BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 16, Issue 177, 14 April 1923, Page 21

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

BY

LIBER.

Give a man a pipe he can smoke. Give? a man a book he can read: jlnd his home is bright with a calm delight Though the room be poor indeed. —JAIIM THOMSOa.

BOOKS OF THE DAY.

Wilhelm’s Apologia. ‘My Memoirs, 187-1918,” by exKaiser Wilhelm II (Cassell and Co., per Whitcombo and Tombs) is the latest addition to the already large bulk of literature dealing with the Great War. It is an interesting, human document, proving, as it does, that in his exile at Amerongen tho ex-Kaiser is still as vain, as untrustworthy, and, let it be said at once, as mendacious as ho was in 1914. He would have tho world believe he has always been a friend of peace, free from personal ambitions, conciliatory, and. above all, the personification of sincerity. Ho still maintains, with regard to the origin of the war, that, It was “tho other fellow” who must be held responsible not the vainglorious ex-All Mightiest of Potsdam. Thus we find him solemnly declaring that the origin of the war lay in

"An ‘agreement’ or ‘secret treaty between England, AmorLca. ante! France, datinsr from the spring: of 1897. In this it was agreed that in case Germany or Austria, or both of»them, should begin a war for the sake of ‘Pan-Gerraunfsm, the United States should at once declare* in favour of England and France, and sro to the support of these Powers, with all its resources/*

How the author of this book can put forward the transparently dishonest plea that the Allies had long been plotting Germany’s encirclement, in face of the fact that in 1897 Franco-Brit-ish relations were obviously strained, and that in 1901 the late Mr. Chamberlain actually offered Germany an alliance wth Great Britain, it is difficult to understand, save on the assumption that all the diplomatic records of European forces to 1914 have been destroyed, or that readers of tliis book are grossly ignorant of the course of European history. The ex-Kaiser should admit that at Biorkd ho himself tried to effect the isolation of Great Bri_ tain by an agreement with fhe Tsar.He now represents that agreement as “an alliance between Germany and Russia, which other nations should be permitted to join.” But this has been completely falsified by his private correspondence published since the war, in which he is exhibited as a subtle intriguer. If the ex-Kaiser is, by his omissions, to bo considered a mendacious person his own mother is, it may be remembered. as credited with having said “the pity about Willy is that.he never tells the truth, not even to himself”— he certainly writes himself down in this book of his as a. very ridiculous person, one who willingly swallowed any palpably absurd story as to the alleged perfidy of Great Britain.

“When our troops advanced in 1914.’’ bo says, "they found in Northern Franco and along the Belgian frontier great stores of English soldiers’ greatcoats. According to statements by tho inhabitants, these were placed there during tbo last years of peace. The stores were established by England with the permission of the French and Belgian Governments before the war. in the midst of peace.’’

As a matter of fact, in the hot summer weather in August, when the British troops tvent to Franco, the “Tommies” found their heavy greatcoats sadly in the way, and they were divested of them, tho garments being put into store at various points along the Flanders frontier. The story that these depots were of pre-war origin is quite without foundation. It is good to know that "William is, according to his own account, bearing his “personal fate with resignation.” “The Lord knows,” he piously adds, “what He dobs and what Ho wishes. He knows why Ho subjects me to this test. . . . Here in solitude I still feel and think solely for the German people, still wonder how I can better matters and help 3vith enlightenment and counsel.” Tho vast majority of tho German people will, it is to be hoped, for their own sake, to say nothing of the sake of Europe, be very chary of accepting William’s offers of “enlightenment and counsel.” Reflecting, though it unquestionably doos, the vanity, insincerity, and untrustworthiness as a historian, of the author, those “memoirs” are possessed of no small value as showing the world of what pitifully weak intellectual and moral calibre was the monarch who drove Europe into the awful cataclysm of 1914. (N.Z. price, 31s. 6d.) Tho Wolseley Letters.

