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Dostoievsky Under the Lens BERESFORD on Dostoievsky ought to be exciting; the young Eng? lishman has himself something of the Russian attitude in his preoccupation with spiritual malforma? tions ami abnormalities. He writes in? terestingly of Constance Garnett's trans? lation of the "White Nights and Other Stories." The review is taken from "Everyman," an English publication: "The majority of novelists are, and should be, read for the sake of their mat? ter or content and the manner in which they pr?sent it. Such artists in literature us Turgeniev or Flaubert, for example, un? questionably felt most intensely all that ?key wrote. They entered into their story, into the lives and feelings of their charac? ters?hcv deeply Flaubert has described in his letters?but when they came to actual expression, to the interpretation of their experience in written words, the art? ist the deliberate, selective, critical, sen? sitive workman, was uppermost. Always fomethi- g in them stood apart?judging. As s consequence, we find pleasure in their works because they are true and beautiful things, designed, as far as may be, to be perfect in themselves. 'Rudin' or 'Madame Bovary' may tell us much of Turgeniev or Flaubert as artists, even suggest certain obvious sympathies or traits of character, but primarily they are studies in life rather than in the individuality of the But while this is partly true also of Dostoievsky's novels it is not true to the same extent; and for that reason I do not believe that any one can fully appreciate his work unless they rela'e it directly to the man. "He was from the outset an artist pecu? liarly handicapped. It has been authori? tatively denied that he suffered from epi? lepsy before his awful experiences in the fortress and his four years in Siberia, but there can be no question that the ten? de y was there, that he suffered from great physical weakness. He was dis? charged from the army at the age of twenty-three 'on account of illness,' al though what form it took is not specified. And 1 is first novel, 'Poor Folk,' written about this time, begins to develop the early signs of what we can later recognize as his characteristic neurosis. Later, as we know, after his release from Siberia, his life was one perpetual struggle and torment. A great part of it was compul? soria sp> nt away from Russia, whither he was always longing to return; he was never, u last year or two, free from financ: rassmest; and his illness not or'.> prostrated him physically for day? at a time but became, also, a con eat and horror that preyed upon Fighting all these immense .1 to write profusely, at times ilmost hysterical determi? nation. He turned out tremendous novels, such as 'The Brothei - Karamazov,' 'The tdiot,' or 'The Possessed,' without oppor? tunity for reconsideration of detail?his urgency for money forbade rewriting? and further vsithout the possibility for the leisure, detachment and peace of mind which, as he himself fully realized, were essential to him as an artist. "Tor these reasons, then, if for no other, we cannot judge the work of Dostoievsky with the same impartial criticism that we should exercise in approaching the works of Turgeniev or Flaubert. We cannot in the same way dissociate Dostoievsky's crea? tive ability froi*# his own personality, nor accept his picture of life without making peculiar allowance for h4 distorted angle of vision. As Mr. Arthur McDowall says in his recent book on 'Realism,' Dostoiev? sky brings us close to a point where the personal vision is so significant as to tran Bcend any realistic interest in the thing portrayed.' It does not follow from this,, however, that he did not present an aspect of truth. He was himself abnormal, and his psychology, which %he seems always to have tested by his own experience and sen? sations, ?-as inevitably abnormal also. But (although we need not- on this account accept the theory of Max Nordau) there is sometimes a peculiar relationship between certain forms of neurasthenia and genius. It is as if a weakness of this kind affords a more sensitive instrument for the use of whatever we choose to regard as the in? fluence that seeks to record its message to mankind. And as in abnormal psychology we may find a mere exaggeration, and hence a more legible explanation of the normal, so we may read in Dostoievsky's work some of the broad intrinsic weaknesses and vir? tues of humanity displayed something above life size, "A peculiarly Interesting instance for any one who is interested in the modern theory of this subject is afforded by the most considerable item in the collection of short stories now under review. It is called 'Notes from T'nderground,' and occupies more than a hundred of the 288 pages that make up the whole volume. The first part of this 'novel' is a self-analysis of the sup? posed author's own character. He filled some small post in the immense organiza? tion of the old Russian bureaucracy and suffered from what we call in