The Quarterly Notebook EDITED BY ALFRED FOWLER June 1916 The Art of John Masefeld . . . W. G. BLAIKIE-MURDOCH Awoi No Uye EZRA POUND The Man Who Saved Stevenson . . . . N. TOURNEUR CORRESPONDENCE: Walter Savage Lander, Eli%a Lynn Linton, and Julia Landorj Gifts to Institutions} " German Propaganda in the United States." PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE QUARTERLY NOTEBOOK 1 7 BOARD OF TRADE BUILDING, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI, u. s. A. Copyright, 1916, by Tbe Quarterly Ratebook 25 fts. a copy $1.00 a year WAUD & JENKINS Bookplate, Etching, and Hand Photogravure PRINTERS PLATE MAKERS 23 CHURCH STREET, HARVARD SQUARE CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS THE MIDLAND A Magazine of the Middle West IOWA CITY, IOWA If you believe in the literary future of the Middle West, you should know THE MIDLAND. Inquiries are invited. Any Book, whenever and wherever published, searched for and reported on. If you are looking for an old-time book, or any book that just won't turn up, will you not consult me? 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(Name) (Street address) (City and State) JOHN MASEFIELD William Strang appearing produced by permission of Messrs. Macmillan, London and New Yo From the portrait by William Strang appearing in Philip the King. rk, Re- The Quarterly Notebook VOLUME I JUNE, 1916 NUMBER i THE ART OF JOHN MASEFIELD By W. G. BLAIKIE-MURDOCH Waiving the men of the popular school, there are few English writers to-day, of the younger generation, enjoying a wider fame than Mr. John Masefield. Indeed his verse has won a more general homage, probably, than has been ac corded to any poet since the time, fifteen or twenty years ago, when enthusiasm was elicited by Mr. Stephen Phillips. And notwithstanding her proverbial love of reticence that love which long inhibited the staging, in London, of Maeterlinck's Monna fanna, likewise begetting a harvest of wrath for Swinburne and Rossetti England has even pardoned the in delicacy, if not coarseness, frequent in her new idol's work; or, at least, she has said next to nothing against it. That ready par don, no doubt, is not really difficult to account for, inasmuch as this element in the author has nothing of the character, usually described as French, which is so hateful to the Anglo- Saxon race; while as far is it from reflecting morbidity, ap pearing rather to be just the overflowing of a somewhat bucolic temperament, a thing singularly dear to normal Englishmen. But Mr. Masefield' s almost worldwide reputation as a great master is this justified by the presence of truly fine qualities in his already voluminous output? It is a very varied output, too. For if it is by his narrative and lyrical poems, his plays and novels, that Mr. Masefield has chiefly gamed his laurels, there stand to his credit also two little books of prose sketches, a slim volume of reminiscences of Synge, and a portly history of the doings of the early adven turers in South America; while he has contributed editorial 4 THE QUARTERLY NOTEBOOK matter to several classics, having written besides a study of Shakespeare. These critical writings are scarcely remarkable, being neither much better nor worse than most analogous things by other men. But, throughout the rest of the author's work, there is found a curiously pronounced chiaroscuro, as it were, strength and weakness being juxtaposed here to a sig nally striking degree. On the one hand, Mr. Masefield is that very rare person, a brilliant teller of tales, ever unfolding them, whether in verse or prose, with a splendid verve; while, on the other hand, he displays a distinct lack of a passion for form. Mr. Masefield has been much extolled for his realism, the convincing vividness of some of his scenes for instance, those in Dauber where the rounding of Cape Horn is de scribed while he has been applauded as keenly for the apparent ease with which he does everything. In all art, however, realism, the transcription of life, is only a stepping- stone towards a goal the creation of beauty; and the true master is perhaps best defined as the man who, abnormally perceptive of the difference between a tub and a Grecian urn ? triumphantly evolves the latter from the former. To do this to take a part of life, the tub, and shape it into something beautiful, the Grecian urn he brings his sense for form; and to show a callousness towards this last, to suggest content ment with mere realism, is among the