The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 3, 1898, Page 23

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, APRIL ~3, 1898. PEARL CRAIGIE, she of pen name “John Oli- % turned over late g the one of thus far that will in important vol- ds to controvert the opin- hold that the lady's direction only—that ng airy skits hitting off with the foibl and ety. “The School within an ce of 1t book, and this It lacks coher- , one may say it this latter in the the ch motif. There is °h introduced of that which is us to the story that the reader g back again and 1 to_pick up the ends of the slim arrative running through is but fair to say, how- retrospection often adds to compelling his attention iration of brilliant dialogue ver writir other fault to with Mrs. Craigie’s work v be a temporary one) too much like a tract. s too 1t a convert to e h iews on all and has been said before in ay of the story se is fast pa: , and if n t write these, they that the! do not » obtrusively i Craigie, it is pleasing to note, ‘has traveled far since “The Gods, and Lord Wickenham,” sincerely to be hoped that she re brilliant character the kind to be found in for Baint: sh papers are indulging in hortles of joy at the death- fested by the Kailyard rie’s mantle should iminous one, judging Sc writer bodies ust needs cover. Tomr for the f the thing, Mr. Bar- »ts to London. Now al with “David Ly- J d does the self- 1d think that the rter of their mon,” or a ationality. cots, you E e Story” a u'd Which is what I P e 4 s.annot 1 that Mark Twain is his should be a tulation to the pi 1t 11d, ring cynics in crowing over all of one who has much to the gay ind there was s yme- almost be said to be his declining years nces com- and correct- ears errors arising characteristics which Mr. Clemens has ad of debt which the apse of the firm of Webster & Co. oulders or rather > records of litera- know of no parallel case, with eption of the historical one of 1 . nor do I know of any- equal to Mark Twain’s rvation and of re- | | endeavor, co-operating with the Lon- | don Daily Telegraph in the cause. To | | his feet until they rested on the chim- | ney-piece in the fashion we are led to like the dia- | it shall be re- | | 1897 from a public librarian’s stand- oty of | son. | well enough known on the Pacific 1y took upon himself | Coast. I refer to “The Gadfly.” With | paper on the Pacific Coast that devoted | any space at all to this book. Notwith- G0 10 IO 00108 108 508 0 10r 100 108 108 0 500 308 10HI0R 308 308 308 308 308 308 308 308 308 308 30 06 08 108 0F X0 J0HCK 108 308 306 108 10 08 08 108 0 £ 306 30X 30X X0 30 3k iy : TIMELY CHAT OF BOOKS AND AUTHORS. BY THE CALL REVIEWER. G 406 0 X0 200 00 308 K00 308 08 30K 308 300308 306 300 308 306 308 10¢ 308 0% 0 308 00 306 00 308 30 307 300K 308 408 30K 308 3CF 308 30 308 308 30 308 X0 306 6 0¥ LE AT conduct in insisting upon assuming re- | novels published in a decade. York Critic has taken pains to conduct an investigation in regard to the per- sonality ‘of its author, E. L. Voynich. It appears thaf for after the appearance of “The Gadfly” people fell quite naturally into the way of speaking of the author as “he.” La- ter on it was discovered that the initial “E.” stood for Edith. It seems that her name is not Voy- nich, but Woynicz, her husband being sponsibility for the debts of the com- pany when he might under limited lia- bility provisions have left the creditors to satisfy themselves with a mere divi dend. It will be remembered that the New York Herald started a subscrip- tion to ass him in his laudable his credit be it said Mark Twain re- | fused all offers of assistance. It will be the prayer of all whose labors he has lightened, of all those who have through his efforts changed weary hours into those of the keenest pleas- ure, that Mark Twain will be suffered to spend his last days in that peace and serenity of mind to which his arduous labors and honorable conduct entitle him, “knowing no noise, care, no vanity, no strife.” . o5 ke | Mr. Hall Caine is imitating the ways of the frivolous and the worldly, it ap- pears. He is dramatizing “The Chris- tian. Those who read that pseudo- sociological and moral-melodramatic | tome will remember that he makes the | stage the ruin of his heroine, Glory. Let us hope that he, too, will not be- | come demoralized. What a pity It | would be were he to attend midnight | balls given by hospital nurses or to fol- | low in the path of the stage door hang- er-on by visiting the dressing rooms of | dy actr 1 How we should mourn! The London Academy tells the fol- wing* story about Tennyson, which it says may or may not be true: In company with a few friends the Poet Laureate one day entered a puiblic reading-room and sat down in a large armchair before the fire. Much to the | amazement of the other occupants of | the room he then proceeded to elevate believe is “real American.” No expos- tulations on the part of his friends re- specting the inelegance of the position were of the slightest avail. Suddenly a brilllant inspirationseizedone of them —the father of one of ourleading actors | of to-day. Going close to Lord Tenny- | son, he whispered in his ear: “Take | your feet down or they’ll mistake you | for Longfellow.” In an instant the | poet’s boots were on the floor, and he | sumed the ordinary position