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Autumn Number

From Morn tcHMidnight, A Modern Mystery in Seven Scenes

Some Modern Belgian Poets


At The Littld'Pipe, A Hungarian Folk Play in Two Scenes

Richard Dehmel


(Ccmplete Contents on the Inside Cover)


Entered at •econd-ciMt matiei ai itie Post Office at Boston, July 22, 1903.

$l,bQ a Copy $6.00 a Year


AUTUMN, 1920


From Morn to Midnight, A Modem Mystery in Seven Scenes Georg Kaiser

Translated from the German by Ashley Dukes


Jens Peter Jacobsen

Translated frem the Danish by Jeannette Kiekintveld

Some Modern Belgian Poets

Federico Olivero

The Full of the Moon, An Irish Play in One Act Gertrude Herrick

La Femme Qui Rit Dora Neill Raymond

Richard Dehmel Edwin H. Zeydel

At the Little Pipe, A Hungarian Folk Play in Two Scenes Lillian Sutton Pelee

Ford Madox Hueffer

A Bolshevist Theory of Art

Three Translations from Verhaeren
Les Pauvres
La Petite Vierge
La Saint Jean

Songs of the Chippewa

Whirling Wind Exults in the Storm
A Bridegroom's Songs

Texan Sketches
L The Dam
IL The Norther
III. Violets in the Fall

Lawrence Marsden Price

Geraldine P. Dilla

Eva May Sadler

Portia Martin
Albert Edmund Trombly

An Arabesque ■

Florizel to Fiametta
Among Friends

Jens Peter Jacobsen

Translated from the Danish by Jeannette Kiekintveld

Dora Neill Raymond











POET LORE is published quarterly in the months of March {Spring Num-
ber), June {Summer Number), Seyaljeriiber {\:Autufho.\Number) , and December
{Winttr Number). '.." :''• • '"' ' ' ' '

Annual subscription $6 00. Sing^.e"cqi?ie;o $5:5G,''-. ]'/. \\l '. .'.'.



Andros {Noticing that the tree has been struck by lightning). —
Did it strike him, too? {He goes to Mihaly, turns him over and
listens to his heart.) He is dead. But there is no sign that he
has been struck by lightning.

Ferencz bdcsi {Prophetically). — Not by Hghtning — by Him.
{He crosses himself solemnly.)

Andros {He has been examining Mihaly for some marks). —
It is clear now. In putting back the cross he stuck the point of
it through his trouser-leg. When it jerked him forward he became
frightened. {He looks at the open, staring eyes of Mihaly, from
which even death has not yet removed the fear.) Yes, poor boy, he
died of superstitious fear.

Ferencz bdcsi {Moving away from Andros). — Don't find ex-
cuses, lad. God struck him down for his blasphemy.

Terez {In a tone of azve). — He died in sin. I will pray for his
soul. I will ask Father Istvan to let me join the Sisters, and I
will pray for his soul all — my — life.

Andros. — It was not God, I tell you, Terez, that killed him.
It was his own silly fear. {Places his hand tenderly on her shoulder)

Terez {Shrinking fro^n his touch). — I — will— pray. As a nun
God will hear m.y prayers. He will forgive —

(Andros shakes his head sorrowfully as if words were useless
at this time of grief.)



By Lawrence Marsden^rice

THERE is a line of little steamships which plys , its
trade between Rotterdam and Mannheim carrying
on a mixed passenger and freight traffic. On the
deck of one of its vessels I was spending my first
day on the continent. The sun was shining
brightly, the sky was blue and the waters at least
bluish, as they wound their way through the marshy Holland
banks; there were windmills on either side and at the scattered
landing places now and then a boy and girl, wide-trousered and
short-skirted, would come down to the river's edge to meet the
boat. Who ever would have believed that such windmills and
such pairs really existed except on blue china.? Europe was more
than living up to my expectations.

