The New York herald., 1921-05-01


pieces that might have been
pot boilers" They appeared
in all sorts of newspapers and maga-
zines, and some of them deal with
matters of passing interest. But all
Of them convey that conviction of
character and conviction of beauty
which are one in the man and artis.
Conrad
He writes of things he cares about
literature, the sea, Poland If he
writes about himself-as the essayist
is bound to dot Is never without
reserve, never, as he says, in dressing
gown and slippers:
The only thing that will not be
found amongst those Figures and
Things that have passed away will
be Conrad en- pdntoufles. 1t is con-
stitutional inability. Schlotrock and
pantodelni Not that! Never!
I don't know whether I dare boast
like certain South American general
who used to say that no emergency of
war or peace had ever found him
with his boots Off; but / may say
mentioned In this book called on me
to come and blow the trumpet of per-
Sonal opinions or strike the pensive
lutte that speaks of the past. / always
tried to pull on my boots first.
didn't want to do it, God knows
Their Editors. to whom / beg to offer
my thanks here, made me perform
mainly by kindness, but partly by
bribery. Well, yes Bribery. What
can you expect? l never pretended
to be better than the people in the
next street or even in the same street"
But he is in a very different mood
of high priestly seriousness when he
writes of books: rHets
"Of all the inanimate objects, of all
mems creations, books are the nearest
to u.s. for they contain our very
thought, our ambitions. our indigna-
tions. our illusions, our fidelity TO
| truth and our persistent leaning to-
| ward error. But most of all they re-
semble us in their precarious hold on
| life. A bridge constructed according
to the rules of the art OF bridge build
ing is certain of long, honorable and
it's way as the bridge may perish OBJ
scurely on the very day of ,ts birth.
The art of their creators Is not suf-
ficient to give them more than a mo-
ment of life. OF the books born from
the restlessness, the inspiration and
the vanity OF human minds, those that
the Muses. would love best lie more
than all others under the menace Of
an early death. Sometimes their de-
fects will save them. Some. mes a
book fair to see may-to use a lofty
expression-have no Individual soul.
Obviously a book OF that sort cannot
die. 1t can only crumble into dust.
But the best of books drawing susie
nance from the sympathy and MEM
ory of men have lived or the brink of
destruction, for mems memories are
short and their sympathy is, we must
admit, very fluctuating. unpi incipled
emotion"
And though he writes we'll OF Henry
James, and Maupassant. there is a
more enthusiastic note i'm this passage
about an American author sometimes
underestimated by mis- own country
men--James Fenimore Cooper. Con-
rad has been speaking of Macryat and
he goes on:
AT the same time, on the other
side of the Atlantic. another man
wrote OF the sea with true artistic
instinct. He is not invincibly young
and heroic; he is mature and human,
though for him also the stress of
adventure and endeavour must end
fatally in inheritance and mar
riage. For James Fenimore Cooper
nature was not the framework, it was
an essential part OF existence. He
could hear its voice, he could under
stand It's silence. and he could in
terpret both for us in his prose with
all that felicity and sureness of effect
that belong TO a poetical conception
alone. His fame. as wide but less
brilliant than that of his contempo-
rary. rests mostly on novel which
is not Of the sea. But he loved the
sea and looked at it with consummate
understanding In his sea tales the
sea interpenetrates with life, IT Is
In a subtle way factor In the prob
lem of existence, and for all its great
ness IL is always in touch r'ith the
men who, bound on errands of war or
gain, traverse Its immense solitudes.
His descriptions have the magistral
ampleness of gesture indicating the
sweep Of a vast horizon. They EN-
brace the colours of sunset. the peace
of starlight, the aspects of calm ana
storm. the great loneliness OF the
waters the stiffness of watchful