gravest of limitations. Echoing Sir Joshua Reynolds, Whistler has deified those works which, like Mr. Masefield' s, seem to have been made quite easily: those from which "all signs of the means used to bring about the end have disappeared. ' ' But, then, it must be remembered, the disclosing of signs of labour, and the adumbration of a passionate searching for beauty, are two dis tinctly different things. Setting aside completely the kind of men generally known as "classicists" Bach, for example, in music, Ingres in painting, Gray in literature, their respec- THE ART OF JOHN MASEFIELD 5 tive works often engaging largely by mere fineness of form the indication of a strenuous preoccupation with artistry is salient in most of the greatest masters. Its presence, in Ve lasquez, is one of the very things setting him above Hals, whose pictures never hint markedly at artistic aspiration; while the mighty Greek sculptors tower head and shoulders above Rodin, by no means because they appear to have gained their effefts more easily than he, but because they sig nify a more fervent ardour in questing for these effefts. How readily, too, comes to mind the thought of Virgil or Catullus, Tennyson 'or Keats, dreaming with a parent's fondness of some cadence lately achieved, pondering endlessly on the intrinsic loveliness of this child of his creation; whereas it is hard, if not impossible, to imagine Mr. Masefield engaged in that way. And like Moore and Rogers in the field of verse, Borrow and Trollope in that of prose, he seems content to tell his tale, taking no artist's pride the while in his manner of tell ing. It is felt that the writer, being unaccustomed to finding himself confronted with technical difficulty that most bracing of influences, which did so much for Walter Pater seldom or never pauses to weigh what he has wrought, the mere faft that a thing has been done easily being inimical, in large measure, to its doing being followed by the act of ruthless criticism. Nor are these strictures based on isolated passages in the author's work, instead of on the general impression received from it. Henley once wrote an apotheosis of Byron, wherein, taking his hero's strongest passages, and setting them beside Tennyson's weakest, he showed conclusively, to his own sat isfaction at all events, that Byron is a much grander poet than Tennyson. Now, by this method, it were easy to heap scorn on virtually the whole of the world's greatest singers; for there are few of these but have written certain ludicrously bad lines or verses, Tennyson being one who sinks particularly low, as 6 THE QUARTERLY NOTEBOOK also do Wordsworth and Shelley. Nevertheless, with this trio, the flaws are easily forgiven or forgotten, contributing scarcely at all to forming the main contours of the remem brance, carried away after reading any one of the three poets. But, on the contrary, just as Rossetti's feeble draughtsmanship colours the souvenir retained in the mind after seeing his pic tures, exquisite as they are hi endless ways, so, too, Mr. Masefield's weaknesses are prone to linger in the memory as persistently as his merits. It is maintained by some of his journalistic eulogists, whose facile comments are duly printed as addenda to his books, that he has often triumphed just where Stevenson failed conspicuously. Only, has he not failed too, just where Stevenson repeatedly triumphed ? both having written things in which the evoking of a given atmosphere is reasonably and naturally looked for, almost as an essential quality, and Stevenson's craft therein far transcending Mr. Masefield's. Even to people who are personally unacquainted with the Scottish Highlands and Hebrides, their peculiar glamour is an actuality, with such great ability is it marshalled in Kidnapped, clinging to the story like a perfume; while in Catriona every page is charged unmistakably with a savour of the eighteenth century, readers being forced to feel themselves indeed living in that period. How little sense of Japan, how ever, dwells in Mr. Masefield's tragedy, The Faithful \ how little sense of the seventeenth century in Captain Margaret \ while in that novel, as in the far better one, The Street of To day, the characters act with a flagrant inconsistency, which, quite possibly having precedents in life, is withal distinctly gauche in literature. In the case of either book, it tends to inhibit the unfolding of events from having that semblance of inevitability which, in all the best fiftion, is