In his prefatory note to “The Letters of Lord and Lady Wolseley, 18701911” (William Heinemann), Sir George Arthur, the editor of the correspondence, tells us that the letters have been “selected to illustrate tho relations of Lord and Ladj’ Wolseley with one another, and with the world in which they moved.” There is to be a “Life of Field-Marshal Wolseley” later on, and letters referring to the Crimean, Indian and Burman, experiences of Wolseley are not included here. The volume contains letters descriptive of Wolseley’s experiences in the Red River campaign, where he first came under notice of the. big men at the War Office; in the Ashantee expedition; as High Commissioner of Cyprus; in the Zululand campaign of 1879; and, later on, in the suppression of Arabi Pasha’s rebellion; and, still later, in the Sudan. The letters, both from husband and wife, make deeply interesting reading. As an Army reformer —With Cardwell — Wolseley acted under a Liberal Got, ornment, and this led to his being often considered a Radical, which he was very far from being. The Court for some time regarded him with suspicion, and ho got neither assistance or appreciation from tho Queen. Later on, after Gordon’s death, tho Queen came round not a little, and the Wolseloys wore frequent guests at Windsor. Dining with Her Majesty seems to have been a. rather dreary function, for wo find Lady "Wolseley writihg’

You know the dinners are not bolsterous This was .awfully whispery, and such pauses! I felt, as if I should have likod to give one good screech, tuck up fay petticoats, and rush round the table! Princess Beatrice talked a little to mo and smiled, and was quite nice, and whispered to the servant, ‘‘l will take a little roast chicken,” as if she were confiding a murder to him. After dinner the Queen talked to me most of the evening—very kindly, and simply, and intelligently, knowing more about Egypt and every detail of every officer than till of us nut together. Several slashes at Mr. Gladstone.

Lady Wolseley lierself had no love for tho G.D.M. A letter dated 1885 includes the following passage:

Two nights ago, tossing about after the Khartum fall, I comforted myself thinking Mr. Gladstone had had a worse night. Next day Mrs. G. was hoard to say that William has quite regained his sleeping powers!

If tbo wife disliked Mr. Gladstone, so did tho husband. “Men of Mr. Gladstone’s stamp,” he wrote in 1880, "are abhorrent to my instinct,’’they a.i« vestrymen rathor than Englishmen. I am a Jingo in the best acceptance of that sobriquet, and rot I am represented as precisely tho reverse.”

Wolseley had a supreme contempt for what bo called “the men of talk,” and what he called “the mechanical hobbies” of “placing the fiddle, sing-

ing, dancing, and the tight rope. Yet he had his own hobbies, and with his wife was ardent iu the collection of curios, rare books, etc The letters display the pair as being. deeply devoted to each other. The wife was by far the more intellectual of the two. Wolseley was a. simple mannered man, a man who lived almost solely for his work. His last letter, as given here, hears testimony to his wife’s unfailing comradeship and sympathy throughout their long married lite. She was an ideal helpmate, one who never complained of the long absences from England which her husband’s military office required of him. With hor, as with him, duty. came first, duty alike to husband or wife, the duty to the Empire. The .“Letters’ throughout make delightful reading. (N.Z. price, 31s. 6d.) On a Chinese Screen.

Of books descriptive of far Eastern countries, in particular of Japan and China, there has been of late samething approaching a flood. For the most part, however, the tendency of latter-day writers on both China and Japan has been to deal with political or commercial questions. Mr. Somerset Maugham, the well-known English novelist, and playwright, now gives us in his new book “On a Chinesg Sfcneem” (London, Wm. Heinfemann. Ltd), a very different kind of book. He does not altogether ignore the quaint charm of the ancient Buddhist temples, the strange fascination of tho Chinese rural landscapes, or that curious suggestion of the sinister, whibh is created by a view of the ant-liks human swarming in a Pekinese slum. But he is more interested in individual human types, he gets more into the soul of the Oriental, pene•trates 4 more deeply the complicated Chinese psychology than do most writers on the Far East. “On a "Chinese Screen” is a collection of articles, which have sometimes the effect of an impressionistic sketch, at others, that of a highly elaborate picture. In two or three pages the author will hit off some peculiar type, will give his readers a telling expression which conveys a sense of true Some of the most delightful of. Mr. Maugham’s descriptions of Chinese life and character are those, dealing with rural scenes and rural life. Some of these descriptive passages are possessed of a truly poetic charm. In others, such as “Tho Opium Den and “Tito Sights of film Town,” there is a rather grim, hut very effective, realism, a realism, which has a touch of the dramatic in its presentation. There is a peculiarly gruesome description in “The Sights of the Town” of the “tower of the infants Here the author refers to the horrible custom of infanticide still so widely prevalent in China.

