6
PARTISAN REVIEW
dark corner of the room and my brother pressed his face against
the wire. "Where are you?" he kept asking. And at the same time
he was wiping from his glasses the tears that prevented
his
seeing.
How happy I would be if I could be in the cage at Luckau now, and
so spare Karl this trial!
Please give my best thanks to Pfemfert for having sent me the
Galsworthy. I finished reading it yesterday and
it
gave me a great
deal of pleasure. I like it, I admit, less than
A Man oj Property,
not in spite of the fact, but
because
its social bias is more dominant.
In a novel, I don't look for the point of view, but primarily for its
value as art, and what shocks me from this angle in
Fraternity
is the fact that Galsworthy uses it too much to show off his wit.
This will surprise you. But he belongs to the same type as Bernard
Shaw or Oscar Wilde, a type that seems to be very widespread at
the moment among English intellectuals: very intelligent and pol–
ished, but blase, eyeing everything that happens in the world with
amusement and scepticism. The shrewd and ironic remarks about
his
characters that Galsworthy makes with the utmost seriousness often
make me burst out laughing. But just as really well bred and
distin–
guished people never, or rarely, make fun of their circle, even if they
are quite aware of its ridiculous side, a true artist should never take
an ironic attitude toward his own creations. Don't misunderstand me,
Sonitschka, I don't exclude great satire. For example, Gerhart Haupt–
mann's
Emmanuel V
is the most lashing satire on modem society writ–
ten in the last hundred years. But in writing it Hauptmann himself
does not sneer. At the end of his work, I can see his lips trembling,
his eyes set and full of tears. Galsworthy, on the other hand, with all
the witty remarks that he drops more or less everywhere, reminds me
of a dinner companion .who every time a new guest came into the room
would slip a malicious remark in my ear.
Today is Sunday, Sunday again, the most deadly day for pris–
oners and people who are alone. I am sad, but hope with all my heart
that you are not, nor Karl. Write to me soon and tell me when you
will go away for a rest, and where.
I kiss you with all my heart and send my greetings to the children.
Yours,
ROSA
Couldn't Pf. send me a good book again, perhaps something by
Thomas Mann? I know nothing of his. One more request: the sun is
beginning to blind me when I go out; would you be so kind as to send
me a yard of very fine black dotted net? My thanks in advance.