a prominent characteristic. It suggests a want of premeditation on the novelist's part: in fine, a lack of that passion for form whereby alone the tub can be transformed into a Grecian urn. THE ART OF JOHN MASEFIELD 7 But to repeat, Mr. Masefield's work presents a chiaro scuro ; and if one side of his penumbra is very dark, the other is very bright. He illustrates one of the soundest of outstand ing tendencies among the better writers of to-day, in that he has set his face resolutely against the ornate, the pompous; he has stood for the splendid qualities of straightforwardness, of simplicity. And he has compassed what is perennially among the hardest of feats one of those mainly necessitating real originality, and sturdy intellectual independence making an art out of matter little handled by earlier men, in particular the broad, grim humour of the common British sailor. When he writes autobiographical prose, as in places in A Tarpaulin Muster , one of the finest of all his books, he does not merely recount his emotions, but communicates them, makes them infectious, the feeling being received, furthermore, that these emotions have suffered no cooling in their transmission to the page. Several of the people in his novels are grandly vitalised, notably Stukeley in Captain Margaret, who provokes fully the aversion that an aftual person of his nature would provoke; while sympathy cannot be withheld from Rhoda and Hesel- tine in The Street of To-day, a novel which Balzac himself would surely have admired much. For Balzac exalted the faculty of observation, rightly hailing it as one of the prime and positive constituents of genius; and this capacity is mir rored an hundredfold in Mr. Masefield's book, much of this subtle and critical observing being set forth, moreover, in a rarely crisp, epigrammatic fashion. The writer has a key, however, admitting to loftier styles than that; and, in the closing passage of The Eternal Mercy, there are clear, silvery notes, like those of a piccolo; while now and then he will write a haunting measure, as in the song in The Faithful which be gins: Sometimes, when guests have gone, the host remembers Sweet courteous things unsaid; 8 THE QUARTERLY NOTEBOOK or again in the epilogue to The Tragedy of Pompey the Great : And all their passionate hearts are dust, And dust the great idea that burned, In various flames of love and lust, Till the world's brain was turned. But his complete innocence from mental langour, above all the brilliant verve with which he tells his tales these are what make him so refreshing, as refreshing as a breeze from the sea. These are what chiefly account for the thrill which is known, when opening any new book from his pen. AWOI NO UYE: A PLAY BY UJINOBU By EZRA POUND INTRODUCTION The rough draft of this play by Fenollosa and Hirata presents various difficulties. The play is one of the most profound of all the psychological Noh, and with the text before them even Japanese skilled in the art are diffident of insisting on the precise interpretation of certain passages. I wish to say quite simply that if I go wrong I shall be very grateful for correction from any scholar capable of providing it. In certain places it is necessary for me to choose one meaning or another. The poetry of the longer passages is, I think, substantially correct in our rendering, and certainly worth presenting even if the rest of the play were sheer chaos. The story, as I understand it, is that the "Court Lady Awoi" (Flower-of-the-East) is jealous of the other and later co-wives of Genji. This jealousy reaches its climax and she goes off her head with it when her carriage is overturned and broken at the Kami festival. The play opens with the death-bed of Awoi, and in Mrs. Fenollosa' s diary I find the statement that ''Awoi, her struggles, sickness, and death are represented by a red, flowered kimono, folded once length wise and laid at the front edge of the stage. ' ' The objective aftion is confined to the apparitions and exorcists. The demon of jealousy, tormenting Awoi, first appears in the form of the Princess Rakujo, then with the progress and success of the exorcism the jealous quintessence is driven out of this personal ghost and appears in its own truly demonic ("henya") form, "That awful face with its golden eyes and horns revealed." The exorcist Miko is powerless against this demon, but the yamabushi exorcists "advancing against it making a grinding noise with the beads of their rosaries and striking