BOOKS and AUTHORS

Dominion, Volume 22, Issue 134, 2 March 1929, Page 29

BOOKS and AUTHORS

A Weekly Survey

By

“Liber”

Give a man a pipe he can smoke. Give a man a book he can read: And his home is bright with a calm delight Thovgh the room be poor indeed —James Thomson.

BOOKS OF THE DAY Music Hall Memories. Another book of theatrical reminiscence is that of Mr. Charles Coborn, whose real name was Colin Whitton McCallum, and who at one time was a well-known figure on the music hall stage, whereon he scored heavilj with a variety of humorous songs, describing his experiences in his book, “The Man who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo'” (Hutchinson and Co), A Scot by birth, he tells several stories about his countrymen, including one about an old Scots ferryman, who was asked his terms for taking a party over on the “Sawbath,” and replied: “I couldna’ satisfy ma conscience under fifteen shillings” To balance matters, one of his stories concerns an evening paper in a Yorkshire town, wherein “the writer gave a short account of a burial, during which the undertaker was seized with a fit, and fell dead by tlie side of the grave The English reporter concluded with the observation: “This melancholy event cast a gloom over the proceedings” Among his earlier experiences was during one of his most popular turns at Glasgow, when he found most of the “comml-tea” (as they pronounced it), too intoxicated to settle up ‘They hnd to pay me four guineas, and when I went to the eonnuittee-rooui there were two or three, very far gone, who wanted to dispute the terms. “I insisted that they were quite all right, and then, finding them still hard to bring to the point, I weut outside in the passage to lay wife, who was waiting for uie, and told her to come in after me and begin bullying me, saying, ‘How long are you going to keep me waiting here; Haven't you settled your business yet?' ‘‘When she did this, I replied, ‘Well my dear, these gentlemen seem so long making up their minds; it’s not my fault, I assure you.’ ’ , "It was intensely funny to see how quickly those committee men brought the matter to an end by paying up. They were all experienced married men, and a sort/of fellow-feeling with me evidently moved them.” There are some good yarns of the rather hard trials he had in his younger days, when, at pantomine time, he often hnd to take two or more parts iu the same piece. “Never,” lie says, “was my experience so trying as that of an actor of whom I once heard. ... On being east for several characters in a certain play he felt compelled to remonstrate with his manager. ‘See here, guv’nor.’ he said, ‘I don’t mind bein’ a butler and a detective in the first act, and playin' Count Farini and the chief huntsman in the second, but when I have to come on in the third act as the Count and strangle myself as the detective, it’s a bit thick!’”

At Liverpool he saw at Reynold’s Wax works an *extremely clever and well-trained troupe of performing fleas! It was a wonderfully attractive act when first introduced by the enterprising showman who had so patiently trained the insects. One yarn about the fleas’ tutor and showman was that he was one day explaining io a small party of ladies and gentlemen the methods by which itliey were trained. Suddenly, bowing to one of the ladies, he said: “Pardon me, madam,” and taking something carefully from her jacket, and contemplating it studiously for a moment or two, he as carefully replaced it, and added: “Excuse me, madam—l thought it was one of my artists!”

On the halls, Mr. Coborn often met during his day such music-hall and theatrical celebrities as the “Great Vance,” Arthur Roberts, Dan Leno, and Chirgwin, the “One-eyed Musical Kaffir,” and has a host of good yarns to tell. A most amusing budget of stageland gossip. (235.) “On the Stage.”

