The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVLI, Issue 10, 6 September 1911, Page 46

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA.

BOOKSHELF FEUILLETON

Hebert Louis Stevenson and George Bernard Shaw. THERE is probably no modern writer, whose utterances, spoken and written, provoke such extravagant eulogy or adverse criticism. as those of Mr. George Bernard Shaw. For. curiously enough, one either admires Mr. Shaw immensely or dislikes him intensely, which, of course, speaks volumes for his powers as a reflector ami a moulder ol modern thought and feeling. Fresh from a remarkably good rendition of that splendidly written (oinedy <>t his that bears the enigmatic title of “You Never Can Tell.” and afourth perusal vf a letter written by R. L. Stevenson, so long ago as 1887 or 1888, to Mr. William Archer, the eminent writer and critic, regarding G.B.S.'s “Cashel Byron's Profession,” which Mr. Archer had sent to Stevenson. we reviewed a past, rather Ivarsh judgment of Shaw, feeling that a writer who could so splendidly approximate the real good that lay beneath the repulsive exterior of a Crampton, and who could divine the single-heartedness ami the unselfishness of a William Bohun (alias Boon). an 1 endowed with all the attendant clearness of vision that bad gone to the making of “)ou Never ( an Tell.* must be a man. who. if he has satirically and mercilessly laid bare the hollow shams, conventions and pretensions on which society is based, at lea-t comprehends the inherent generosity and self-sacri-fice that lies deep down in the heart ami soul of most men. So interested in deed have we been in this letter written nearly a-quarter of a century ago. when Shaw wa<s just coming into prominence, that we have ventured to give our readers the letter intact. Here it is: — Saranac Lake. Winter. 1887-88.- My dear Archer. What am I to say? I have read your friend’s book with singular relish. If he has written any other, I leg you will let me see it: and if he has not. 1 beg him to lose no time in supplying the deficiency. It is full of promise; but 1 should like to know his age. There are things in it that are very clever, to which T attach small importance: it is the shape of the age. Ami there are passages, particularly the rally in the presence of the Zulu King, that show genuine ami remarkable narrative Valent a talent that few will have the wit to .understand, a talent of strength, spirit, capacity, and sufficient self -acrifire. which last is the chief point in a narrator.”

Shaw Described As a Delirious Visionary. I'he second part of the letter is devoted to Stevenson's summary of “Cashel Byron’s Profession” as a whole: “As a whole,” continues Stevenson, “it is, of course, a fever dream of the most feverish. Over Bashville the footman 1 howled with derision and delight: I dote on Bashville—L could read him for ever: de Bashville je suis le fervent — there is only one Bashville, ami I am his devoted slave: Bashville est magnilique, mais il n’est guere possible. He is the note of the book. It is all mad, mad and deliriously delightful; the author has a taste of chivalry like Sir Walter Scott’s or Dumas', and then he daubs in little bits of socialism: he soars away on the wings of the romantic griffon—even the griffon, as he cleaves air. shouting with laughter at the nature of the quest—and I believe in his heart he thinks he is labouring in a quarry of solid granite realism. It is this that makes me —- the most hardened adviser now extant—stand back ami hold my peace. Tf Mr. Shaw is below five-and-twenty. let him go his path: if he is thirty. he had best be told that he is a romantic, ami pursue romance with his eyes open; or perhaps he knows it: God knows! My brain is softened. -It is horrid fun. Ail I ask is more of it. Thank you for the pleasure you gave us. am] tell me more ot the inimitable author, i I say. Archer, my God. what women!) Yours very truly. Robert Louis Stevenson.” An Interesting Analysis of Shaw's Art. In a. postscript to the above. Stevenson dissects Shaw’s art. componently, as follows:—One part. Charles Reade: one part. Henry James, or some kindred author, badly assimilated: halfpart. Disraeli (perhaps unconscious); one ami a-half parts, struggling, overlaid original talent; one part blooming gaseous folly. That is the equation as it stands. What it may be. I don't know, nor any other man. Vixere fortes —0 let him remember that —let him beware of his damned century; his gifts of insane chivalry and animated narration are just those that might be slain ami thrown out like an untimely birth by the Daemon of the epoch. And if he only knew how I adored the chivalry! Baskerville! —0 Baskerville! J’en chortle (which is fairly polyglot). This letter ami postscript shows clearly that Shaw’s work must have moved him profoundly, presaging as it did the coining signs of the times. In a later letter to William Archer we find rhe following postscript:—“Tell Shaw to hurry up: I want another.

