216
parte falls into ecstasies over the
exquisitely shaped hands of a Rus–
sian tank driver and compares
them to the hands of Picasso and
Stradivarius. Aretino was paid by
the princes and the cardinals; the
Malapartes are the hirelings of
more impersonal entities called
"parties" and traffic in "ideolo–
gies." But there is the same
mix–
ture of intellectuality, artistic re–
finement, and moral depravity–
and above all the same effrontery.
Malaparte needed a good deal of
the latter to announce his conver–
sion to the "marxist mode of an–
alysis."
The most prevalent "ideology"
in Europe today is that of cynicism
and nihilism. The old · values of
Western civilization have been
junked and from the heap of rub–
bish now glares a gigantic sign:
FOR SALE.
Among the intelligentsia,
communism once was the ideology
of somewhat timid college profes–
sors with shining pant seats and
of habitues of literary cafes. It has
now become the religion of those
who frequent the most fashionable
black-market restaurants. The Par–
ty
has made a job and an assign–
ment of what was once a human
cause. Ideologies are produced at
so much per word. Those familiar
with the finer points of modern
literature are paid extra. Mala–
parte and other former playboys
of the Western world are highly
priced in the East.
This is not to suggest that most
European intellectuals have
1
been
involved in the collapse of values
that occurs before our eyes, nor
that purely material reasons moti-
P A R T
.I S
A N
R.
E
V I
EW
vate all those who have capitulated.
Moral cowardice, failure of nerve,
and worship of myths play a con–
siderable part. Yet, whatever the
causes, the disease
of
Stalinism has
made amazing inroads into mod–
ern thought. To denounce it be–
comes a simple act of public hy-
giene.
Lours
CLAIR
Better to Burn?*
0 Miss Anne Finch (or maybe Mrs.)
Knows we can't depend on kisses
As the way to happy ending
Or the means to understanding;
And our society refuses
To let the parents be the choosers;
But those on whom the choice does fall
Sometimes cannot tell at all
.What their needs or natures be
And find their lives a misery.
So the symbolic wedding ring
Often does not mean a thing
And infidelity runs rife
While everyday is simply strife
And everyone loves another's mate
'And looks upon his own with hate.
II
Now every thinking person can
See this is an awful plan
And though the facts bear out dear
Freud
They scarcely leave one overjoyed.
But what can we do, if not depend
On
taste or custom as a friend?
How can we manage to keep pace
With whirling news and time and space?
Shall we have an infant child?
It seems a panacea mild
'Gainst world irruption and dismay–
Well, if we won't, or can't, or may
Not, still we must not give up hope
But find a way with which to cope
With all the burdens of our lives,
Our quirks, our sins, our husbands,
wives;
*
This
is
a review of
Essay on Marriage
by
Anne Finch, a book of verse (Rinehart, $1.00).
