accompanying the voice or in the ritornelli, preludes and postludes.

To know such a work as Die Winterreise means to know it, in every sense, by heart. Herr Hotter's dependence cn his copy was therefore disquieting, and was, in fact, matched by a lack of deep penetration, of complete identification with the poet's and com- poser's mood of emotional intensity. He gave the impression of not being one hundred per cent. involved in the music ; of not, in fact, really knowing it as Die Winterreise must be known. His tone was often good, though he tends to sing any pianissimo in the upper register mezzo voce, and individual songs—Der Wegweiser and Die Nebensonnen, for instance—were excellent.

The Royal Choral Society sang .Elgar's The Kingdom at the Albert Hall on March 18th, conducted by Sir Malcolm Sargent. This blameless, too-too-solid offspring of a monstrous union between Sir Frederick Gore Ouseley and Else von Brabant sounds alternately of the Wye Valley and the Venusberg, of Worcester and M'onsalvat. The Apostles and holy women, those uncouth fanatics, appear as well-bred late Victorian Anglicans, and even Mary Magdalene proclaims no more than a discreet kinship with Kundry. It is all faultlessly written for both chorus and orchestra, each effect is apt though obvious, and all the proprieties are observed. I confess that I went quite to sleep at one moment, and so may have missed some bold stroke of characterisation ; but it is still a matter of wonder to me that such works continue to be performed and people are to be found on a Saturday afternoon in spring who will go and

listen to them. MARTIN COOPER.

ART

THE crowds which weave themselves about Mr. Epstein's new carving, Lazarus, at the Leicester Galleries will find little in the figure to shock the suburban moralities. It has the chunky, wilful awkwardness that we have come to associate with this artist's direct carving, but familiarity with his idiom has dispelled the audacities. There is perhaps a momentary shock ; one is bludgeoned by the uncouth strength of Hopton Wood rough-hewn on such a scale. For myself, however, the longer I studied the figure the less expressive I found it. The solid block from which it has emerged has dictated its outer surfaces to the exclusion of any sense of inner relationships or inner movement. The arbitrary violence with which the head is related to the rest of the body was to me merely distressing. In much the same way the modelled portrait busts are observed from the outside inwards, rather as some character-actors exploit outward characteristics. As this tends on the stage to lead to types of a preconceived pattern or to caricature, so, in his off moments, it does with Epstein. But when his models are really observed, his heads suggest an extraordinary sense of physical proximity. Also to be seen here are oils and watercolours by Ethelbert White.

* * Sculpture plays a considerable part in the Institute of Contem- porary Arts' Exhibition, London-Paris, at the New Burlington Galleries. The British artists represented are familiar (one of the

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least familiar, Peter Lanyon, is one of the most promising). Of the French, three—Hartung, Ubac and Germaine Richier—have been seen in London since the war. Bazaine's flickering abstractions are known, if only in reproduction. Pierre Pallut is unquestionably the most attractive painter, with a nice sense of medium and a gay- sweet colour sense. Andre Bloc shows some sharp, spiky geometric forms, balanced with architectural precision. Henri-George Adam shows engraving and a tapestry, but is most remarkable for his bronze Horned Beast. A curious exhibition, of mixed and undisput- able talents, which nevertheless left me with a sour taste in the mouth.

* * * * Was it an imp of perversity which prompted Messrs. Tooth to call their new collection Paris-Londres ? Here the accent is on the more gracious aspects of French painting, from Corot and Boudin to Bonnard and Braque. Much the same ground is covered by the distinguished exhibition at the Marlborough Gallery, where a group of works by Degas and two paintings by Bonnard are perhaps the most attractive things.

* * * * Recent work by Julian Trevelyan at Gimpel Fils suggests that he is relinquishing his more artificial naiveties for a direct vision that draws its gentle delights increasingly from the object and less from invention. In such lyric paintings as Taormina, View from Etna and Chiswick Mall I am all for it. Also on show here are some decorations by Brenda Chamberlain and reproductions of contemporary oil paintings by " Aeply." The latter, in various com- binations of processes, including silk-screen or other stencil methods, reproduce a counterfeit of three-dimensional impasto. Whether this is a desirable end in itself I have yet to be convinced.

M. H. MIDDLETON.

Man

AN old man tossing dung That steams in the frosty air

Claps the broad haunches of horses, Brown, like cob nuts, and bare.

Over the elms the rooks Circle and settle again, The branches are clotted with buds, The haze of spring smudges like rain.

The weeds have crept over the wall, The wind tore the thatch from the barn. More swift than his sickle, the seeds Escape, and are sown and reborn.

But still he toils on, though he knows When he rots in the dank yew's shade, The forest will creep in again And cancel him out, the debt paid.

MARGARET STANLEY-WRENCH.

"ale 6Pertator," Iflarcb 23rb, 1850 A VERY extraordinary incident occurred at Aylesbury Assizes last week. The High Shcriff, Mr. Selby Lowndes, had directed his pack of fox-hounds to be brought into town, to gratify his friends with a bye-day immediately after the Assizes. The hounds were lodged in the yard of the White Hart Inn, which happens to be so close to the Assize Court that they were literally within call thence. Some disturbance occurring in the court, the Sheriff suppressed it by calling " Silence! " more than once, in a very audible and authoritative tone. It seems that in the pack of hounds is a leading hound named " Silence"; this dog, on hearing himself summoned, broke through the lofty palings which surrounded the White Hart yard, and rushed into the court with the whole pack at his heels, threading the crowd in search of Mr. Lowndes. The Assize trumpeter sounded a call outside, but the pack regarded him with contempt. Mr. Lowndes's own voice was acknow- ledged instantly; in a short time he collected his favourites from the inappropriate cover, and, much to the amusement of the *spectators, led them off to kennel.

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