It was a. stumpy little tower, ten feet hiffh perhaps, made of rousb-hewn blocks of stone; it was cone shojjed, and the roof was like a Pierrot’s hat. It stood on a hillock, quaint and picturesque against the blue sky. amid the graves. At its foot were a number of rough baskets thrown about in disorder. I walked round, and qv jtie side saw an oblong hole eighteen inches by eight, perhaps, from which hung a stout string. From the hole there came a very strange, nauseating odour. Suddenly I understood what the queer little building was. It was t>. baby tower. The baskets were the baskets in which the babies hud been brought, two or three of them were quite now, they could not have been there more than a few hours. And the string? Why. if tho person who brought the babv. parent or grandmother, midwife, or obliging friend, were of a humane disposition and did not ears to let the new-born child drop to tho bottom (for underneath tho tower was a deep pit). >t could bo let down gently by means of the string. The odour was tho odour of putrefaction. A lively little boy came up to me while I stood, there, and made me understand that four babes had been brought to the tower that morning.

In lighter vein, and with an underlying current of what is nt times a quite cruel ironv, are the author’s sketches of Treaty Port life,, impressions of merchants, missionaries, clerks, and their womenfolk, the strangers within the Chinese gates. Nearly always did the author find that,. easy, and often luxurious as is the life or the European resident in tho Treaty Ports, it is rare indeed that he or she does not turn with longing eyee to tho American or English home, whence he had come. Rarely, too, does the European resident, even of long years standing, succeed in fully understanding the Oriental mind. “East is East, and West is "West, and never the twain shall meet,” Kipling’s famous saying comes uppermost in the mind in reading Mr. Maupiham’s book. A special word of praise is due to the publishers for the exceptionally tasteful format of tire book. (N.Z. price, 13s. 6d.) The German Mind.

“The German Mind, as Reflected in, German Literature from 1870 to 1914,” by Fanny Johnson (Chapman and Dodd, per Australasian Publishing Company, Whitoombe and Tombs, ana Ferguson and Osborne), is a work of considerable importance to all students of modern German thought, political and social institutions, and tho Leiman people generally. The author s object has been to provide a reflex of German social life in tho later years of the nineteenth century, and up to tho outbreak of the Great "War bv examining tho work of Germany’s imaginative writers during that period, supporting her deductions by a liberal selection of quotations. In two supplementary chapters the author details and analyses the changes wrought in the Teutonic temperament during and since tho war. Miss (or Mrs.Q Johnson has evidently made a P 1 study of German literature from 18/0 onwards, her book exhibiting proofs of exhaustive literary research with much shrewdness and power of perception of important faotors in. the devolopment of certain social forces. 1 his is an unpretentious but very, carefully wrought and thought-provoking book, one which may . cause many readers to revise preconceived ideas as to tne real Causes of the war and tho part which German literature played in creating national sentiments and especially national ambitions. Iwo exceptionally commendable features ot tho book are its wealth of well-chosen illustrative quotations from the works of German novelists, dramatists, and writers generally. and the provision, at the end of. each, chapter, of comprehensive bibliographical notes. As a guide to modern German literature’. quite apart from the author s deductions and contentions, this is a work which deserved an honoured place, in every educational library. (N.Z. price, 13s.'Gd.).

