It can be said most confidently that no soldier who fought in our recent War ever saw any approach to the battle scenes in this book — but what wonder? We are told that it is the work of a young man of twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, and so of course must be a mere work of diseased imagination. And yet it constantly strains after so-called realism. The result is a mere riot of words.
Although its burlesques and caricatures are quite enough to dismiss it from attention, it is worth while to give some samples of its diction to show that there is in it an entire lack of any literary quality. Notice the violent straining after effect in the mere unusual association of words, in the forced and distorted use of adjectives. Notice, too, the absurd similes, and even the bad grammar. Startling sentences are so frequent they might be quoted indefinitely; but here are a few:
“A brigade ahead of them and on the right went into action with a rending roar. It was as if it had exploded” (p. 45.)
“The lieutenant of the youth’s company was shot in the hand. He began to swear so wondrously that a nervous laugh went along the regimental line. The officer’s profanity sounded conventional. It relieved the tightened senses of the new men. It was as if he had hit his fingers with a tack hammer at home”(p 49).
“Another [mounted officer] was galloping about bawling. His hat was gone, and his clothes were awry. He resembled a man who has come from bed to go to a fire. The hoofs of his horse often threatened the heads of the running men, but they scampered with singular fortune. In this rush they were apparently all deaf and blind. They heeded not the largest and longest of oaths which were thrown at them from all directions” (p. 51).
“The battle reflection that shone for an instant in the faces on the mad current made the youth feel that forceful hands from heaven would not have been able to have held him in place if he could have got intelligent control of his legs” (p. 52).
“A small thrillful boy” (p. 53).
“The cartridge-boxes were pulled around into various positions, and adjusted with great care. It was as if seven hundred new bonnets were being tried on” (p. 53).
“Buried in the smoke of many rifles, his anger was directed not so much against the men whom he knew were rushing toward him as against the swishing battle phantoms which were choking him, stuffing their smoke robes down his parched throat” (p. 57).
“There was a blare of heated rage” (p. 58).
“The officers at their intervals rearward . . . were bobbing to and fro roaring directions. The dimensions of their howls were extraordinary” (p. 59).
“To the youth it was like an onslaught of redoubtable dragons. He became like the man who lost his legs at the approach of the red and green monster. He waited in a sort of horrified, listening attitude. He seemed to shut his eyes, and wait to be gobbled “(p. 68).
“A crimson roar came from a distance” (p. 82).
“With the courageous words of the artillery and the spiteful sentences of the musketry mingled red cheers” (p. 85).
“The youth had reached an anguish when the sobs scorched him” (p. 94).
“They were ever up-raising the ghost of shame on the stick of their curiosity” (p. 104).
“The new silence of his wound made much worryment” (P. 124).
“The distance was splintering and blaring with the noise of fighting” (p. 139).
“... began to mutter softly in black curses” (p. 201).
“His corpse would be for those eyes a great and salt reproach” (p. 215).
It is extraordinary that even a prejudiced animus could have led English writers to lavish extravagant praise on such a book; it is still more extraordinary that an attempt should be made to foist it upon the longsuffering American public, and to push it into popularity here. Respect for our own people should have prevented its issue in this country.
There may have been a moderate number of men in our service who felt and acted in battle like those in this book; but of such deserters were made. They did not stay when they could get away: why should they? The army was no healthy place for them, and they had no reason to stay; there was no moral motive. After they had deserted, however, they remained “loud soldiers,” energetic, and blatant, — and they are possibly now enjoying good pensions. It must have been some of these fellows who got the ear of Mr. Crane and told him how they felt and acted in battle. A. C. McC.
Chicago, April 11, 1896.
From: The Dial, V. XX, No. 237, May 1, 1896, p.263-264
“THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE.” — A CORRECTION.
(To the Editor of The Dial.)
It is with a certain hesitation that we write you to correct the author of a somewhat bitter letter published in your journal for April 16, for we recognize the signature as that of a gallant soldier, as well as a student of literature. But as the author of that letter labors under several misapprehensions, we think that he will be glad to learn the facts.