of an | Englishman. | I know of nothing more suggestive of | the late unlamented Anthony Trollope | than this anecdote. To accuse Longfel- low of bad manners implies a lack of | knowledge of the poet’s character !hnl} is simply ridiculous, and it s strange | | | | to find a reputable literary journal printing a paragraph of this nature, which is likely to do nothing more than | engender bitter feelings. o £ STHAT! What were the best books of the year L “UBEICCOO0ODOC00ND00PVY OOV EPEP IOPOOPOOO 0PO00NAC 0P DOOONONOORO00PERON3000000CVWUL point? This is a question which pro- voked marked discussion at a recent | meeting of the New York Literary | Club. After considerable talk the really great works from a librarian's point of | view resolved themselves into seven: | “On the Face of the Waters,” by Mrs. | F. A. Steel. St. Ives,” by Robert Louls Steven- ““The Gadfly,” by E. L. Voynich. “School for Saints,” by John Oliver Hobbes. “Captains Courageous,” by Rudyard Kipling. ‘“‘Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker,” by Dr. S. Weir Mitchell. “March on London,” by G. A. Henty. I would like at this writing to call my readers’ attention to one of these books, which it seems to me is hardly the exception of The Call there is no standing this fact I ventured to say that it was one of the most remarkable | a Pole. Woynicz was changed to Voy- nich for the same reason that the name of Modrzejewska was changed to Mod- jeska, and that of the Countess Berro- viszki changed to Berrenson—in other words, that it might be easily pro-| nounced in the English tongue. Mr. Woynicz, according to the Critic, is a Polish patriot who was exiled to Sibe- ria, but managed to make his escape from that dreary land much broken in health. It is on account of this faet that he and his wife spend so much time in Italy. « s e Sir Walter Besant, about whom not so much is heard nowadays, is about to imitate Emil Zola, by publishing a trilogy called “London,” “Westmin- ster” and “South London.” “The work will be published next fall. That bright review, thé Chicago Chap THE ARTIST WAS OUT. This picture was taken in the studio of a well-known painter a few days ago. The owner of the studio, who had been away on a sketching trip, came home unexpectedly and saw his two children “improving” one of his paintings. The group and surroundings made such a pretty picture that he at once went out and secured a photo- grapher to reproduce it. The boy and girl were of course delighted at the opportunity of remaining in front of the easel while the work was being done, but gladder still at escaping a reprimand. Book, appears this week for the first time with illustrations. It may be pre- judice, but I fail to see why illustra- tions, apart from an occasional photo- graph, are necessary at all in a liter- ary Journal. It {s hard for the Ameri- can newspaperman to subjugate illus- trations to text, and while this has been done with fair success in the first Chap ‘Book, it remains to be seen whether it will be done In successive numbers. These who admire independ- ent criticism will join me in the earn- est hope that illustrating the Chap Book will not presage its decadence. VR g EMANUEL ELZAS. Mrs. Gertrude Atherton, who made such a success with her fine story, “Pa- tience Sparhawk and Her Times,” has just finished a novel which she calls “The Americans of Maundrell Abbey.” It ‘will be published in the spring by Messrs. Service and Patton of London. l 900990009390900009820004080938000008033T0308500T0V306000003NOENOP00 F0all0alcne0aaaadlsnG 3o awalcasa as 2> A ete Yo oo ioiabs oo!’ zooeeonbo°c°°oec OME authors we love for their intense personality. As they write, they unconsclously reveal themselves with a persistent vi- tality that magnetizes thefr read- ers. We are drawn to them, we gain glimpses of their inner soul, and its workings interest us more than the fictitious scenes they treat. Others we love for their creations. Standing themselves in shadow, they have introduced us to friend after friend whom we have learned to know intimately, whose aspirations and temptations we have shared, whose heart-throbs have echoed in our breasts, at whose wedding bells we have smiled, or at whose funeral toll we have mourned. Marion Crawford belongs emphati- cally to the latter class. In these days of much interviewed, self-advertising | authorship, there is probably not an- other man to be found of whom the general public has read so much and knows so little. With him we have dabbled in occult mystery on the mount of India or the street of Prague, with him we have wandered for romance to Arabia and to the Suabian forest. He has peopled Rome for us with stately, passionate, intensely human friends with whom we are far more intimate than with our next-door neighbors; he has even introduced us, albeit more superficially, to divers fashionable ac- quaintance in New York. Yet not one in five hundred general readers who can ticket off the daily doings of the latest sensational novelist knows more of Marion Crawford than this; he is the author of “Saracinesca” and “Mr. Isaacs.” The result is after a true author’'s own heart. To be lost sight of in his work is ever the artist’s ideal. But it | is not the interviewer’s ideal, and from | the moment that Mr. Crawford put himself into the hands of a manager his system of