the termi? nology of psycho-analysis an 'inferiority complex.' Of the origins of that trouble we learn nothing. Dostoievsky himself, of course, is sublimely unaware that he is offering us a perfect example of a patho? logical ease. But the symptoms are, as a doctor might say, 'beautifully true to type.' The chief of them is a perpotual attempt to demonstrate, in perfectly futile ways, 8ome effect of superiority. The familiar instance is the driver of a cart who from the vantage of his position can intimidate the foot passenger by a threat of running "im down. In the case of the imagined ?athor of 'Underground* we find that this lon*ing to assert himself is the keynote of *'? his actions, and finds expression, at *rt. in the writing of a piece of autoblog ^Phy. He knows by sight an officer, con *?ntly meets him on the street, and while v*fiab)y giving way to him on the pave i lvD* P**1-8 w'th a large and earnest de , er?tion to confront and jostle him at "r next encounter. Once he actually acceeds In doing this, but so ineffectually '.fat L (. ?e can find no comfort in the thought having vindicated his self-esteem. An CRITICS hold that the furnace of war is too hot for the creation of great art; what is significant comes later when thought has had time to turn and contemplate the "remembered emotion." But out of war come facts, and the pieces of sculpture being shown at the Gorham Gallery will probably al? ways retain an authentic flavor of war time that no creation of a later period will be able to achieve. After December 9 the exhibition will be moved to the American Art Galleries as a part of the Salon of the Allies, opened to the public under the auspices of the art commission of the Mayor's Committee on Na? tional Defence. other example is the dinner party given to an old school friend, to which the writer invites himself, and succeeds in getting himself despised still further in his effort to display some kind of superiority to his companions. But most typical of all is his account of his relations with the girl Liza, whom he meets in a brothel. He at? tracts her in the first piace by the elo? quence with which he holds up to her the terror of her future^ He obtains an in? fluence over her, persuades her to give up her way of life, gives her his private ad? dress, and then, when she comes to see him, treats her with a callousness and a pandering to his own diseased vanity that is nothing less than brutal. As a study for the psychologist the story is almost perfect. "We find a parallel to it in the allied j story of Snu'rdyakov, the valet, in 'The ! Brothers Karamazov.' And, indeed throughout Dostoievsky's works the re? markable realization of this 'inferior com? plex' is recognizable as the ever-present, background of his psychology. The man ! who is abhorrent to him and draws forth his bitterest invective is always self-con? fident and successful. In 'A Little Hero' (another study in the present vofume writ? ten when he was thirty-two, while he was a prisoner at Omsk), he says: 'These gen? tlemen make their way in the world through the fact that all their instincts are bent in the direction of coarse sneering, '? short-sighted censure and immense con I ceit. . . . They are never capable of I inner judgment before their conscience, of I generous self-criticism; for some things they are too fat. Their own priceless per I sonality, their Baal and Moloch, their mag | nificent ego, is always in their foreground everywhere.' And so on for more than a ? page, all the bitterness of it being another typical example of the general characteris? tics of Dostoievsky's novels a-id presenting another well-diagnosed symptom of the same neurosis. "For, personally, I have no doubt what? ever that Dostoievsky himself suffered from this particular affection. The evidence of his letters alone would be sufficient to establish it. Witness particulary the pros? tration of his appeals for help and patron? age shown in the letters written by him during his last few months in Siberia. But hia writing furnishes still better material for the diagnosis, and a priori, it seems j impossible that he cou'd have so perfectly described this particular state of mind if he had not personally experienced some? thing of its peculiar expressions. In all probability the epilepsy was nothing more than an effect of the pre-determining cause, and the fact that the symptoms In his case were not progressively destruct ve was due to his ability to 'sublimate' his inhibitions?in part, at least?by his aoility to find expression in writing. It is very saddening to reflect, that if he had lived fifty years later he might have been cured, and his unquestionable genius more fully realized." THB captain talked little enough of himself, but left the bandage about his head to speak for him But how he did talk of that ser? geant of his, Barney McGinn! I had not yet told the captain that Barney McGinn had been my driver, and that I had begged the privilege of enter? taining Barney's captain not more to enjoy his own