“The Red Badge of Courage” was read and accepted by us in December, 1894, and, in book form, it was first published in this country in October, 1895. Although the book was copyrighted in England at the same time, it was not formally published there for two months. Meantime the American journals had reviewed it and had begun an almost universal chorus of eulogy. October 19, 1895, the “New York Times” devoted a column and a half to a strong review of “this remarkable book.” On October 13, the “Philadelphia Press” compared Mr. Crane and Bret Harte, not to the disadvantage of the former. On October 26, the “New York Mail and Express,” in one of several notices, said, “The author has more than talent — there is genius in the book.” On October 26, the “Boston Transcript,” in speaking of “this tremendous grasping of the glory and carnage of war,” added at the close of a long and enthusiastic review, “The book forces upon the reader the conviction of what fighting really means.” Other favorable reviews appeared in October issues of the following American newspapers: “ New York Herald,” “ Brooklyn Eagle,” “ Cleveland World,” “ St. Paul Pioneer Press,” “Boston Daily Advertiser,” “New York World,” “St. Paul Globe,” “New York Commercial Advertiser,” “Kansas City Journal,” “ Chicago Evening Post,” « Boston Courier,” “ Cleveland Plain Dealer,” “ Boston Beacon,” “Hartford Times,” “Sioux City Times,” “ New Haven Leader,” and “The Minneapolis Journal,” and to these names, taken almost at random, we might add many others. These journals reviewed “The Red Badge” favorably in October, and others, including weeklies like “The Critic” and “The Outlook,” followed in November with emphatic recognition of the strength and high talent shown in the book.
It was not until the end of November, two months after publication here, that the first reviews appeared in England. By that time American reviewers from Maine to California had “greeted” the book with the highest “encomiums.” The English “encomiums” became specially marked in late December, January, and February.
We state these facts in view of your correspondent’s remarks that “So far, at least, the American papers have said very little about the merits or demerits of the book,” and, “The book has very recently been reprinted in America,” and, “Respect for our own people should have prevented its issue in this country.” “Our country” was the first to recognize Mr. Crane’s genius, and our people have read his book so eagerly that it continues to be the most popular work of fiction in the market, and it has been the one most talked of and written about since October last.
A glance at the back of the “Red Badge” title-page would have shown that the book could not have been “first published” in England and “reprinted” here, while the literary departments of journals throughout our country, and the opinions of American men of letters like Mr. Howells and Mr. Hamlin Garland, have proved, happily, that Americans are ready to recognize American talent, and that, pare your correspondent, a prophet is not without honor even in his own country.
As to other points, against the opinion of the gallant veteran who criticizes the book mig
ht be put the opinions of other veterans who have found only words of praise.
D. Appleton & Company.
New York, April 20, 1896.
A RED BADGE OF BAD ENGLISH.
(To the Editor of The Dial.)
The animus of the articles in British magazines during our Civil War, as quoted by “A. C. McC.” in your issue of April 16, sufficiently explains the English enthusiasm for that literary absurdity called “The Red Badge of Courage.” The trend of the whole work — to prove the absence of such a thing as a gentleman in the union army — may be justly expected to arouse the resentment of the class of whom “A. C. McC.” is such a striking and honorable example. If this work is realism, it is realism run mad, rioting in all that is revolting to man’s best instincts, and utterly false to nature and to life. The Federal army doubtless possessed its share of ruffianly officers and stupid brainless men, but to select such and to hold them up as types is not true realism. Yet this is the work which one London periodical compares favorably with the writings of Tolstoi and Zola, and concerning which another London periodical says: “There is no possibility of resistance when once you are in its grasp.”
The examples of hysterical composition given by “A. C. McC.” might be supplemented by others fully as absurd taken from nearly every page of the book. Amid so much that is strained and affected there is not one agreeable character, hardly one praiseworthy sentiment, and certainly not a new or original thought. But as the book is heralded as one of the literary successes of the year, it is but fair to call attention to a few examples of its latter-day English. We can bear with equanimity the author’s vulgarisms and mannerisms, his use of the split infinitive, and of such words as reliable, standpoint, and others which the slipshod fashion of the day has authorized by general usage. We may even attribute to “typographical errors such careless constructions as the following:
“A shrill lamentation rang; out filled with profane illusions to a general” (p. 193).
