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he has written up 'An Hour with Léon Daudet.'

One must be in the closest touch with modern France to appreciate the significance of Daudet. His Royalist views, which he airs daily in the Action Française, have made him innumerable enemies; yet his vigorous style has attracted a cultivated audience. His friend and fellow editor, Charles Maurras, enjoys much the same vogue in highbrow circles. The two men correspond in a vague way to the Mencken and Nathan partnership in this country, the difference being that both Daudet and Maurras are highly educated and both exert real political power. They remain, however, professional bad boys with an intellectual following.

When M. Daudet agreed to sit for one of the Lefèvre 'Hours' there was much pricking of literary ears, and the interviewer felt it necessary to explain himself at some length before disclosing what was said. The burden of M. Daudet's song was that the novel is the most perfect vehicle of literary expression for people of this generation. He has long been an admirer of Proust, but his latest enthusiasm is Georges Bernanos, author of Sous le soleil de Satan, whose success is said to be due in part to Roman Catholic support. The fact that M. Daudet dwelt so glowingly on a book that is looked upon with considerable favor at Rome may have political as well as literary significance.

But try as he would to keep off controversial subjects, M. Daudet was soon berating democracy and indulging his love of vituperation. He feels that democracy breeds envy, and that this 'miserable envy' has made itself acutely felt in the case of M. Bernanos. "The success of M. Bernanos,' trumpeted M. Daudet, 'gave me enormous pleasure, but my joy was increased tenfold, a hundredfold even, when I thought of

the critics, their faces pale with envy, and lined with the wrinkles of wisdom, Eulogy, blame, and perfidious learned restrictions were brought into play in order that Sous le soleil de Satan might look like any ordinary book, the kind that blossoms in tens or twenties when the weather's fine."

M. Daudet continued to assail the critics, saying that they 'cannot and will not discover important books, heavy with the past, or full of significance for the future.' Their trouble is easily diagnosed sound criticism demands a delicate æsthetic sense and profound culture. Then, with a sweep of the arm worthy of a New York logroller, M. Daudet indicated the only living Frenchman with the necessary qualifications - his own collaborator, Charles Maurras.

Death of Rilke

ALTHOUGH there was some doubt as to his nationality when he was alive, Rainer Maria Rilke has been labeled 'German' now that he is dead. No longer ago than last August he was interviewed in the Nouvelles Littéraires as Le Plus Grand Poète de l'Autriche, on the strength of his having been born in Prague when it was still part of Austria. The fact that he first wrote German was, however, decisive, and the Literarische Welt, as well as the Nouvelles Littéraires, praises the way this man, who was neither Gaul nor Teuton, helped to bring two hostile nations together.

In our September 18 issue we referred to Rilke's adoption of the French tongue, and of his friendships with Rodin and Gide, and with Paul Valéry, whose work he has translated into German. When he died his friends in Paris let themselves go completely. There never had been such a man, it seemed. Berlin was not far behind. If

for he was fiftythey forgave him - they forgave him

the writing men of Germany remembered that he had adopted foreign speech late in life, two when he died, freely; in fact, they even rather approved of the change.

Rilke was a small, wiry little fellow, modest and sensitive. 'A modern Saint Francis' the French called him; but the Germans preferred to dwell on his contempt for political boundaries and his idealistic message to the youth of Europe. Here is a snatch from one of his French verses:

Puisque tout passe, faisons
La melodie passagère;
Celle qui nous désaltère

Aura de nous raison.

The following German stanza was also quoted with approval and recommended to the men of the new generation to whom it was addressed, years ago:

Knaben, o werft den Mut
Nicht in die Schnelligkeit,
Nicht in den Flugversuch.
Alles ist ausgeruht:
Dunkel und Helligkeit,
Blume und Buch.

The Kaiser's Pet Englishman IN announcing the death of Houston Stewart Chamberlain, 'the Kaiser's pet Englishman,' the Morning Post remarked that he 'was of a type which is happily rare.' Born in 1855, and educated in England, this misguided man took up with the Germans early in life, and by 1899 had written his famous Grundlagen des Neunzehnten Jahrhunderts, which Wilhelm II used to read aloud to his family. The book is devoted to glorifying Teutonic civilization, which, according to the author, includes Anglo-Saxons, Celts, Frenchmen, and even Russians. For all his English blood and background, Herr Chamberlain had advanced a thesis

more sweeping than anything the Germans themselves ever turned out. To cap the climax, he married Richard Wagner's daughter, and his adoption of German citizenship in 1916 and the Iron Cross followed as a matter of

course.