Most of the passengers were Dutch, several were German,
and numerous other nationalities were represented. The jumble
of tongues produced a delightful atmosphere of foreignness that
was partly dispelled by the voice of an Englishman, who took
exception to the way the Dutch sat on the top deck playing cards
in night-caps and "pyjahmas. " For my part I rather liked it as
well as everything else strange and Dutch and unconventional.
After som„e discussion of this and other matters my com.panion
gave m.e his card,. which bore the nam.e Ford Madox HueflFer. I
may have looked at it rather quizzically, thinking that Hueffer
was an unusual nam.e for an Englishman. He misread my
thoughts and asked if I perhaps knew Ford Madox Brown the
artist. As I was a person of no education except for what I had
been able to pick up at an American college, I answered in the
negative, but when he spoke of the pre-Raphaelites I had some-
thing to say, for I had visited the Liverpool gallery only about a
week before, and this was m.y first opportunity to give rein to my
enthusiasm. He listened with interested, or polite, or perhaps
amused attention until we were interrupted by an Armenian
merchant, who said he knew seventeen languages, had been
speaking five of them on the boat and would now talk a little



English. As this exercise did not interest me I walked on, leaving
my acquaintance discoursing patiently with the intruder.

Seated at the sunny stern I found a fair-faced young girl with
pre-Raphaelite hair reading a beautifully illustrated child's version
of Kirig Arthur. She was willing to share its wonders with me,
and we were both engrossed in it when I saw the Englishman
standing before me again, for Christina was his daughter. Sev-
eral years later I learned that she was named after Christina
Rossetti, and that she was the inspiration of a beautiful poem.

I had reserved no cabin, so I had to sleep that night on deck.
I remember that my acquaintance lent me the pillow and blanket
which contributed more than the stars to my enjoyment of the
night. The next day he took the train, while I remained on
beard the beat in order to spend a few hours at several of the
large Rhine cities. I did so against the advice of my fellow-
traveller, who said the Germany that was worth seeing was in the
small towns. Finding me obdurate he invited me to call on him
in Heidelberg, for that was the temporary destination of both of

As it turned out I spent several pleasant evenings with him and
his family at the Molkenkur looking down on Heidelberg castle
and on the Neckar valley far below. I do not know what we
talked about, but I know it was not art and poetry, for it was
not until many years later that I learned I had been entertained
by a poet unawares. Neither did he talk to me of sports, of
hunting, golf, and cricket, of experiences on a farm in Pennsyl-
vania, ef drives over New England roads, of a visit to California,
or of lectures given in a German university. I had the impression
all the time that I was conversing with an easy-going, rather
fastidious gentleman of leisure. For my part I made just no
impression at all on him. I have since read nearly a thousand
of Hueifer's anecdotes relating to people he has met and I find
I figure in none of them., which is a reassuring sign that I did not
give m.yself away, A few years later I began to read in the pages
of Harper's Monthly the details of his interesting connection with
the Pre-Raphaelite group. Later I began to know him as a
critic ef art, literature, and life, as novelist and as a poet, and
little by little I pieced together the story of his life, and a picture
of his personality.

If I knew this writer only from his books I should gain the im-
pression that he was relatively unapproachable, that he fled before
merchants and shunned the companionship of the common or



travelling American. If I tried to form an opinion by reading
Violet Hunt's (Mrs. Ford Madox HueflFer's) Desirable Alien or
Zeppelin Nights I should strive in vain to reconcile the traits of
Serapion and of Joseph Leopold, but I should only be able to
conclude that their model was in some way a very disagreeable
person. Self-disparagement as practiced in the best English
circles involves also disparagem.ent of one's immediate family.
Moreover Flueffer always insists in theory that the poem not the
pcet counts, but why then does he tell of the poetic side of the life
of Christina Rossetti which he knows so well. I propose to in-
dulge as much as I please in what he calls "chatter about Harriet,"
and caring little whether my subject is justified in being a Catholic
or a To'-y or anything else that he may be, I shall try to trace out
how he became what he is.

Ford Madox Hueffer comes from a race of non-conformists.
The great-great-grandfather Brown was the father of non-lancet
surgery. He lost his practice because of his professional hetero-
doxy and died in a debtors' prison. His son, a Whig, by a quarrel
with his Tory patron, spoiled not only his own naval career but
that of his son. When this son. Ford Madox Brown, turned to
painting he saw things with his own eyes and painted them as he
saw them. For this offense his name became anathema among
the early Victorians. Dickens demanded that Brown, Millais,
and the Pre-Raphaelite leaders should be imprisoned. Brown
was subject to persecution of this sort throughout his life, and died
in his old age in comparative poverty and disrepute.