“On the Stage,” by George Arliss (John Murray) is the autobiography of one of the most popular London actors, who has been equally successful on' the American stage. Born in Bloomsbury, his father was a wellknown journalist, who started three local newspapers, which should have become valuable properties, but for his “lack of the faculty of sustained application.” But the good fellow—familiarly known as “The Duke of Bloomsbury”—was too fond of the Museum Tavern, frequented by the ghosts of the Museum Reading Room—men who did fine work for others who bought their work, which they passed off as their own. As a youth, young Arliss was a friend of the Farren Soutars (sons of Nelly Farren), with whom he figured iu amateur theatricals, eventually “walking on” as a super at the old Elephant and Castle, and working his way with provincial and fit-up companies, until he joined Mrs. Sarah Thorne’s stock company at Margate, and played in old English comedies. Thence be found his way into better work in London, playing in “The Gaiety Girl” and joining Mrs. Patrick Campbell’s “Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith” company. Playing, too, “Mr. and Mrs. Daventry,” “The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,” be went to America with Mrs. Campbell, and joined Mrs. Fiske, the well-known New York favourite, in several plays. Finally he made his first big hit as a star in “Disraeli,” scoring also as “Paganini,” and making, in London, a specially good hit in “The Green Goddess.” Mr. Arliss tells many interesting stories of his experiences. He has met many stage and other celebrities, and as be writes brightly and well, his book, which contains many interesting portraits, is well-worth reading. (19s. 6d.). The Enormous Room.

“The Enormous Room” (Jonathan Cape) may be accorded at once a very leading-position among books dealing with the war period. It is written by an American poet, who volunteered for ambulance service in France before America entered the war. Through a friend being foolish enough to express himself in a manner which was deemed treasonable by the French authorities, not only the writer of the letter, “B.” but Mr. Cummings found themselves confined for some months in a prison for suspects known as Camp de Tirage de la Ferte Mace in the department of the Orne. This book is the record of their incarceration and a terrible, in places quite revolting record, it is. For it is the record of how a variety of God’s creatures, some criminals, others immoral, libidinous outcasts, women and men, who could, one would think, save that Mr. Cummings is clearly a truthful chronicler, have never existed. Of many nations they were, filthy of habit, liars, thieves, the scum of humanity, but, yet as the author, having at bottom often some half-forgotten traits of real, decent humanity. Their gaolers are also drawn with a firm hand and one would perhaps refuse to accept them as being real personages, did we not remember that the war was responsible for not a few tyrants and fools being placed in positions of responsibility in other countries as well as France. As to this, one has only to read Robert Graves’s introduction, where he recounts pertain of his own

experiences with German interned men, women and boys, in England itself, and to remember what has been as fully established to have occurred to English people in Germany. It is a complete gallery of fools, rogues and hapless innocents, that we met with in this book, which, by the way, T. E. Shaw, better known as T. E. Lawrence, of “Revolt in the Desert” fame, once told Mr. Graves, “was one of the very best of the war books.” Cumming, as it poet, "of free verse,” does not mince his words. Amongst the inmates of the La Eerte camp were male and female, civil and military, criminal and non-erlminal, Dago, Dutchman, even Lascar. There was diversity enough, and few could have painted a more varying series of portraits than this ex-Harvard man, who sets down their weaknesses, their vices, follies, and stupidities—and the occasional sheer bestialities of some of them —so unsparingly. It is not pleasant reading, this book about that evil-smelling camp—an atmosphere expressed by the French expression “ca pue,” which fairly pervades whole chapters, but it is perhaps just as well to see how war breeds bestiality. It is true that Mr. Cummings spares us not one single ugly incident or picture, but there is no denying the force, the occasional grimness of the narrative. As for the character drawings, “Jean de Negre,” “The Fighting Sheeny,” “The Barber,” and so many others, translations of whose French names I prefer not to give here, they are often so revolting that one can scarcely describe them. But after all, there is no accounting for what human panic may be responsible in war time, and it must be remembered that if the French gaolers-in these prisons acted so as to render the satire, and worse, of an American, justifiable, at least it is fair to remember that during the war it is difficult to blame the French for having nerves. Had England undergone so great a strain would she have been blameless? And Americans themselves—well, we need not speculate as to their state of mind and consequent conduct. It is as well, better not. But “The Enormous Room” is a very powerful piece of writing. (10s.) A Children’s Classic.

