Evening star., 1932-04-10


dierly in movement and maneuyer. perfect in
equipment Bands male music. Hoois beat
staccato measures. Extemporized seats on the
sidelines are filled. Windows above are
crowded
Just Is years ago this day April 6, the
United States entered the World War. This
Wednesday afternoon on the Avenue is in cele-
bTation Of that event
Moving back from the window group into
the book room, deserted save for the filled win
dow spaces, I caught the sense Of stir along
the shelves, among the books. OF course not
But did For at that second book, the big,
swo-volume Life of Our War President moved
to the edge Of its shelf. In but slight min
ute there stood beside ii My Experiences in
the World War" by the commander in chief
Of the A. E. Then others came, forming
into line. Believe it not, but literature was
mobilizing in that book room. War. by way
OF print joining up.
The noisy windows chattered on As for me-
I scarcely breathed. Here was excitement.
Beside the Wilson and the Pershing volumes
there ranged themselves in perfect order the
lives of generals. French, English, German.
Records Of fighting by land and sea, In the
air, under the waters. on many n widely sepa-
rated front Stories Of camp and march and
trench and bsttle. The striking OF innumeYa-
bic zero hours Here the deafening roar OF
the devils own devices for slaughter. Millions
going west" out into the great forgetting.
Little stories Of personal heroism. Short
sketches OF daring out into mo Mans Land"
Oh, thousand pictures Of war in one
ether Of its savage thrusts grim seconds
Of waiting!
Not behevable, that mObilizing Of war books
mp IN the book room. True gospel never
theless. Though nobody noticed but me. No
body Knows those books but me, 30 how could
they realize! But there they were-txue
preaching company with that eele-
bration down on the Avenue an orderly pha-
lanx Of war literature, set out In all the pFece-
dences Of rank and the precise routine Of
hAe.
All bat one. just in this impressive
company Of book soldiery had found no place
And for this one there seemed to be place
Mt all Let us talk about the unfortunate hero
Of this book for irdub:tably he is a hero.
Better still let US have him tell about IL:
land; 1s14-1s1s. By Paul Cohen -Portheim-
New York: u. p Dutton & Co. Inc.
THE title pretty nearly tells the story. Ger
tainly it accounts for the place, or no place.
Of this book. with the actual belhgerents ranged
along the shelves Of the book room
Yet, hardly a more interesting story Of war
at Of its points could be found than the
helm, as IAN alien enemy" in an English prison
camp.
An alien to be sure In technical war
terms An enemy" In fact, however q warm
friend to France and England, where SO much
Of his professional life as an artist had been
spent. At the moment Of wars really unsus-
pected approach. this artist had gone across
10 England to turn the cliffs and waters Of
Devon into paint" when, suddenly he was de-
clared an alien enemy and herded into a
prison camp.
TINS Is the story of that term Of ignoniniosls
Inactivity. OF deadly routine OF stupefying bore
dom- OF days unreleved to look for new
paths between quarters in going 70 and from,
70 as to find some little change in the round
and-round of the day. The morning and its
seant holdings Of action and interest, the noon
sagging away from even such enliyenment The
nights endless The new morning jast YES
terdays. not even warmed over -Four wears
OF this cultivated man. herded without
seelnsion Of any sort without privacy for the
Host intimate Of needs without spiritual or
mental contacts. what happened? very
glorious thing happened. No despair no sink
ing under the load OF staleness. Instead, Mr.
Paul Cohen -Portheim pulled himself together
brushed up his mind gave a cold plunge to
his spirit and became the artist that he really
was and had for many years proved himself
to be- He set out to paint it all IN upon this
four-year spread of canvas, the English prison
camp Selecting from the dull day its most
typical features. he set these down in fair
coiors Of fact, without dipping the brush in
resentment hatred, bitterness or other distort-
ing hue. The moods Of the camp rs well as
their responding activities come and TO- The
Stiffness OF war as well its sin steps out
here, as clearly as 1t does in battle itself
Making the best Of q bad job seasons this
story with philosophy and a reasonable COM
posure II Is n great war story. In our own
shsah corner It moves, by right, into the war
company Of the book room
THEY CALL IT PATRIOTISM. BY Bruno