Ford Madox Brown had three children. Oliver Madox
Brown the only son, died at the age of eighteen after having
already won distinction as a poet, novelist, and painter. Lucy
Brown married William Rossetti, the brother of Dante Gabriel
and Christina, and the second daughter, Catherine Brown, married
a German doctor of philosophy, Franz FIuefTer, the father of Ford
Madox Hueffer.

Franz Hueffer had recently taken a hasty departure from his
native country as a result of a practical joke he had played on a
professor of Berlin university. Hueffer, then a student, and the
professor were to address royalty from the sam.e platform on the
following day. Hueffer's rooms adjoined the professor's apart-
ments, so he was able to overliear the professor rehearsing his



speech. Being possessed of a remarkable memory HueflFer deliv-
ered this speech the following day, anticipating the professor, who
was left to stammer a few commonplace impromptus. Hueffer
wisely took a hasty departure from Berlin, passed his doctor exam-
ination at Gottingen, and sailed for foreign soil. As he was an
accomplished linguist, a favorite pupil of Schopenhauer, and like
his master an Anglomaniac, the transition to English surroundings
was an easy one. He took up his abode in Chelsea, about half
way between the homes of Carlyle and William. Rossctti, with both
of whom he was connected by strong bonds of friendship. As
musical critic of the London Tim^s, he held a position of power
and influence. He administered stern critical justice, unin-
fluenced by bribes or threats, both of which were oiTered in abun-
dance. As a Wagnerite he was held in opprobrium by the pre-
vailing public opinion. On the whole, he brings to a fitting close
the succession of Ford Madox Hueffer's non-conformist ancestors.

It was in his grandfather's house, however, that "Fordie"
spent most of his boyhood days and received the impressions that
dominated his later years. His grandfather lived in an old
Georgian house. No. 120 Fitzroy Square, the house which Thack-
eray describes in The Nezvcovies. Here Brown carried on the
struggle against Ruskin, Dickens, and the Victorian self-righteous-
ness, in the early days, alone. Later he joined hands with the
Pre-Raphaelites, though he did not go to their length in the
direction of medieval rom.anticism. Still later he followed the
lead of the social and aesthetic reform.ers of whom William Morris
was the chief. The Rossettis, Swinburne, Hohnan Hunt, and a
score of other notable men of art and letters were habitues of the
Brown house, and Brown was m^eanwhile helping another score of
poor poets out of the gutters for which they seem.ed to show a fatal
proclivity. Thus the grandson was exposed in turn to Fabianism.,
anarchism., aestheticism., and all the other "isms" of the time.
Here, w^e will not say he drifted, but rather he swam counter to
every current. He says of him.self: "I must personally have had
three separate sets of political opinions. To irritate my relatives,
who advocated advanced thought, I dimly remember that I pro-
fessed myself a Tory. Amongst the bourgeoisie, whom it was my
duty to epater, I passed for a dangerous anarchist. In general
speech, manner, and appearance I must have resembled a so-
cialist of the Morris group. "

HueflFer's education was of a most sporadic nature. The
conversations he listened to in his grandfather's house formed its


chief element. These were later supplemented by his attendance
on the socialistic meetings of William Morris and his group.
During the frequent intervals of non-attendance at school he was
educated by his Aunt Lucy to be a genius. "Fordie" felt this
to be a misguided effort, but submitted with docility. While his
more brilliant cousins could master important roles in Greek plays,
he could do no better than to represent the mob and rush in at
the proper moment with the proper ejaculations. We find out
incidentally that he spent many seasons with relatives in Paris
where he learned to prefer the French language to his own. In
one of his anecdotes he appears as a boy of nine or ten visiting
relatives in Westphalia, in another as a young man studying at
Bad Soden under the tutorship of an atheistic Lutheran pastor,
who persuaded him to read Nietzsche, when, as he says, he should
have been reading Catullus, for Hueffer Is enamored of the true
classic spirit, too much so to tolerate the renaissance figures that
sparingly grace the marts of London and profusely adorn the
bridges of Berlin. HueiTer also studied music and before he had
reached maturity he had a "nodding acquaintance" with nearly
every Instrument but the piano and the drum.