A Coming Great Australian Novelist. c i In the current number of the Melbourne “Book-lover,” Mr. Champion, its versatile editor and proprietor, gives a very interesting sketch uf Mr. Alfred Buchanan's career, together with a prediction of his coming fa<ie as a frontrank novelist. Mr. Buchanan will be, perhaps, best remembered as the author of “The Bubble Reputation.’* Should Mr. Champion’s prediction be verified, there will be, as in Mr. Marriott Watson's case. eoiLsiderablv discussion as to whether this Dominion or Australia shall have the privilege of claiming him

as one of her distinguished sons. Mr. Buchanan was born in Southampton, England, in September. 187?, at the early age of two he was brought to Canterbury, New Zealand. Tie went through the New Zealand University, winning the Junior ami Sensor Scholarships in 1891 and 1894 respectively, ami also won the Bowen prize for English. At 20 he graduated as 8.A.. and tw’o years later he went to Australia, and joined the staff of the Sydney “Morning Herald.” In 1898 he joined -“The Age,” with which he has been connected ever since, with the exception of four years, which he spent in Perth. W.A. His latest and fourth work. “Where Day Begins” (John Ousely. London, 5/6)' is a book that should on no account be missed. Apropos Australasian Literature. Mr. Champion has, we think, but voiced the opinion of many lovers and critics of literature Tn Australasia, in the following excerpt, which we have taken from his journal:—“lt is,” he says, “perhaps the misfortune or literature that in Australia the writer rias to get his living, anil there are but two ways open to liim —the life of the ‘free lance, ’ which ends necessarily in long ''leevers ami a handsome memorial: ami the ordinary journalist's work; than whicn nothing can be more corroding to the finer self. If you want a proof of this statement, look around you! How many men are there who can and have written books? Donald Macdonald* (of ‘The Argus'). Ambrose Pratt (of ‘The Age’), Edward Dyson (of ‘Punch’), anrt one or two on the Parliamentary ‘Hansard’ staff —they have shown a certain aptitude. ami then got swallowed up in the coil of things.” “When Day Begins.** followed by a still better novel, which Mr. Champion evidently thinks Mr Buchanan is equal to writing, would place that author on a pinnacle attained by few Australian writers of fiction, for in this return to the province. of fiction Mr. Buchanan has shown “that he has the power of drawing a dramatic story out of the Australia of to-day. without either bushrangers or gold-diggers figuring in it.” A New Corelli Novel. We state candidly that we are no admirer of Miss Corelli's art. But many readers and writers do admire Miss

Corelli’s novels very much, and a thinker and scholar as profound as the late William Ewart Gladstone confessed himself delighted and impressed by “A Romance o. Two Worlds.” In the early autumn Methuen and Co. are going to publish a, “New Romance,” by Miss Corelli, entitled “Life Everlasting.” The advance demand for this new novel is tremendous, <it is said. ‘‘Life Everlasting” deals -with the beeiilt and unseen. It will be remembered that Miss. Corelli started her career with a psychic novel, namely, the novel afore-mentioned. The present work is also psychic, and deals with the love story of a mortal and an immortal. There are also, we are told, some new and startling suggestions on the cause of life and death. The latest discoveries in science have been used to elucidate the theories the author has advanced, and altogether, •considering the fascination of the subject, the book should sell here like hot cakes. Some Other Methuen Autumn Publications. Mr Methuen has written a short book bn the reform of the Peers. It is entitled: “A Simple Plan for a New House of Lords,” and is published at 2/ by Messrs. Methuen. Mr Methuen’s pamphlets on the Boer War ami the fiscal controversy were very successful. “The Crooked Way,” by Mr William Le Quex, was added to this firm's “Novelist” series on July 13. On the 27th of the same month an exciting romance of the wilder North America of to-day, entitled “Two on the Trail.” was issued by this firm. It is an exciting account of a hus-band-hunt which ends in the saving of a life. What Constitutes Plagiarism. A lady correspondent writing to a Mi lbourne literary journal apropos ot* an appreciation of Mr John Masefield, whi i appeared in that paper, complains as follows: —“Your contributor charges Mr Noyes with borrowing the idea of ‘Apes and Ivory, Skulls and Roses,’ in ‘Junks of Old Hong Kong/ from Masefield’s poem ‘Cargoes.’” Our readers wiil doubtless remember this latter poem, as it is a favourite one of ours in its. class from which we quote when we wish to instance an example of perfect word painting. Well, the Book-Lover’s correspondent says that Masefield borrowed “ivory and apes and peacocks” from the first Book of Kings, chapter ten, an I twenty-second verse, which states that “Once in three years came the navy of Kharshish, bringing gobi and silver, ivory, apes ami peacocks.” It is quite possible in the near future that some other extensive reader will find the source of the inspiration of “Stately Spanish Galleon,” and “Dirty British Coaster?” etc. But it won’t detract in the least from the value of the poem as a gem of an example of perfect rhythm, masterly vigour, and absolutely correct local colour. Just where real plagiarism begins, it is difficult to define, since for every theme there must be inspiration, and there is nothing new under the sun, least of all themes that have not in some shape or form been improved or elaborated upon before. There as a glory ot Mr Alfred Noyes, and there is a glory of Air John Masefield. And there is glory enough for each in ther separate orbi In this double suggestion of plagiaris.n, it is interesting to read what R. <-• Stevenson says about the inspiration tmit prompted Jiirn to write “Treasure I" land,” the said inspiration it was afterwards suggested, being stolen fro>n various works of fiction. Here it is below : — “ Treasure Island. ’ “On a chill September morning,’ sa 1 Stevenson, “by the cheek of a brisk fire, and the rain drumming on all the windows, 1 began ‘The Sea Cook,’ for that was the original title of ‘Treasure island.’ I have begun (and finished) & number of other books, but I cannot remember to have sat down to one of them with more complacency. It is not to be wondered at, for stolen waters are proverbially sweet. lam now upon a painful chapter. No doubt the parrot once belonged to Robinson Crusoe. No doubt the skeleton is conveyed from Poe. think little of these, they are trilby and details; ami no man can ho[)C to a monopoly of skeletons or make a coiner in talking birds. The stockade, am told, is from ‘Masterman Ready. ' may be, I care not a jot. These usefu writers had fulfilled the poet's saying’‘departing, they had left behind footprints on the sands of time.’ Foo--prints which perhaps another —and I was the other! It is my debt to Washington Irving that exercises my conscience, ani justly so, for 1 believe that plagiary®