A one volume edition of the Collected Poems of the late Mrs. Alice Meynell has been published by Bums and Oates (N.Z. price 7s. 6d.). To Mrs. Moynell wo are indebted tor some of the most graceful verso in the English language. Many bookmen who have hitherto only possessed her admirable Essays, should be glad to add the “Poems” to their &helvea.

LIBER’S NOTE BOOK

Stray Leaves. Hilaire Belloc’s new collection of e» says, the title of which is “On” (only that and nothing more), is due shortly from Methuen’s. The new essays arc, so the publishers—and the author — announce

On Lads and Poets, on Pyrenean Borings. On Ambition, auxd the loves of Eastern Kings, On the Eternal Sea . . . and on several other things. Belloc must by this time have a very lengthy list of books to his credit. My own favourites are “The Path to Rome”—almost, if not quite, as good as Stevenson’s “Travels With si Donkey”—; “The Four Men,” a very jolly record of a walking tour in Sussex, and that fine historical monograph, “Mario Antoinette.” Also, among tho volumes of essays, “Hills and the Ser.,” and among the novels, “Mr. Clutterbuck’s Election.” But Belloc’s books, as Mrs. Betsy 1 Prig said of “the drinks,” “is all good.”

There is an English novelist E. M. Forster, whose fine work in fiction is, I fancy, largely unknown to New Zealand readers. His “Howard’s End” and “A Room With a View,” both published some years afjo, are being reprinted—at a lower price, I hope—and will bo worth looking out for. “Howard’s End” in particular I remember as a strikingly original story, which carries with it a singular distinction in style. Forster has been called a “novelist’s novelist.” His work has been warmly praised by Arnold Bennett, Wells, and others who should be good judges of fiction.

Mr. Maurice Hewlett, once so well known as a novelist, appears to have deserted fiction for essay writing. To the two volumes of collected essays from his pen, “In a Green Shade” and “Wiltshire Essays”—both most excellent reading—is shortly to be added a successor, "Extempore Essays.” Mr. Hewlett lives nowadays in a little village in the heart of Wiltshire, end many of his essays, although for the most part their interest is literary, deal with rural life and character. ’The nowvolume is to contain a specially written appreciation of the late W. H. Hudson, of whom the essayist was an intimate friend.

The most interesting item in Messrs. Cassell’s list of forthcoming publications is H. G. Well's novel “Men, Like Gods.” The theme is Tho World as It Ought to bo. T,he commencement is decidedly sensational. Three motoring parties are driving along toward Slough, when, in sight of Windsor Castle, there is a big bang. The scene dissolves and they are translated into a sphere many centuries ahead of our toiling, struggling, everyday life. The Utopians and the Earthlings interrogate each other and Mr. Burleigh learns that the Utopians emerged a thousand years and more ago from the “Ago of Confusion,” which .they decide is contemporaneous with our own 1922. The story then resolves itself into a semi-prophetio study of what the world is to ho like—always according to Mr. Wells — a, thousand years hence. Science and fiction are happily blended in the making of what would seem to be an exceptionally interesting Story.

In a list of now issues in Nelson’s excellent Edinburgh Library (N.Z. price 2s. 6d.) I notice the following very attractive titles: —"Fabre's Book of Insects,” the late AV. H. Hudson’s “Book of a Naturalist,” and Dean Holo’s charming little work “A Book about Roses.” In the new list of Nelson’s cheap reprints (fiction Section) I notice ‘Shanghaied,” by the late Frank Norris, who wrote those two fine stories “The Octopus’’ and “The Pit,” and that powerful stoiy of ’Frisco life, “McTeague.” “Shanghaied” has been out of print for some years and a cheap reprint (2s. N.Z.) is very welcome. Also, in the same list, is Booth Tarkington’s best, ‘The Gentleman from Indiana,” and a very delightful book by Misses Somerville and Ross. “Further Experiences of an Irish R-.M.” A full set of tho Irish R-.M. books should be owned by all lovers of genuine humour. Charles Lever ,himself could not have bettered some of these amusing yarns.