against it" finally drive it away. 10 THE (QUARTERLY NOTEBOOK The ambiguities of certain early parts of the play seem mainly due to the fact that the "Princess Rokujo," the con crete figure on the stage, is a phantom or image of Awoi-no- Uye's own jealousy. That is to say, Awoi is tormented by her own passion, and this passion obsesses her first in the form of a personal apparition of Rokujo, then in demonic form. This play was written centuries before Ibsen declared that life is a "contest with the phantoms of the mind." The difficulties of the translator have lain in separating what belongs to Awoi herself from the things belonging to the ghost of Rokujo, very much as modern psychologists might have difficulty in detaching the personality or memories of an obsessed person from the personal memories of the obsession. Baldly: an obsessed person thinks he is Napoleon; an image of his own thought would be confused with scraps relating perhaps to St. Helena, Corsica, and Waterloo. The second confusion is the relation of the two apparitions. It seems difficult to make it clear that the "henya" has been cast out of the ghostly personality, and that it had been, in a way, the motive force in the ghost* s actions. And again we cannot be too clear that the ghost is not actually a separate soul, but only a manifestation made possible through Awoi and her passion of jealousy. At least with this interpretation the play seems quite coherent and lucid. Rokujo or Awoi, whichever we choose to consider her, comes out of hell-gate in a chariot "because people of her rank are always accustomed to go about in chariots. When they, or their ghosts, think of motion, they think of going in a chariot y therefore they take that form." There would be a model chariot shown somewhere at the back of the stage. The ambiguity of the apparition's opening line is, possibly, to arouse the curiosity of the audience. There will be an air of mystery and they will not know whether it is to be the chariot associated with Genji's liaison with Yugawo, the AWOI NO UYE: A PLAY BY UJINOBU 11 beautiful heroine of the play "Hajitomi," or whether it is the symbolic chariot drawn by a sheep, a deer, and an ox. But I think we are nearer the mark if we take Rokujo enigmatic line "I am come in three chariots" to mean that the formed idea of a chariot is derived from these events and from the mishap to Awoi's own chariot, all of which have combined and helped the spirit world to manifest itself con cretely. Western students of ghostly folklore would tell you that the world of spirits is fluid and drifts about seeking shape. I do not wish to dogmatize on these points. The Fenollosa-Hirata draft calls the manifest spirit "The Princess Rokujo," and she attacks Awoi (represented by the folded kimono). Other texts seem to call this manifestation "Awoi-no-Uye," i.e., her mind or troubled spirit, and this spirit attacks her body. It will be perhaps simpler for the reader if I mark her speechs simply "Apparition," and those of the second form ' ' Henya. ' ' I do not know whether I can make the matter more plain or summarize it other than by saying that the whole play is a dramatization, or externalization, of Awoi's jealousy. The pas sion makes her subject to the demon-possession. The demon first comes in a disguised and beautiful form. The prayer of the exorcist forces him first to appear in his true shape, and then to retreat. But the "disguised and beautiful form" is not a mere abstract sheet of matter. It is a sort of personal or living mask, having a ghost life of its own; it is at once a shell of the princess, and a form, which is strengthened or made more palpable by the passion of Awoi. Japanese art amounts to very little if the spectator expects to have things trepanned into him, but it is both profound and vigorous if the spectator will allow his faculties to act. 12 THE QUARTERLY NOTEBOOK AWOJ NO UTE Scene in Kioto. Daijin. I am a subject in the service of the Blessed Emperor Shujakuin. They have called in the priests and the high-priests for the sickness of Awoi-no-Uye of the house of Sadaijin. They prayed but the gods give no sign. I am sent to Miko the wise to bid him pray to the spirits. Miko, will you pray to the earth? Miko. Tenshojo, chuhojo, NaigesAojo, Rakkonshojo. Earth, pure earth, Wither, by the sixteen roots (Wither this evil)! Apparition. It may be, it may be, I come from the gate of hell in three coaches. I am sorry for Yugawo, and the carriage with broken