was rarely carried farther. I chanced to pick- np the ‘Tales -?f a Traveller* Bonn* years ago with a V*ew to an anthol<*gy of prose narrative, and the book Hew up and struck me: Billy Bones, his chest, the company in the parlour, th? whole inner spirit, and a good deal of tin- material detail of my first chapters all wore there, all the property of Washington Irving. But 1 had no guess of it then, as I sat writing by the fireside in what seemed the springtides of a somewh ’t }M‘destrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, after lurch, as I read aloud my morning's work to the family. It seemed to me original as sin; it seemed to belong to mo like my right eye.”—R. ] Stevenson, in “The Art of Writing.” The Irish Tangle. The Rev. Robert IJ. Murray, Litt. D. has written, and Macmillan’s have pul>lished, at 10/ net, a book entitled “ Revolutionary Ireland and Its Settlement.” 'I he period covered by Dr. Murray isbrief if pregnant, viz., the period which < lapsed between 1088-1714. during which time the conflict'between William 111. and da lies 11. was being waged on what is, now Known as the “ Irish question.” 'I lie outcome of that conflict is, thinks Dr. Murray, part of the complicated fabric of modern Irish politics. The question frequently raised by Dr. Murray in the book, says a writer in “ The Literary World,’’ is, whether difference of race or of religions, or both combined, is behind this complexus of Anglo-Irish relationship. and he gives material upon ■which may bo founded some understanding of the stubborn resistance Ireland Las always offered to British rule. Irish self-government, as this book makes clear, is more than a hope and sentiment : it is a memory and a tradition. In the quarter of a century covered by this history, Ireland was the cockpit in which Ino battle between liberty and despotism, between Gallicanism and Vaticanism was fought, and the Revolution in Ireland must be viewed in tho light of contemporary international politic-. The European schemes, of Louis NIV. reacted upon tin* domestic history of Ireland, and for a time at least., she wa- under the'influence of the dipl mnatic and military movements created by phh rivalry of the Grand Monarch and William 111. Enough has been quoted to show the trend of this very able work on the “ Irish Tangle,” and which we