In the February number of “The London Mercury,” the editor reprints two very striking sonnets, written in 1853, bv an American poet, . George Henry Boker, who was born in 18*3 and died in 1890. Ho was at one time U.S Ambassador to Turkey and Russia. One of the sonnets—both aro headed; “Sonnets to England’—runs as follows: —

Stand, thou great bulwark of •nan’s libof shelter, riaintr from the

wave, , . , Sole refuge to tho over-wearied brave. Who planned, arose, and battled to be

Fell, fl >indeterred, then «vdly turned to Saved the free spirit from their country's

grave, To rise again and animate the slave, When God shall ripen all thinga. Britons. Who guard tho snored outpost not in vain. Hold your proud peril! Freemen undeflled. Keep watch and ward! Let battlement bo piled , . „ . Around your cliffs; fleet* marshalled, till the 'main Sink under them; and it your courase

wane, . . , , . Through force or fraud, look westward to your child.

In Sir Rider Haggard’s forthcoming novel, “Wisdom’s Daughter,” the story of Ayesha, the lady who made a first and very dramatic appeararice in “She” is to be brought to an end. I wish Sir Rider Haggard would give the mythological ana ocault motifa a rest, and resurrect our old friend, Alan Quartermain, and, with him the famous Zulu and “bonnie fighter,” the giant Umslopagaas. , Oh, for another “King Solomon’s Mines.” Th© new Compton Mackenzie novel, which has been published in America, but the English edition of which hns yet to anpoar, is entitled “The Seven Ages of Woman.” First published, also, in the United States, is a new volume of short stories, "In Dark Places/’, by John Bussell, who wrote those grim, and in places, rather grimy stories of the South Seas and Malaya, “Where the Pavement Ends.” There is a “young Irish school oi writers which is, apparently, taking its inspiration from .Tames Joyce’s much discussed “Ulysses.” In his always amusing “Literary Lobby,” in_ the “N.Y. Literary Review.”. Mr. Chris. Morley recommends “Dublin Days, by L. A'. G. Strang, as “a good new book of poems.” “We like, for instance,” says Mr. Morley, THE BREWER’S MAN. Have I a wife? Bedam I have! But we was badly mated; . I hit her a ureat clout one mcht And now we’re separated. And momin’e coins to my worn I meets her on tno quay; „ "Good mornin’ to ye, mft-am, says 1, "To h-11 wid ye, says she. Well, well, the new “young Irish school of poetry” .certainly has the merit of simplicity at least. Dr. Morgan de Groot’s new novel, “Gladys” (Stanley Paul and Co.), is a cleverly-written story on a somewhat unpleasant theme. The matrimonial relations of the Hottercaulds, Orthorpes, and Castlewalls are disagreeably entangled by intrigues on .both the male and female sides, and the story ends with the heroine beof a man (.previous.v married), who has been her lover, it is all not a little sordid and repellent.

SOME RECENT FICTION “Claire de Lune.” Musital people and those who enjoy a well-told love story, should greatly enjoy “Claire de Lune,” by the author of “Marqueray’s Duel,” “Jenny Essen-, den,” and “Nightfall” (Constable and Co., per Australasian Publishing Co., and Messrs. Whitoombe and Tombs, and Ferguson and Osborne). A young composer, Charles Evelyn, a scion of an old county family, but totally obhvious, in his passion for music, of his duties as a landowner, marries a very iollv girl, as practical as she is pretty, Kitty Dent. The pair drift into marriage, as the result of a romantic incident in which both are involve*!, but after a time oomes discord, for Evelyn is so wedded to his musical ambitions that he neglects his wife, who eventually leaves him. The composer goes off to the South of France, and lives in an out-of-the-way spot in the Pyrenees, busying himself with his great symphony. Kitty s brother, George, a praotiqlal country '’ < W u " e ’> tracks Evelyn down, and tries had to effect a reconciliation. Unfortunately, for a time, there is a serious obstacle in the way of a- supposed liaison between the musician and a lady of Bohemian tastes, and a highly variegated past,, who follows him up and finds her way to his Pyrenean retreat. The situation is also complicated by the intrigues of a gentleman who is frantically enamoured of the composer’s wife. It is the charming Kitty herself who solves tho problem and clears the air, the of her recapture of her truant husband and of the dawn of real and permanent love between the pair being set forth in a quiet, delightful way. ‘ Clair de Lune” should make many new friends for its author. The local colour of the Pyrenean scenes is specially picturesque and delightful. £ • Stories of the Sea. •- ili