society than to hear him talk about Barney. "Of course, we hear all sorts of.wild yarns about the boys," I remarked. "But it wouldn't surprise me to learn that the episode, for Instance, at Chateau Thierry, where a bunch were said to have dolled themselves up in silk hats and pink parasols, were true. It's so completely in character." "As true as you're born, sir!" "It wouldn't surprise me, either, if that sergeant you speak of were con? cerned in it." "He was the very instigator of it! That's Barney McGinn all over. You're ' going to hear more of that fellow, I tell you. He's marked for promotion. Medals already." I pushed the cigars towarel the cap ! tain. "The instigator? It sounds plaus? ible, after your description of the man. j He must be a devil." And again the rec j ollection of all the captain had said, the i vision of that assault on the sublime in the garb of the ludicrous, rocked me with laughter. "They were all devils, for that mat? ter. Like boys on a lark. But I believe they were devils mainly because that man Sergeant McGinn was the worst devil of the lot. They simply caught the infection from him and followed his ex? ample. Up that rotten little ravine he went, with death spitting all about him, and that devil singing! And what do you think he was singing to Frit;'.? Why, this (and the captain sang in imi? tation) : " 'The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, For you but not for me. O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling O Grave, thy victoree-ee-e?' "After he'd sung it a couple of times the boys got on to the words and sang it with him. And there they went, singing that at Fritz. Those fellows might have made that charge stripped to the skin and without a gun in their hands. Such things weren't necessary. Waging war like that wasn't in Heinie's book. Ic took the breath all out of him. He wasn't there to fight an insane asylum. And it just naturally scared him to death." But I was laughing at more than this. "Of courte," 1 said, on sobering down, "it wasn't all song and masquerade." . "Oh, decidedly not! But there again : that man McGinn was in the thick of it. ; Thick of it? No! He was out in front. j Too far out sometimes. I never saw a > man so absolutely without fear. He was | the envy of us ail. And from the very j first, I confess I was a bit nervous as ! to how we should perform when they gave us our first bit of real schooling. I mean the real thing, the grim business itself, and not the routine drilling be? hind the lines. What that sergeant thought of me I hate to think now, on j the night when I gave him his final in I structions. It was the first patrol I was responsible for, and I wanted it to go. Naturally, the man I first thought of to head it was Sergeant McGinn. Not that By Berion Braley I'm coming home again; On the rail of the Jersey ferry I lean and gaze On the city I love. Thrusting their towers above The light morning haze Of dust and of smoke and of steam The star-reaching buildings arise With their myriad windows agleam In the warmth and the glow of the sun? Palaces glorious, spun Out of stone and of steel on the loom of a dream. Over the river there comes The voice of New York; of the slums And the avenues, rumble and roar Of packed, multitudinous streets Athrob with the thunder of traffic that beats A deep diapason?the roll of the drums In the city's vast orchestra, playing the score Of a titanic opus. The river's alive With ferries and barges and tugs and with ships At anchor, in slips Or swinging downstream with the tide, Off for the perilous drive To the maelstrom of war. As I ride Home on the ferryboat, home, To the wonder and thrill of it all ?The hugeness, the splendor and might Of the city that shoulders in sight? I sense the old magic of Rome And I'm gripped by a spell and a thrall; There's a catch in my throat, and my eyes Blur at the picture, and then A jubilant voice in me cries, "I'm corning home, I'm coming home again!" r there was anything for dte to be ner? vous about except the reputation of the company. But I drilled McGinn as if he'd never heard of war before. And ail he said when I finished was 'Watch me, sir!' And he fairly smacked his bps. That man was simply born for such things. As some men are born singers , or poets, that man is a born soldier. He'-* j got it in him." "And the patrol was a success 7" "Was ft? McGinn came in with six ! teen prisoners and a ragged scratch i across his right cheek from one of those I lovely saw-tooth bayonets, lie made his \ report in a breath; took over his bunch to the intelligence officer, and then hur ! ried to say, 'With your leave, sir, I'd like to be relieved for an hour.' " 'The hour is yours,' said I. 'You've earned it!' "In thirty-live minutes c.n orderlj called for the company's surgeon, and 1 ; went along. There in the dugout stooc Sergeant McGinn beside a woundec | Boche who was lying on his face on ? I stretcher. McGinn was scratching hi: head. " 'I ain't shure, sorr, whether it's ac cordin' to the book. But I didn't te! I you ? dropped one of the prisoners. ' think, sorr, one of his own men caugh him from the rear as we were takin' bin ; alone.