self-effacement was him as a lecturer, it means to know him also as a man, and during a few; days’ sojourn in San Francisco the jub~ ilant interviewer extracted more per-. sonality out of the author of “Corle- one” than transpired during the publi~ c;uk)u of his twenty-nine previous nove els. Moreover the long-hidden personality is as attractivc as Mr. Isaacs himself. Standing face to face with the newly revealed man, we find ourselves in the company, not of a dreamer who has created fictitious personages for our benefit, but of a “mutual friend,” who holds out one hand to us while extend- ing the other to long-familiar forms. A man who has exchanged courtesies with Spica the Slayer, worshiped the beauty of Corona and Bianca, stood with his leonine host in Saracinesca’s ancestral halls, nay, perchance, re- ceived the midnight confidences of the impenetrable Griggs. All unknowing we have possessed in Crawford the Froissart of modern Rome; a faithful chronicler of aristocratic histories and types; a social student with an intuitiva capacity for psyschological analysis. And realizing this fact. we take our author to our hearts as we took his characters, and for once the interviewer has added to our list of friends. Even Marion Crawford's selection of a home testifies to the bond between his lifé and his work. Many years ago he chose for the scene of one of his most! successful novels, “To Leeward,” a ro- mantic villa in Sorrento. He so identi- fled himself with the story and scene that he could not own one without the other, and now -siz months of his busy ear are passed in that minutely de-. scribed home, its gardens still fragrant ith orange blossom and oleander, its steps still leading down to the blue waters of the “ay across which you can see the gleaming outline of “Napoli la bella.” Half the year Mr. Crawford patriotically spe. s in America, the land of his fathers; the other half he devotes to Italy, the land of his birth. And albeit he hr- never resided per- manently in Rome, the Roman aris- tocracy accepts him, American citizen though he be, as one of themselves; a native-born Roman, of their capital and doomed. Now that the public knows creed, with all att n~ 'nt privileges. GROTESQUE PROCESSION OF POPULAR GIANTS AND HOBGOBLINS HE pro sight. ie on went r people as riding by, t Mic d N e procession was like it was-1 A Guy Fawkes c nd Horrit proc parts of the United ion: tates on Fourth of and earli and at every moment it was unique and To-day, with one or two exceptions, the glants are all sion of these curious giants in Brussels memorable. The wooden glants, with their costly raiment, towered high ch side of the streets, g the little children when some cruel mon- ‘or's show: at deliverance o city a and this_proci i 2 at another. ing the Virgin 0 which areJio. Siginesthn) M@ s & The Belgians dearly love a procession, and in early times used to celebrate all great nations events by a so-called “‘cavalcade” or “‘omgang, the noted personages of Scripture and history were rep- 1d drawing cheers resented. In many r s 1ael or sope other pa- glish Miracle pla a Belglan town came into view. At one mo- there was a procession at Louvaln ancient En- spects it As far back held to celeb; N little monk in Munic! very like that of Gog and Magog to London. It would be difficult to which Charlemagne hold the Flemish people. and ‘“‘the glants.” N = E N c.l \ that remain of this former splendor, ana so deeply are these favorites seated in the hearts of Young Belgium that they are unlikely soon to be forgotten. Y epresentations of three ho by the nine wiv arily r where, ju: 7.%‘ an town. His figure xaggerate the important place in legend and in the hearts of Their love for him is shown in the never-ending appearance of his mighty figure in the pro- other married lad appear in the proc with most cessions, from the church cavalcade down vo the present time. The grand King was reputed to be eight feet in ridiculed. In one proce: height, and he was so powerful that he could straighten an academic helmet, W shoes with one movement of his hand. He had but, unlike the wife of Goliath and a few Polydore, the wives of Charlemagne rareiy ion of giants. Next came the giant Crusader, followed by one of the s the bear is seen In_Berne, or Virgins of Brussels—the one with a curious helmet, a h. His relation to Hasselt Is dangerous looking mus graceful pose, a well k hair, and a maidenly face. The Cru great deal of trouble during the march, and had to be of “Onions’ constantly held up by his attendants. His costume was mediately adopted, with no spiteful feeling, as their own, perhaps not exactly in the crusader style, but anachron- he, and a cross upon his breast; re 1 itting wrap, that the people of Termonde, in their superiority, once ple of Alost with the interesting nickname medieval times. der gave a dubbed the a Yc Gun'r of‘HAssfl.'t. isms in these processions are rarely noted and as rarely on recently Gollath appeared in le Hercules wore the costume of olydora and Polydoorka, the three comical giants contributed by the town of Alost to the Brussels n, are intended to burlesque the family of Ter- Polydora, the portly and fascinating wife ssed spouse, holds a bunch of on- in lies a tale, for it is reported name which the inhabitants of Alost im- They now look upon it as a title of honor, ¢