A single Incident which he relates for another purpose shows
the state of advancement of his education shortly before the death
of his father In 1889. At the last school to which he was sent the
modern language master began one day to direct innuendos at
ilm because he attended concerts rather than language classes.
At first Hueffer paid no attention to this, for, as he says, his
father had always taught him that schoolmasters were men of
Inferior Intelligence, to whom personally one should pay no

'attention, though their rules of conduct must be exactly observed.

^^hen It occurred to him that the attack was aimed at Beethoven,
Bach, Mozart, and Wagner quite as much as against himself.
Filled with fury he launched an Invective against the teacher,
considerately speaking In German In order that the others might
not understand. Incidentally he quoted Victor Hugo to the
eff"ect that in order to utter such sentiments ^^ il faut etre stupide
comme un maitre (Tecole qui ri'est bon a rieti que pour planter des
choux." The irate schoolmaster threw an Ink pot at his pupil,
destroying his suit. Mutual apologies followed, and for the mo-
ment the matter seemed settled, but HueflFer was regarded as a
disturbing element in the school and he was soon dismissed on a
technicality. The founder of the school, wishing to prevent
huckstering among the boys had provided that any one of them

1 A


engaged In trade should be dismissed. Hueffcr at the age of
sixteen had already produced a successful volume and had re-
ceived money for it. He was accordingly debarred from the
school. This volume was evidently Brown Otvl, a fairy story il-
lustrated by Ford Madox Brown.

The death of his grandfather marked a critical point in
Hueffer's life. He kept company for a little time with the Fabians
and the aesthetes, but their dogmatism drove him from camp.
The Fabians had codified in hundreds of tracts what their mem-
bers should believe about God and man, and the aesthetes held
no one a poet who was not secure in the details of the life of
Beatrice or in the Cuchullain saga. In despair HueflFer turned to
the "Henley gang." This group was boisterous, self-vaunting,
and piratical, but its members at least had red blood. They be-
lieved that a man should have his sharp struggle with life and be
a writer only incidentally. It was their influence that drove
Hueffer away from London for his "tussle with the good red
earth." Then began the period which he mistakenly calls his
thirteen lost years. These were not lost years, however, even had
they done nothing else than to give him the material for his book
The heart of the Country (Part II in Engla^id and the Efiglish),
wherein he preserves for posterity a sympathetic and convincing
picture of the struggle for existence and the thought life of that
passing type, the English farm-laborer.

The chief value of this epoch in HuefTer's life was that it
brought stability to his views, where a conflicting ferment had
held sway before, or to put it otherwise, he assimilated selectively
in this period the too abundant mental pabulum of his previous
years. It was now that he first found time to trace theories back
to their first principles and first called himself a Catholic and a
Tory. Religion he concluded must eventually be founded on
faith rather than reason, and m.ankind must seek the highest
efficiency of the few rather than the greatest good of the greatest
number. The various sects of Protestantism and socialism, so he
argues in The Critical Attitude, are merely temporizing with ulti-
mate necessity. Hueffer combines his religious and social views
with political liberalism. He criticizes frankly the marriage reg-
ulations of his church and believes in the fallibility of the pope.
He believes in self-determination for all parts of Ireland. He V
suffered violence for his opposition to the Boer war and to a less
degree, no doubt, for his championing of woman suffrage.

Hueffer produced very little, it is true, in his thirteen country


years; a treatize on the art of his grandfather, another on Ros-
setti's art, a study of the Cinque Ports, which laid the basis for
later historical novels, and some poems which appeared under
the title The Face of the Night. For these poems, however, few
as they are, he would deserve literary immortality. Sweeter and
more appealing poems than those in A Sequence^ then The Great
View, An End Piece, and To Christina at Nightfall have not been

