' he replies; ‘I really cannot tell you.'

These qualities are all found in these stories, to perfection in ‘Miss Jemima.' It is deliciously designed with a little girl interjecting in the recital of a story she knows by heart. Her eager excitement is imparted to the reader. An elfin spirit haunts the tale. Is it real or imagined by the story-teller? Readers may choose for themselves.

Sometimes Mr. de la Mare allows himself an extravagance, as in ‘A Nose,' which is at odds with himself. But in his own domain of pensiveness, with a kind of gentle twilight, he is a master of the mysterious, creating for us an impression that the truest things in life are not those hedged round by reality, since there are more things than




Diary of a Philosopher. Translated by J. Holroyd Reece. With portrait. Two volumes. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company.

$10.00 WELLS, H. G. Christina Alberta's Father. New

York: The Macmillan Company. $2.50.

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