wheels. And the world is plowed with sorrow as a field is furrowed with oxen. Man's life is a wheel on the axle, there is no turn whereby to escape. His hold is light as dew on the Basho leaf. It seems that the last spring's blossoms are only a dream in the mind. And we fools take it all, take it all as a matter of course. Oh, I am grown envious from sorrow. I come to seek 'consolation. (Singing^ Though I lie all night hid for shame hi the secret carriage looking at the moon for sorrow, yet I would not be seen by the moon. Where Miko draws the magical bow, I would go to set my sorrow aloud. {Speaking) Where does that sound of playing come from? It is the sound of the bow of Adzusa ! Miko. Though I went to the door of the square building, Adzumaya .... Apparition you thought no one came to knock. AWOI NO UYE: A PLAY BY UJINOBU 13 Miko. How strange! It is a lady of high rank whom I do not know. She comes in a broken carriage, a green wife clings to the shaft. She weeps. Is it . . . . Daijin. Yes, I think I know who it is. (To the ap parition^ I ask you to tell me your name. Apparition. In the world of the swift-moving lightning I have no servant or envoi, neither am I consumed with self- pity. I came aimlessly hither, drawn only by the sound of the bow. Who do you think I am? I am the spirit of the Princess Rokujo, and when I was still in the world, spring was there with me. I feasted upon the cloud with the Sennin, 1 they shared in my feast of flowers. And on the Evening-of- Maple-leaves I had the moon for a mirror. I was drunk with colour and perfume. And for all my gay flare at that time I am now like a shut Morning-glory, awaiting the sunshine. And now I am come for a whim, I am come uncounting the hour, seizing upon no set moment. I would set my sorrow aside. Let someone else bear it awhile. Chorus. Love turns back toward the lover, unkindness brings evil return. It is for no good deed or good purpose that you bring back a sorrow among us, our sorrows mount up without end. Apparition. The woman is hateful! I cannot keep back my blows. (She strikes.} Miko. No. You are a princess of Rokujo! How can you do such things? Give over. Give over. Apparition. I cannot. However much you might pray. (Reflectively, as if detached from her attion, and describing it} So she went toward the pillow, and struck. Struck. Miko. Then standing up ... * Apparition. This hate is only repayment. Spirits not unlike the Irish "Sidhe." 14 THE QJUARTERLY NOTEBOOK Miko. The flame of jealousy .... Apparition will turn on one's own hand and burn. Miko. Do you not know? Apparition. Know ! This is a just revenge. Chorus. Hateful, heart full of hate, Though you are full of tears Because of others' dark hatred, Your love for Genji Will not be struck out Like a fire- fly's flash in the dark. Apparition. I, like a bush .... Chorus. .... am a body that has no root. I fade as dew from the leaf, Partly for that cause, I hate her, My love cannot be restored .... Not even in a dream. It is a gleam cast up from the past. I am full of longing. I would be off in the secret coach, and crush her shade with me. Daijin. Help. Awoi-no-Uye is sinking. Can you find Kohijiri of Tokokawa ? Kiogen. I will call him. I call him. Waki (Kohijiri}. Do you call me to a fit place for prayer? To the window of the nine wisdoms; to the cushion of the ten ranks, to a place full of holy waters; and where there is a clear moon? Kiogen. Yes, yes. Waki. How should I know ? I do not go about in the world. You come from the Daijin. Wait. I am ready. I will come. (He crosses the stage or bridge.) Daijin. I thank you for coming. Waki. Where is the patient? Daijin. She is there on that bed. AWOI NO UYE: A PLAY BY UJINOBU 15 Waki. I will begin the exorcism at once. Daijin. I thank you. Please do so. Waki (^beginning the ritual}. Then Gioja called upon En No Giojo, and he hung about his shoulders a cloak that had swept the dew of the seven jewels in climbing the peaks of Tai and of Kori in Uoshine. He wore the cassock of forbearance to keep out unholy things. He took the beads of red wood, the square beads with hard corners, and whirling and striking, said prayer. But one prayer. Namaku, Samanda, Basarada. (During this speech the ll Apparition " has disappeared. That is, the first "Shite," the "Princess of Rokujo." Her costume 'was " The under kimono black satin, tight from the knees down, embroidered ivith small, irregular, infrequent circles of flowers; the upper part, stiff gold brocade, just shot through