Two capital collections of short E^°r ' ies of the sea and seafaring reach me from Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton (per Whitcombs and Tombs). Both have as their author an American writer, Frederick William Wallaces who is rapidly coming into prominence on both sides of the Atlantic as one of tho greatest living novelists of th" sea. 'The titles are “Salt Seas and Sailormon” and “The Shack LockerTales of the Deep Sea Fishing Fleets. Here in these yarns of Mr. Mallace wo get the true twang of tho sea air. that real flavour of the romance pf maritime life which is-, to be found in so few writers of the present day. The two volumes carry the spirit of adventure and thrill with the reckless daring of the off-shore trawlers, who ply their hazardous trade along the rocky coast of the North Atlantic. There is not a dull page in either of these two fine books, which, now thev are available to New Zealand readers, should gain for their author as widespread a popularity in the Dominion as he enjoys in Canada and the "United States.

A Dancer’s Recollections. “The Dancer of Shamahka,” by Armean Ohanian (Jonathan Cape, per Whitcombe and Tombs), is a most original and fascinating book, purporting to be tho recollections of an Armenian dancer who first learned the art of Terpsichore at Shamahka, a town since destroyed by an earthquake. Driven from Shamahka, the author’s parents settled in Baku, where fhe horrors of anti-Christian pogroms succeeded those of the earthquake- The future dancer escaped with her life, and, marrying a mysterious Persian, lived for some tune in Teheran. Deserted by her husband, she became a professional dancer, so captivating the Shah by her art that he conferred upon her the order of the Shir and Khorshed. After her professional triumphs at the Persian Court she went on to Constantinople and Greece, and thenoe to Cairo, where she danced before the Khedive. European experiences followed, the author appearing on the stage in London, Paris, Brussels, and Berlin. Her recollections are specially interesting for the intimate pictures given by the author of harem life in Persia, and the many warmly coloured and fascinating descriptions of Oriental manners and customs generally. The dancer s story includes many highly dramatic, indeed quite tragic, incidents and is evidently the work of a highly cultured, exceptionally clever woman. M. Anatole France, who met her in Paris, contributes a brief but very appreciative preface. Shorter Notices.

It is a welcome change indeed to como actoss a novel of life in the Canadian Ncrth-wost in which ruffianly desperadoes. cunning gamblers, and rl<«oucowbovs are not prominent. Mr. xtote ert Stead, the author of “Neighbours. (Hodder and Stoughton), calls hm storv “a happy novel. It is not all happiness, the life of those who take up Canadian prairie land, but Mr. Stead story carries with it a fine lesson as -o the value of industry and sobmta « the settlers. He tells, it is true, of their hardships during the lopg • but he tells also of their and their loves, and on the whole the adjective “happy” is veryaptly aT| th ( >< l to the storv. New Zealaji<ie rs who to know how the Canadian pratno termer lives should read Mr. Stoat: s story“Salome’s Reputation.” by ,Mau d Millett (Mills and Boon), a brightlywritten story, the heroine of which, pretty girl, of suburban upbringing, aims at becoming a movie star and in tho furtherance of h?r ambitions becomes involved in a series of and at times dangerous adventures. The follies and vices of London s Bohemia—a Bohemia the sordid and vicious side of which is hero laid bare very realisticalli-have been so frequently described in recent fiction that the subject well deserves being given a rest bv novelists.