commend to those interested in Home Rule and Irish history in general. Books to Read. New fiction well worth the reading is “ Book of a Bachelor ” and “Magic of the Hill,” by Duncan Schwann; “The Broken Phial,” by Percy White; “ Exchange of Souls,” by Barry Pain; “Mrs. Maxon Protests,” by Anthony Hope; and “ Adventures of a Modest Young Man,” by Robert Chambers. “ Myrtle Reed ’’ —Obit. August 17, 1911. “ Myrtle Reed,” (McCullough) according to a lajndon cable, dated August 18, died the day before that date from “an overdose of sleeping powder.” It has been said so often that it has come to l»e a generally-accepted truth, that no really happy woman ever took to the writing of sentimental fiction. In Myrtle Reed's case she has left documentary proof reflecting upon her husband’s illtreatment of her. No one who has tho gift of reading between lines could have come to any conclusion other than that “ Lavender and Old Lace,” and kindred novels, were written by a woman at the point of heart-break. For the excessive sentimentality of Myrtle Reed’s little books we never cared. But there was a certain old world daintiness about them that always pleaded and satisfied our fastidious senses. And her ideals of love and duty were beyond cavil. We regret exceeding the mailmen of her death, as will countless readers to whom Myrtle Reed was ever the last word in sentimental prose, and whose pages fairly exuded dainty old-world scents of lavender, lads’ love, lilac and alas, rosemary and rue. Our Modern Ways. “Nothing on earth is quite so easy to understand as what is popularly called Science. The only way that men have been able to make it at all difficult is by inventing a very frantic terminology —which they habitually mispronounce—and by carefully suppressing all habit of simple and lucid speech.” “Education for the child means a march into tho unknown. He is told that he has to do quadratic equations, but nobody ever dreams of tolling him why. lie has to know the name of the capital of Portugal. Tie has, in extreme cases,

to know the names of the kings of Israel and Judah. The patience of the child is remarkable. He really does consent to lumber up his mind with all this nonsense, merely because papa, or the governess, or the schoolmaster wishes him to do it.”—“An Exchange of Souls,” by Barry Pain. Eveleigh Nash. 2/. The Oriental Attitude. “Prince Li Hung Chang was escorted to Wall-street, and in a certain broker’s office he was shown a ‘ticker’ machine rolling off the prices of stocks. It was expected by his host that he would be astonished, if not bewildered, at these financial heart beats made visible on a strip of paper. When asked what he thought of it he replied» T think I should prefer to play in a game where I can see the cards shuffled.”—“The West in the East, from an American Point of View,” by Price Collier. Duckworth and Co. 7/6 net. One Hundred Years Hence. A somewhat unusual case will shortly engage the attention of the courts. Last year the Republic of Nicaragua sold the entire kinematograph rights in its wars to a well-known New York firm. This firm is now suing the Republic for heavy damages because in a recent Revolution, it is alleged, the Government forces, in direct contravention of the agreement, began a battle before the kinematograph apparatus was ready.”—“loo Years Hence,” by Walter Emanuel. Nash. 1/ net. Haw to Write a Comedy. “Comedy is the manufacture of a misunderstanding. Having manufactured it, you place its culmination at the end of the last act but one, which is the point at which the manufacture of the play begins. Then you make your first act out of the necessary introduction of the characters to the audience, after elaborate explanations, mostly conducted by servants, solicitors, and other lowlife personages (the principals must all bo dukes and colonels and millionaires), of how the misunderstanding is going to come about. Your last act consists, of course, of clearing up the misunderstanding, and generally getting the audience out of the theatre as best you can.’’ “The Doctor's Dilemma,” etc., by Bernard Shaw. Constable. 6/.

A Contest of Wits. “Goethe was so often intruded upon by the curious in his house in Weimar that one day, made impatient by the determination of an unknown Englishman to force an entrance, lie suddenly ordered his servant <o show him in. The Englishman entered. Goethe planted himself erect in the centre of the room, his arms crossed, his eyes on the ceiling, motionless like a statue. Surprised for the moment, the stranger soon comprehended the situation, and, without being in the »east disconcerted, he put on his glasses, walked slowly around Goethe, inspected him from head to foot, and went out.”—"Wagner at Home,” from the.Frencfi of Judith Gautier, by Effie Dunreith Massie. Lane. A Burlesque Heroine. “Gertrude cherished the memory of her parents. On her breast the girl wore a locket in which was enshrined a miniature of her mother, while down her neck inside .at The back hung a daguerreotype of her father. She carried a portrait of her grandmother up her sleeve, and had pictures of her cousins tucked inside her boot, while beneath her —but enough, quite enough. From her earliest infancy Gertrude had been brought up by her aunt. Her aunt had carefully instructed her in Christian principles. She had also taught her Mohammed ism to make sure.”—• “Nonsense Novels,” by Stephen Leacock. Our Interesting Lower Class. “In England, while good form restrains and levels the Universities and the Army, the poor people are the most motley and amusing creatures in the world, full of humorous affectations and prejudices and twists of irony. Frenchmen tend to be alike, because they are all soldiers; Prussians because they are all something else, probably policemen; even Americans are all something, though it is not easy to say what it is; it goes with hawk-like eyes and an irrational eagerness. Perhaps It is savages. But two English cabmen will be as grotesquely different as Mr. Weller and Mr. Wegg.”—“Appreciations and Criticisms of the Works of Charles Dickens,” by G. K. Chesterton. Dent. 7/6 net.