The Cabell case belongs to comedy in the grand manner. For fifteen years or more the man wrote and wrote—good stuff, sound stuff, extremely original stuff, often superbly fine stuff—and yet no one in the whole of this vast and incomparable Republic arose to his merit—no one, that is, save a few encapsulated enthusiasts1, chiefly somewhat dubious2. It would be difficult to imagine a first-rate artist cloaked in greater obscurity, even in the remotest lands of Ghengis Khan. The newspapers, reviewing him, dismissed him with a sort of inspired ill-nature; the critics of a more austere3 kidney—the Paul Elmer Mores4, Brander Matthewses, Hamilton Wright Mabies, and other such brummagem dons—were utterly5 unaware6 of him. Then, of a sudden, the imbeciles who operate the Comstock Society raided and suppressed his "Jurgen," and at once he was a made man. Old book-shops began to be ransacked7 for his romances and extravaganzas—many of them stored, I daresay, as "picture-books," and under the name of the artist who illustrated8 them, Howard Pyle. And simultaneously9, a great gabble about him set up in the newspapers, and then in the literary weeklies, and finally even in the learned reviews. An Englishman, Hugh Walpole, magnified the excitement with some startling hochs; a single hoch from the Motherland brings down the professors like firemen sliding down a pole. To-day every literate11 American has heard of Cabell, including even those presidents of women's clubs who lately confessed that they had never heard of Lizette Woodworth Reese. More of his books are sold in a week than used to be sold in a year. Every flapper in the land has read "Jurgen" behind the door; two-thirds of the grandmothers east of the Mississippi have tried to borrow it from me. Solemn Privat Dozenten lecture upon the author; he is invited to take to the chautauqua himself; if the donkeys who manage the National Institute of Arts and Letters were not afraid of his reply he would be offered its gilt-edged ribbon, vice13 Sylvanus Cobb, deceased. And all because a few pornographic old fellows thrust their ever-hopeful snouts into the man's tenth (or was it eleventh or twelfth?) book!
Certainly, the farce14 must appeal to Cabell himself—a sardonic15 mocker, not incapable16 of making himself a character in his own revues. But I doubt that he enjoys the actual pawing that he has been getting—any more than he resented the neglect that he got for so long. Very lately, in the midst of the carnival17, he announced his own literary death and burial, and even preached a burlesque18 funeral sermon upon his life and times. Such an artist, by the very nature of his endeavors, must needs stand above all public-clapper-clawing, pro10 or con12. He writes, not to please his customers in general, nor even to please his partisans19 in particular, but to please himself. He is his own criterion, his own audience, his own judge and hangman. When he does bad work, he suffers for it as no holy clerk ever suffered from a gnawing20 conscience or Freudian suppressions; when he does good work he gets his pay in a form of joy that only artists know. One could no more think of him exposing himself to the stealthy, uneasy admiration21 of a women's club—he is a man of agreeable exterior22, with handsome manners and an eye for this and that—than one could imagine him taking to the stump23 for some political mountebank24 or getting converted at a camp-meeting. What moves such a man to write is the obscure, inner necessity that Joseph Conrad has told us of, and what rewards him when he has done is his own searching and accurate judgment25, his own pride and delight in a beautiful piece of work.
At once, I suppose, you visualize26 a somewhat smug fellow, loftily complacent27 and superior—in brief, the bogus artist of Greenwich Village, posturing28 in a pot-hat before a cellar full of visiting schoolmarms, all dreaming of being betrayed. If so, you see a ghost. It is the curse of the true artist that his work never stands before him in all its imagined completeness—that he can never look at it without feeling an impulse to add to it here or take away from it there—that the beautiful, to him, is not a state of being, but an eternal becoming. Satisfaction, like the praise of dolts29, is the compensation of the aesthetic30 cheese-monger—the popular novelist, the Broadway dramatist, the Massenet and Kipling, the Maeterlinck and Augustus Thomas. Cabell, in fact, is forever fussing over his books, trying to make them one degree better. He rewrites almost as pertinaciously32 as Joseph Conrad, Henry James, or Brahms. Compare "Domnei" in its present state to "The Soul of Melicent," its first state, circa 1913. The obvious change is the change in title, but of far more importance are a multitude of little changes—a phrase made more musical, a word moved from one place to another, some small banality33 tracked down and excised34, a brilliant adjective inserted, the plan altered in small ways, the rhythm of it made more delicate and agreeable. Here, in "The Line of Love," there is another curious example of his high capacity for revision. It is not only that the book, once standing35 isolated36, has been brought into the Cabellian canon, and so related to "Jurgen" and "Figures of Earth" at one end, and to the tales of latter-day Virginia at the other; it is that the whole texture37 has been worked over, and the colors made more harmonious38, and the inner life of the thing given a fresh energy. Once a flavor of the rococo39 hung about it; now it breathes and moves. For Cabell knows a good deal more than he knew in 1905. He is an artist whose work shows constant progress toward the goals he aims at—principally the goal of a perfect style. Content, with him, is always secondary. He has ideas, and they are often of much charm and plausibility40, but his main concern is with the manner of stating them. It is surely not ideas that make "Jurgen" stand out so saliently from the dreadful prairie of modern American literature; it is the magnificent writing that is visible on every page of it—writing apparently41 simple and spontaneous, and yet extraordinarily42 cunning and painstaking43. The current notoriety of "Jurgen" will pass. The Comstocks will turn to new imbecilities, and the followers44 of literary parades to new marvels45. But it will remain an author's book for many a year.