Mr. John Lane has earned the gratitude of all who hold in special esteem the delightful books of Kenneth Grahame, whose “Golden Age,” “Dream Days,” and “Pagan Papers,” have so many admirers, by issuing a new edition of “The Golden Age” with illustrations and decorations by Ernest H. Shepherd. No better choice of an artist to. furnish the illustrations for this charming classic of childhood could have been made, for Mr. Shepherd, by his delightfully, fanciful and even graceful drawings made by him to accompany Mr. A. A. Milne’s books, had won a great reputation as the children’s artist. I cannot say that I specially admire his silhouette illustrations, but his pen and ink drawings to Mr. Kenneth Grahame’s classic, notably the larger drawings, facing page 72, 67, 41, 32, 20. and others, seem to me' to be real achievements In graceful draughtsmanship (10s. 6d.). Civilisation. Mr. Clive Bell, the author of “Civilisation” (Chatto'and Windus), has written several works on art subjects which have won the esteem of a large public, “Art, a Critical Essay,” “Landmarks in Nineteenth Century Painting,” “Since Cezanne,” etc. He now goes further afield, setting out to discover “what lies at the root of things called “Civilisation—“ls it Patriotism, .Religion, Clothes, Learning, Riches, Social Well-being, or What?” Mr. Bell is a witty and entertaining as well as a very thoughtful writer, and although there are passages in his book which may not win general approval, he succeeds throughout his long essay in engaging and retaining the interest of his readers. In Mr. Bell’s last chapter, “How to Make a- Civilisation,” for instance, he is, to my mind, unfair, and takes a wrong view of the importance of successful commercialism—but even where one most differs from him, the cogency and sparkle of his arguments are such as we get from few who discuss latter-day problems (10s. 6c!.). LIBER’S NOTEBOOK Pood —especially good food—keeps the body alive. The reading of books —especially good books—keeps the mind alive. John Galsworthy has gone to Rio de Janeiro on a two months’ trip. Meanwhile his “Swan Song,” the concluding volume of the second cycle of the famous “Forsyte Saga,” is among the five “best sellers” in England. “The Last Days of Pompeii.” Wonder what he died of?” said the man who looked at a row of cheap reprints in a bookseller’s window. “Some kind of an eruption, I believe,” said his friend. Two recent additions to John Lane’s “Week-End Library” are “Adventures in Bolivia” by C. H. Prodgers, with a capita] introduction by Cunninghame Graham, who compares the author, an English horse trainer, to the Elizabeth and Spanish travellers, and a “Second Book of Silent Friends,” by Richard King, who may fairly be accounted one of the present-day masters of the causerie. Mr. Lane is gaining the gratitude of many book lovers by issuing such tastefully produced reprints of copyright editions at so reasonable a price as 4s. 6d. The additions to his “Week-End Library” a > well worth watching. , The February issue of “Home” (“Art in Australia” Office) is a special “House and Garden’ Number, and as such'presents a fine selection of reproductions of exceedingly picturesque views of notable houses in Sydney and Melbourne. The society news • and theatrical sections also contain many fine photographs. In the cast of “Mr. Pickwick” at the H ymarket Theatre, London, is a granddaughter of Charles Dickens. Her stage name is Gipsy Raine. Early in the year there passed away Mr. Rudolph Charles Lehman, of a once well-known Victorian artist. Mr. Lehmann, who was a well-known member of the “Punch” staff from 1890 to 1919, was a famous oarsman. His speciality for “Punch” was his light verse, which included Mr. Punch’s “Prize Novels” and “The Billsbury Election.” He wrote “The Complete Oarsman” and “Rowing” in the Isthmian Library, which are standard works on rowing. Mr. Lehmann was educated at Cambridge University, and from 1906 to 1911 was a member ,o£

Parliament. His daughter was the wife of Barry Pain, who died last year. It is not surprising (says a writer in “Cornhill Magazine”) to the rare render of Disraeli’s "Endymion” of to-day to hear that Longmans did not realise the £lO,OOO they gave for it by the first edition m the orthodox three volumes, yet as soon as he condescended to cheapen it, it became a best-seller. In America it was devoured, and duly furnished with keys giving the titles of all the aristocratic originals of its characters.

Sir Henry Irviug’h mannerisms were not too well liked iu Loudon, says Miss Ellaline Terries in her autobiography (just published by Cassell), until Mr. J. M. Levy, founder of the “Daily Telegraph,” saw him in “The Bells." “He made straightway for the ‘Daily Telegraph - office, and delivered himself of the following to Sir John'Le Sage, a king of editors. ‘Le Sage,' he said, ‘I have seen a great actor at the Lyceum to-night. Please go and write about him. The public must be made to understand that he is a really great actor!’ The ‘Telegraph’ championed him and the tide turned."