-?got him so he coul'l nayther wall nor ?ii -lown nor lie on his face, for th mud was too thick. It was pretty awk ward for him, sorr. And because he wa a major I went out and got him.' " .My guest, th( captain, turned out to b a capita! raconleur, and until well afte the hour when ? should have sent him t ? bed I sa: listening to 1 yarns I yarn.^ ab(. everything, but plentiful! : enough about that daredevil who wa : "born to it," Barney McGinn. Even Ion after the cap a n retire I still sa before the hea ; ling at Barney It was infinitely more amusing tba the captain knew. Vividly enough I n \ membered Barney, from hia year and half in my employ. Meek, orderly, qui? spoken then, 'ne would start like a eat e a sharp word pi 3 ;i to lwm tir.expeci edly. It once I me that he seeme always to be listening fir something, 8 if he were always keyed up "or 1 of a whip. In tinte I learned the reaso for tlii-. And so ? knew then why wa> he was such a devil For thus will a man expand, though stet:. ; jaws of leath, if it tnc [y rescui ; him from under the thumb of a form dable wife. i B. K. The Nation Awaits a Song By Ernest Thompson Selon IN THE last four years many thousands of attempts have been made to writ? a national song, and, so far as known, all haVe been utter failures. A glance at the material submitted shows a wholly wrong conception of a national song; indeed, a wrong idea of the whole subject of song. Apparently none of the aspirants recoge razed the wide difference between a songf and a poem; not cne of them recognized the difference between a poem and an. anthem; not one of them realized the dif? ference between a lyric and a marching sudr. A poem is a more or less p easing suc? cession of statements, utilizing the beauties of language and ideas; it is designed to be spoken by one voice. An anthem is a simple poem in re? sponsive p?arts originally) Bet to music, which must -h? siow ?enough to permit enunciation by many voie - at once. A lyric is a slight poem, a succe of sketch ideas, tied togi tive portion, set to music, to be sung by one voice. A national song must consist of a suc? cession of very brief, simple, inspiring' statements, alternating with a succession of mere vocables ? that is, modulated rhythmic shouting, which begets and vents enthusiasm, but. does not count for Its effect on words or enunciated ideas. It should be in marching time, for that is the time of heroic thought and action, ar.d :* must be suitable for a multitude of v?oices singing together. It may or may not be antiphonal or arranged in responses like the original anthem. If these ?definitions be accepted ar.d used ss tests we shall find that all recent at tempts at a national song have b->en poem of varying merit, hut foredoomed failures from their plan. It Ls generally conceded that at present, we have no truly national song; certainly none officially established. We rise to the ! "?ag song," but no one considers it sal i factory or permanent. It is accepted i we get a better. An examination of ? parts shows that it fails in every essential ) but one, and that it is >verd? i p?ete with heroic statement. Bat i ?simple; it is not good rhythm; i suitable for singinsr; it is mit a i song; it does not offer a repeated f swinging, stirring voeabies in which j can join. I do not knew anything to commend its ! rival "America," excent the music, which is preempted by One can se : tional songs examples wl ! alive by one or more of the ready listed, in spite of ! other elements. The "Ma stance, though superb in tramp, is far overburdened bj for which weaknes genius has found a re statements, excepl section, turning the rest petescue vocable. Very rarely do we hear more than the ! first two lines of the "Marseillai ?? The genius of the people is genius of the man who is that it is the French it is not truly their nati? On. the o'lier h sprung spontaneou people responds in form not ai ways, alas! in sentiment. The dai k; revival hymns "Mary and Mart! Sweet Chariot," are ; feet song form carried I by the appeal to the pop : appeal to the higher instincts or ? Shakespeare's ? - rect, as, for examp e, the ? You Like It": It was a lover and h With a hey ai ,: nonino, That o'er the green In springtime, ? When bird ? do sing, hej ling ?? ding; Sweel The second, fourth, Ones j are the repel \ The tra - and Scotland arc usua they have ! een ''.li? lla'!:;?!, a .?.: -1 has little in coi The : "A a-'..- - in the !. I ?" v, 3 songs that <>ur country has - i them peop i as national Br iwn's Body," "Yank "Dixie," all tl of the '. ? perf prefacing ? unhei mi al - ? * If si rewrite these in accor .- we Eho - nei ? nat And v ? :? I it i ? cessful ?. respond v\ of i A I the solution I truggi . form might be thus: ? ? ?-. v Bi ? or .?-.-~.?... ... . ) ? -. ?. Mere ated . j rhy! ; for .-. r manj .J at all Such a stru ? rice, ? ' ; ? national at it be com > nobie pal ? 10 | in tl