“His anger was directed not so much against the men whom he knew were rushing” (p. 57).
“Tottering among them was the rival color hearer, whom the youth saw had been bitten” (p. 222).
But what is to be said of the following bright gems, culled almost at random while turning over these “irresistible” pages?
“Set upon it was the hard and dark lines” (p. 222).
“There was no obvious questionings, nor figurings, nor diagrams. There was apparently no considered loopholes’’ (p. 219).
“He departed ladened. The youth went with his friend, feeling a desire to throw his heated body onto the stream” (p. 179).
“Once he found himself almost into a swamp” (p. 79). “The majesty of he who dares give his life” (p. 68). “He could not flee no more than a little finger can commit a revolution from the hand” (p. 56).
Eugene Field, not long before his death, remarked: “The one crime that cannot be righteously charged against our fin de siecle poetasters is slovenliness.” Unhappily our fin de siecle prose writers are peculiarly susceptible to the charge. Can this general butchery of the language be the nemesis of “dialect literature,” which has done so much to bring sensible and intelligible English into ill repute? J. L. Onderdonk.
Chicago, April 18, 1896.
From: The Dial, V. XX, No. 238, May16, 1896, p.297-298
MR. STEPHEN CRANE AND HIS CRITICS.
(To the Editor of The Dial.)
It really requires some courage to confess it, but I was one of the first English reviewers to whose lot fell the reviewing of Mr. Stephen Crane’s book, “The Red Badge of Courage.” Worse still — a quite damning fact, I fear — I even ventured to praise it. Mr. Crane I had never heard of when his book came to me in the ordinary course of business, but I read the volume with the greatest interest; I thought it in many ways a remarkable performance, and I did my best to give reasons for the faith that was in me. But apparently it is a subtle insult for an Englishman to praise an American book. I used to think that a good book was a good book the whole world over. It is only since landing in this country and picking up The Dial of April 16 that I have learned better. Your correspondent, “A. C. McC,” is my authority. Now, I am truly sorry that any criticisms of mine or of my brother reviewers in London should have so annoyed your correspondent, for he evidently was very much annoyed. He came out on the warpath, arrested Mr. Crane as a literary spy, court-martialled him, and shot the poor fellow off-hand.
This book, says “A. C. McC.” in effect, cannot be a good one for Americans to read because the English have praised it. He puts the whole thing in a nutshell, you see. This English praise, he is convinced, is a Grecian gift. I personally thought I was merely pointing out the merits of what seemed to me a book that deserved some notice. But he saw the ambush we English reviewers were laying. Deep under our affected enthusiasm for this young writer was an intense desire to insult America. It sounds oddly, doesn’t it? But he has chapter and verse to prove it. He comes across some cruel, senseless gibes at the Union soldiers in “Blackwood’s Magazine.” They are over thirty years old, and to-day, from one end of England to the other, you could not find a man to express anything but the bitterest shame of them. But what of that?” There,” exclaims “A. C. McC.” exultantly,” that is why these English are praising Stephen Crane. The hero of his book is a coward. Thirty years ago au ignorant British magazine talked of ‘‘the swift-footed warriors of Bull’s Run.’ Don’t you see the connection? It is all a deep-laid plot to throw mud at American soldiers.” To be sure! And so when I sat, pipe in mouth, a peaceable, jaded reviewer, happy to have come across a book above the dull dead level, my mind was really full of schemes for avenging Bunker’s Hill!
Your correspondent’s letter is a compound of misjudged patriotism and bad criticism. Take only these two sentences. “The book,” he says, “is a vicious satire upon American soldiers and American armies.” “Respect for our own people should have prevented its issue in this country.” A curious attitude to take up towards a book, unworthy of an American, as it seems to me, and peculiarly unworthy of an American who, as I hear, fought through the war with distinction. I will say at once that no such idea ever presented itself to a single Englishman into whose hands the book fell. The most insignificant thing about the book, the one point which every sensible reviewer would at once dismiss from his mind as quite immaterial, is the fact that the hero fought for the North. If he had been an Englishman in the ditches before Sebastopo), or a Frenchman at Sedan, the book would have been just as remarkable, and the praise of the English journals no less warm. But to “A. C. McC.” Mr. Crane’s one unforgivable crime lies in portraying a Northerner who fled from the field.