“Byron and Scott both set out with the ilea that to make money by literature was beneath the dignity of a great gentleman, but as time went on they both tacitly abandoned this view- With these great men In view we, the smaller fry who write or publish or sell books ii. these days, may honestly confess that we do it to gain a livelihood.” The late Sir John Murray. They were talking about diet problems, and the business man suddenly asked the literary man, who took" himself very seriously, whether he had ever tried writing on an empty stomach. “My dear, sir,” replied the writer, “I am an author, not a tattoo artist.” SOME RECENT FICTION Mr. Cabell’s Latest. Mr. James Branch Cabell’s latest, book, “Gallantry,” the secondary title of which is “Dizain des Dotes Galantes” (John Lane), is prefaced by a rather affected introduction by the American poet, Louis Vntermeyer, and has on its “jacket” a short commendation by Hugh Walpole. In the past Mr. Cabell, in “Jurgen” and other stories, has gone to early mediaeval times for the subjects and characters of his highly fantastical tales. In England, in a different way, it is true, the late Maurice Hawlett took his readers back to Renaissance days. In “Gallantry” Mr. Cabell gives us, as Mr. Walpole says, “a string of stories about the Jacobean period in England and France.” Here, in such stories as “Simon’s Hour,” “Heart of Gold,” and “The Ducal Audience,” the author’s rich gift of fanciful imagination finds full scope, and there is no denying the effective gusto with which it is expressed. In “The Second April” we are transported to the Poictesme of Mr. Cabell’s earlier bdoks, and here the author is perhaps best at home. To many readers Cabell’s stories may be an acquired taste, but once acquired it/cannot fail to delight. Personally I like Mr. Cabell when he holds his fancy In tighter rein. The Lady Allonby of “Simon’s Hour” is less fantastic a figure, and life-like enough to have almost had a Thackeray origin. But there is not a dull story in the whole “dizain,” but why Mr. Cabell should so constantly employ the French term savours to me of that affectation too often found in his work.

/The Way of Lucifer. To place the Evil One as a living personage in a story of present-day life, is always a rather risky experiment, and it can scarcely be said that Mr. Andrew Clark, the author of “The Way of Lucifer” (John Lane) is altogether successful. But there is something decidedly uncanny about his chief figure. Lucien Nation, whose birth is shrouded in weird mystery. Years ago the late Herman Merivale, in his “Fawcett of Balliol,” presented a' Satanic figure as an Oxford undergraduate. but the story, I think, is long out of print. Lucien Nation figures in West End gambling society, and at Monte Carlo, where he takes a quite demoniacal pleasure in bringing about the ruin of some of his companions. Towards the close of the

book, where he is morally responsible for the death of a young Corsican fisherman, and later makes an unsuccessful attempt to seduce a young American lady, this latter-day devil is less convincing, even as a fictional character, But, like the proverbial curate’s egg, Mr. Clark’s story is “good in parts.” and on the whole is not without promise as a first novel. Sundry Stories.

Lady Cvnthia Asquith’s new book, "The 'Funny Bone” (Jnrrold’s) is a collection of new humorous stories by a number of popular authors, including Compton MacKenzie, P. G. Wodehouse. E. E. Benson, G. A. Birmingham, Denis MacKhil, J. Storer Clouston and others. They vary as to quality, but some are very good. The scene of Helen M. Fairley’s “Greater Freedom” (Methuen) is the Eastern Mediterranean, the Islands of the lonian Sea. Here the authoress makes us acquainted with a simpleminded folk moved by strong hunuin passions, in a strongly told story which has a picturesque background. Mr. J. G. Fletcher, the author of the twenty or so short Stories, mainly with a “detective” interest, grouped together under the title “Behind the Monocle” (Jarrolds), has apparently gathered together a number of his contributions to popular magazines. The racing story, “A Forty to One Chance” and the title yarn, are perhaps the best, but the blue pencil might have been used with advantage on some of the others.