When the war broke loose, so did Chamberlain. In a pamphlet entitled Who Is to Blame for the War? he represented the Germans as guiltless and the English as having drawn the sword to secure commercial gains, though he sometimes felt that the French were even worse. In later essays he assured his German friends that their English foes were cowards on land and sea. He announced that the British Empire was the product of piracy and diabolic diplomacy, and that England had always played off one European nation against another. These effusions helped to stir the fighting blood of Britain when they were translated and published under the title, Ravings of a Renegade.

Even the Germans finally turned on their adopted countryman. In 1918 he was fined for saying that the Frankfurter Zeitung had advocated an unGerman policy; and the Socialist press castigated him for urging victorious Germany to sweep parliamentary institutions off the face of the earth. The last that was heard of Herr Chamberlain was his attempt to secure a share in the estate of his uncle, General Sir Crawford T. Chamberlain, in 1921. His claim was refused because by becoming a German citizen during the war he was alleged to have committed a 'crime against the laws of his country.'

Knocking the Movies

JEALOUSY and incapacity move Englishmen and educators alike to attack that marvelous modern art, the motion picture, whenever occasion offers. It was therefore to be expected that Mr.

R. F. Cholmeley, president of the Incorporated Association of Head Masters of English Secondary Schools, should do himself proud in his abuse of the cinema. 'I should not like to be a shareholder in Hollywood on the Day of Judgment,' announced this upright man to his fellow members omitting, significantly enough, to say how he would feel on the same subject on the Day of Dividends. Mr. Cholmeley feels as strongly as he does because the 'victims' of the movies are 'the immature minds of children and primitive races.' The aim of the motion picture producer, he continued, is 'to attract the largest possible number of the silliest people in their silliest moments' which sounds suspiciously like the greatest happiness of the greatest number, although Mr. Cholmeley did not bring that subject up. At one point in his philippic he recalled an inquiry initiated years ago by the Home Office to discover the effect of the flicker of pictures on the growing eye. When he said that this alone might prove that children below a certain age should never go to the pictures at all, cheers broke out, and until this theory is laid to rest no one should so much as mention the adaption of the cinema to educational ends. Here is Mr. Cholmeley's measured judgment of the movies: 'At their best they are always in danger of the temptation to lower their standards in order to extend their market, and at their worst they are the enemies of the human race.'

Snubbing the Hohenzollerns Two recent occurrences in Berlin have shocked the supporters of the Hohenzollerns. For one thing, the Stadt Theater has been putting on Hamlet in modern dress - a harmless enough performance, one might imagine, only the

royal costumes are an exact duplicate of those worn by the last royal inhabitants of Potsdam. Claudius recalls William II, and Gertrude is not unlike the late Empress. Bethmann-Hollweg is identified with Polonius, and the Crown Prince, naturally, with Hamlet himself. The fact that the satire is obviously deliberate has aroused the fury of the monarchists, but the play has proved so successful in its new guise that the Government refuses to stop it. One can't please everybody, and, after all, if Germany is a republic monarchists are bound to find life very trying.

The other outrage also concerns the Crown Prince. It seems that in Berlin, as in many other big cities, students may avail themselves of cut-rate car fares provided they can prove that their families are poor. Being hard pressed for pocket money, Prince Louis Ferdinand, second son of the Crown Prince, thought he would try to take advantage of this reduction, and applied for the ticket that would entitle him to it. The authorities, however, remembered that in the recent six-day bicycle races in Berlin the young man's father had provided handsome stakes for the riders in special sprints, and they determined that if he could afford to pay other people to ride bicycles for his amusement he ought to be able to supply his son with enough car fare.

Without Rime or Reason

ENGLISH spelling and pronunciation have ever been the despair of the foreigner, eager to learn the tongue of Shakespeare, Shaw, and Calvin Coolidge. Puzzled immigrants and angry professors from the West have warped the King's English into an improved and simplified American version, but sound British subjects stick to the old

styles, and even glory in them. There is no gainsaying the fact that the eccentricities of our language have their uses, especially to ingenious newspaper editors in search of novelty. The London Observer, for instance, has been conducting a competition for the best visual rimes that can be worked into a poem. The point was to get words that looked as if they rimed but did n't. The favorite ending was 'ough,' on which every possible change was rung. Someone in Glasgow described

Miss Chloe

Who looked a monument of woe.