Scarcely less wrong-headed is your correspondent’s criticism of the book as a piece of literature. He has missed the whole point of the tale. Fart of Mr. Crane’s plan, I take it, was to give an idea of the impressions made on a raw recruit by the movements of a regiment in battle. Who can doubt that to a man who but yesterday was working at the plough the whole thing appears one intolerable confusion? As for the style in which the book is written, “A. C. McC.” finds in it “ an entire lack of any literary quality.” Mr. Crane, once more, is an author “utterly without merit.” No half-measures with “A. C. McC.” Again quotations are at hand. Detached sentences are given, and anything disapproved of is italicised. The odd part about it is that most of the expressions thus crucified seem to me admirable and picturesque. That there is a youthful and occasionally reckless daring about some, is true enough. But on the whole I am prepared to back Mr. Crane’s sense of language against “A. C. McC.’s.”
However, I am concerned little here with the merits of Mr. Crane’s work. The book can take care of itself quite well. I was surprised at “A. C. McC.’s” singular criticisms, and thought that a few words from “the other side” might be fairly called for. Sydney Brooks.
Chicago, May 9, 1896.
From: The National Magazine, V. IV, No. 6, Septembe
r 1896, p.599-600
The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane. D. Appleton & Co.: New York.
It is a source of keen satisfaction to be able to note, now that the critics have exploded their preliminary guns, just what things in Mr. Crane’s book have fallen before the onslaught and just what things have survived the struggle and won recognition. That the writer of this little tale has succeeded in arousing on the one hand a marvellous amount of appreciation and of provoking, on the other hand, an equally strong antipathy, is in itself no mean index of the book’s worth, but the matter cannot be left thus in the balance. Mr. Crane has either written a book that is wholly praiseworthy or wholly worthless. That this should be so one can readily see from the nature of the work. “The Red Badge of Courage” is not, nor does it pretend to be, the study of a life, of a problem, or of any momentous question that is confessedly the purpose of the majority of “strong” books that appear. Concerning the weight and strength of these latter books it is to be supposed, of course, that critics should disagree, but concerning a work that does not even attempt to broach an issue or point a moral, but attempts rather in the most naive manner possible to color a simple little episode in an American war, it may safely be said that when adverse criticism comes it springs either from insufferable prejudice or from the equally insufferable personal estimate.
It is because of either one or both of the above reasons that the “criers-down” of “The Red Badge” have launched their invectives. We are inclined to think that it is both, with the added incentive in this case of a certain species of American pride that amounts to almost the despicable. Hence it is that we have had as the most rabid denouncer of Mr. Crane’s book, a certain gentleman, erstwhile a soldier, I believe an honorable general in the late war, who has permitted his “spread-eaglism” to run riot with his more sober literary taste, — for this gentleman also professes to be a critic, — and has allowed himself to dub the work under note “The Red Badge of Hysteria.” He applies to it such terms as “a vicious satire upon American armies and American soldiers,” “a mere riot of words,” “a burlesque,” “a caricature.” He calls the hero “an idiot, a maniac, a madman without a thrill of patriotic devotion to cause or country swelling in his breast.” And pray, why this vehemence? For this, and only this, grovelling motive. Our critic has heard that the Saturday Review had lauded the book to English readers. Echoes of its praise come from across the Atlantic, and he permits himself to believe that the English praise the book because it shows (through his smoked glasses) our soldiers and officers in what might be construed as a ridiculous light. His solicitude is aroused. It becomes him as an exalted General in the American army to take up the cudgels and attempt vindication. He does so and what results? Merely the repetition of an old story. Genuine worth and sober excellence are hampered by that contemptible American spirit that refuses to place intrinsic merit above national enmity, that belittles itself by stooping to gather stones from the ground when manna descends from the heavens.
Complete Works of Stephen Crane Page 208