Toward the end of this period HueflPer came to know well
his neighbor Joseph Conrad and collaborated with him on two
novels. The Inheritors (1901), and Romaiice (1903). This marks
for HuefTer the beginning of a rather industrious period of novel
writing. He was already resuming connexion with London life
although he retained his Kentish hom.e. In the year 191 1 he
suddenly realized that he had grown up and wrote for his children,
Christina and Katherine, Ancient Lights and Certain New Re-
flections, Memories of a Young Man. He tells them in the preface
that he wants to preserve for them the story of his life, to save
them pains he has suffered, and to compare his childhood days
with theirs. This is another way of saying that his critical
faculties have developed, a fact which is sufficiently attested by
his collection of essays that appeared about the same time called
The Critical Attitude. In the year 1914 he set himself down to
the task of analyzing seriously the technique of Henry James,
whose work he so much admired. Naturally then, his novel
The Good Soldier (1915) is even more strongly reminiscent than
his earlier fiction cf his m.aster. In the year 191 5 appeared two
anti-Prussian volumes from Hueffer's hand, both of them notable
for the mass of material they marshal together and the deliberate-
ness of judgment they display, but Hueffer suddenly resolved to
contribute blood instead of sweat and ink to the cause. What
led him to this step is very clear. It was the death of the French
sculptor Henri Gaudier and "the death at the same time of
another boy — but quite a commonplace, nice boy." Although
lie was forty-four years of age, Hueffer managed in 1917 to secure
a second lieutenancy in the British army. The product of the
next two years was a collection of Poems Written on Active Service.


In reading the work of Ford Madox Hueffer one is reminded


ever and again of his grandfatlier. That Hueffer has the pictorial -V*^
instinct is obvious from his descriptions. He docs not cover his
literary walls, gallery fashion, with pictures, but here and there,
at just the right place architecturally, he hangs a landscape
painting that cannot be forgotten, as that of the chess-board
pattern of sunlit, Pre-Raphaelite Hessian harvest-lands where he
first heard of the death of Holman Hunt, or the view of the
French shore that flashed upon his eye one day in his Kentish
home, a picture which symbolized for him the spiritual nearness
(>f England and France. In the last chapter of the work Between
St. George and St. Denis, Iiuefi"er tells us how a poem originated >^
out of the feeling of that moment. Hueffer shares the literary "'\
creed of his grandfather and the other Pre-Raphaelites.-. It is his
firm belief that ar t exists for art's sake and should not be ma^T'X^
Ilke^-Ii^4»4-{ftaide n ot social THo titT^ His o'ppogTTTUn'to Shaw is \
not based solely on political differences. Art should benefit the j
state, Hueffer maintains, not by advocating specific reforms but V^
by telling the truth, by describing man as he is and showing the-'^
practical working out of his ethical code. In this way Henr}'
James has benefited the English people and Flaubert might have
benefited the French people had they read his UEducation
Sentimentale and pondered on it. Hueffer stands with
his grandfather also in his aversion to affectation and to medieval ^
romanticism. The language of the author should be the natural
language of his own time. He abhors Stevenson's sentence:
"With interjected finger he delayed the motion of the tim.epiece"
which "set back the English language fifty years. " He finds dis-
tasteful the preciosity of Rossetti's The Blessed Damozel and holds
it not to the credit of d'Annunzio that in a recent work he has
used 2017 obsolete words that cannot be understood by a modern 3^^
Italian without the help of a medieval glossary. Like his grand-
father Hueffer craves companionship in artistic endeavor, and V
deplores the fact that the author of to-day, while he lives and \ ^
writes must carry on without the help of sincere and unbiassed "^
literary criticism.

He satisfies this craving in some measure by literary colla-
boration and, according to H. G. Wells, by playing the part of ,
the good uncle to young talents. Grandfather and grandson have -♦^
a like literary conscience. The artist's business in life, as they
see it, is to produce precisely accurate impressions and not to
shirk the hard tasks. As the grandfather was the first to repre-
sent light on the canvas precisely as he saw it, so we find the


grandson striving to give a correct impressionistic picture of
London in the present or in the future, or to define precisely his
feeling toward France, or the exact difference between the England
of to-day and that of his boyhood. All this he does without a
glittering generality. His faithful picture is made up of homely,
interesting commonplaces. The style in these descriptions is
always clear but is sometimes conspicuous by its very precision.
Hueffer accounts for this himself. In a certain sense, he says, he
is tri-lingual. His homely poetry he has always thought out In
colloquial English. In matters of pleasures of the table, of wines
and the like, he has been apt to think In German, but whenever
he has framed a prose paragraph with great care, he has framed
it in his mind in French or more rarely In Latin and then trans-
lated It into English. This seems most unplauslble when one
first reads It, but in reality It is easy to Identify these labored

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Online LibraryLawrence Marsden PriceFord Madox Hueffer → online text (page 1 of 3)