The winner of the competition was entitled 'The Dictator Speaks.' This is the way it goes:

I am not great through eating meat,
Nor yet am I a toper;

I loathe beef-steak and bubble-and-squeak,
I think them most improper.

I do not care for caviare,

It does not make me kinder; Such things are foul, they stain my soul, Magniloquence they hinder.

So I always dine on a tangerine,

Ground small on a nutmeg-grater; And, once a year, a William pear, Washed down in a pint of water.

This couplet is also good:

A man illiterate, however pious,
Preaching to dons would surely feel anxious.

Other rimes included 'veto' and 'thereto,' 'mould' and 'should,'' drier' and 'pier,'' danger' and 'anger.' These lugubrious lines from Golders Green are as ingenious as any:

I've wandered o'er the lea,

Seeking a panacea

For one who is become

Disease's epitome;

Who has bubonic plague,
Chilblains, a cough, and ague,
While chronic diabetes
His tragic case completes.

Woeful Wu

WU PEI-FU, fallen marshal and ex-war lord of Central China, has turned in his hour of defeat to writing verse. Educated in the classical school, he is better equipped for this task than some grizzled warriors we can think of, and his repentant thoughts would do credit to a civilian. It appears that the blood of a dying soldier stained the robes of the Marshal in one of his last battles, and that the Marshal, out of respect to the man's loyalty, would not have the stain removed. This is the way he feels about the whole episode:

The cold wind from the West blows my old battle-garment;

To look upon the bloodstain on my coat brings sorrow to my heart.

My only possessions are a loyal heart and brave soul;

These will last with me forever despite the ice and snow about me now.

A mean-spirited critic well posted on events of the day objected that Wu's possessions when the poem was written included, not only a loyal heart and a brave soul, but one hundred thousand American dollars, lent by the amiable Chang Tso-lin. It seems a little hard, however, if people with money in the bank are to be forbidden to declare that this is not the best of all possible worlds.

Another of Wu's poems, written to his wife, expresses the same brand of Celestial Weltschmerz. On this occasion he expatiates on the tenderly poetic theme of why he still wears an antiquated form of cotton underclothes:

The thief has not been slain;
The people have not been saved.
Old people will go on together
Fighting the cold and starvation.

Daily we wear the horse-skin and the skin of the bull;

But what does it matter?

Only a good and bright soul can bring real peace.

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Representatives at Geneva are free to vote either in French or in English, and the Englishspeaking element have done their best to popularize their own language. But at a recent session, when Sir Austen Chamberlain was called upon for his opinion, he turned with a smile toward Briand and said, 'Oui.' He was greeted by laughter and applause as Briand replied, 'Merci pour la France.' - Cyrano

Every morning Princess Ileana of Rumania walks down the Kiseleff Boulevard in Bucharest wearing the latest New York styles. These fashions, however, have provoked severe criticisms in Rumanian society, which is scandalized by the Princess's clothes. Bucharest, which boasts of being the Paris of the Balkans, is clearly able to distinguish the styles of the Rue de la Paix from the clothes that are worn on the most fashionable streets of the American metropolis.

- L'Opinion

There is an amazing prosperity in the United States, and there seems no particular reason why it should stop. - Sir Alfred Mond

A Russian refugee named Zueff appeared at the Police Ambulatory in Harbin minus an ear, but carrying the article in question tied up in a handkerchief. He stated that he had paid a visit to his friend Dobrinin on the occasion of the latter's birthday anniversary. The quantity

of vodka consumed he could only surmise, but he insisted, with considerable evidence to support his statement, that it was not inconsiderable. The topics discussed were many and varied, but finally they turned to politics. Conversation became heated, and the host, finding himself moved beyond the power of words, suddenly bit his guest's ear off. - Peking Leader

Master George Henry Hubert Lascelles, Princess Mary's eldest son, has been 'blooded' by Short, the huntsman to the Bramham Moor Foxhounds, of which Viscount Lascelles is Master.

Master Lascelles is nearly four years old, having been born on February 7, 1923. 'Blooding' consists of marking the face and hands with the blood of a fox that has been killed.

- Westminster Gazette

At present Great Britain, having important European markets, can just make her way, although British industry has to pay over thirty million pounds a year to America before it makes a penny profit. Were we to follow Mr. Hearst's advice, we should immediately incur the antagonism of Europe, with fatal injury to our European trade. We are frequently assured that the American people are very naïve, but they can scarcely be so naïve as to believe that we shall run this risk for the pleasure of piping on a tin whistle to the accompaniment of the American big drum. - Saturday Review

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