By author, of course, I mean artist—not mere46 artisan. It was certainly not surprising to hear that Maurice Hewlett found "Jurgen" exasperating47. So, too, there is exasperation48 in Richard Strauss for plodding49 music-masters. Hewlett is simply a British Civil Servant turned author, which is not unsuggestive of an American Congressman50 turned philosopher. He has a pretty eye for color, and all the gusto that goes with beefiness, but like all the men of his class and race and time he can think only within the range of a few elemental ideas, chiefly of a sentimental51 variety, and when he finds those ideas flouted52 he is horrified53. The bray54, in fact, revealed the ass31. It is Cabell's skepticism that saves him from an Americanism as crushing as Hewlett's Briticism, and so sets him free as an artist. Unhampered by a mission, happily ignorant of what is commended by all good men, disdainful of the petty certainties of pedagogues55 and green-grocers, not caring a damn what becomes of the Republic, or the Family, or even snivelization itself, he is at liberty to disport56 himself pleasantly with his nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns, arranging them with the same free hand, the same innocent joy, the same superb skill and discretion57 with which the late Jahveh arranged carbon, nitrogen, sulphur, hydrogen, oxygen and phosphorus in the sublime58 form of the human carcass. He, too, has his jokes. He knows the arch effect of a strange touch; his elaborate pedantries59 correspond almost exactly to the hook noses, cock eyes, outstanding ears and undulating Adam's apples which give so sinister60 and Rabelaisian a touch to the human scene. But in the main he sticks to more seemly materials and designs. His achievement, in fact, consists precisely61 in the success with which he gives those materials a striking newness, and gets a novel vitality62 into those designs. He takes the ancient and mouldy parts of speech—the liver and lights of harangues63 by Dr. Harding, of editorials in the New York Times, of "Science and Health, with a Key to the Scriptures," of department-store advertisements, of college yells, of chautauqual oratory64, of smoke-room anecdote—and arranges them in mosaics65 that glitter with an almost fabulous66 light. He knows where a red noun should go, and where a peacock-blue verb, and where an adjective as darkly purple as a grape. He is an imagist in prose. You may like his story and you may not like it, but if you don't like the way he tells it then there is something the matter with your ears. As for me, his experiments with words caress67 me as I am caressed68 by the tunes69 of old Johannes Brahms. How simple it seems to manage them—and how infernally difficult it actually is!
H. L. MENCKEN.
Baltimore, October 1st, 1921.
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1 enthusiasts | |
n.热心人,热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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2 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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3 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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4 mores | |
n.风俗,习惯,民德,道德观念 | |
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5 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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6 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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7 ransacked | |
v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 );抢劫,掠夺 | |
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8 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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9 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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10 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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11 literate | |
n.学者;adj.精通文学的,受过教育的 | |
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12 con | |
n.反对的观点,反对者,反对票,肺病;vt.精读,学习,默记;adv.反对地,从反面;adj.欺诈的 | |
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13 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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14 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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15 sardonic | |
adj.嘲笑的,冷笑的,讥讽的 | |
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16 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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17 carnival | |
n.嘉年华会,狂欢,狂欢节,巡回表演 | |
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18 burlesque | |
v.嘲弄,戏仿;n.嘲弄,取笑,滑稽模仿 | |
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19 partisans | |
游击队员( partisan的名词复数 ); 党人; 党羽; 帮伙 | |
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20 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
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21 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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22 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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23 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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24 mountebank | |
n.江湖郎中;骗子 | |
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25 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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26 visualize | |
vt.使看得见,使具体化,想象,设想 | |
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27 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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28 posturing | |
做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
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29 dolts | |
n.笨蛋,傻瓜( dolt的名词复数 ) | |
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30 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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31 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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32 pertinaciously | |
adv.坚持地;固执地;坚决地;执拗地 | |
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33 banality | |
n.陈腐;平庸;陈词滥调 | |
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34 excised | |
v.切除,删去( excise的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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36 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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37 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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38 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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39 rococo | |
n.洛可可;adj.过分修饰的 | |
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40 plausibility | |
n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
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41 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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42 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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43 painstaking | |
adj.苦干的;艰苦的,费力的,刻苦的 | |
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44 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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45 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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47 exasperating | |
adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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48 exasperation | |
n.愤慨 | |
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49 plodding | |
a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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50 Congressman | |
n.(美)国会议员 | |
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51 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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52 flouted | |
v.藐视,轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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54 bray | |
n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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55 pedagogues | |
n.教师,卖弄学问的教师( pedagogue的名词复数 ) | |
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56 disport | |
v.嬉戏,玩 | |
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57 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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58 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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59 pedantries | |
n.假学问,卖弄学问,迂腐( pedantry的名词复数 ) | |
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60 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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61 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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62 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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63 harangues | |
n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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65 mosaics | |
n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 );镶嵌;镶嵌工艺;镶嵌图案 | |
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66 fabulous | |
adj.极好的;极为巨大的;寓言中的,传说中的 | |
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67 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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68 caressed | |
爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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