Edward Simmons, a painter of the last generation whose anecdotes are more genial than his murals, tells this story about Paul Verlaine. He was, says Simmons, a plain, hairy, dirty figure who frequented a Parisian café where Simmons foregathered with his fellow art students. You would not look twice at the ugly, disorderly being unless you chanced to notice his eyes. If he looked at you, you knew you were in the presence of your better. One night Simmons had a dispute with a French friend as to what was the meaning of courage. One argued that it is an admirable quality, the other that it is mere stupidity and vanity. At the height of the discussion Verlaine came in and was appealed to for a decision. He first demanded beer and then listened carefully to both sides. Looking at Simmons, he said: “I decide for the young American.” “But why?” asked the Frenchman. “Because you are right and he is right; you are wrong and he is wrong. But he believes what he says.” Whatever you may think of the forthcoming argument, please consider that I believe what I shall say. If belief is the touchstone of persuasion, as Verlaine seems to have asserted, I may find responsive ears. But remember that the other side could be right too.

The Younger Pliny, in closing the letter which gives the famous description of his Tuscan villa, makes the following wise observation, which I quote in Saintsbury's rendering: “I think it is the first duty of a writer to read his own title and constantly ask himself what he sat down to write, and to be sure, if he sticks to his subject, he will never be too long, but will be hopelessly so if he drags in other matters.” This warning is pertinent here because of the somewhat inflated title of my very modest contribution as announced in the MLA Program, and I feel that I should forecast in a few words what I propose to offer.

The Topic which I am undertaking to discuss—that of the relation between history and literary criticism—is one which today apparently invites the polemic style. I wish, however, to forego that style and at the same time to refrain from the special defence of, or attack upon, any critic or historian or any school of critics or historians. What I have in mind is the delineation of a certain issue which arises between literary criticism and historical scholarship. This issue I look upon as something unavoidably problematic, part of a troublesome opposition which runs through all our experience—between the particular and the universal, between the contingent and what is in any sense necessary, probable, or ideal, between what merely was and what in any way is. We may think Aristotle's statement that poetry is a more serious and a more philosophic thing than history only a rude beginning of theory (unhappily antithetical), but it is a beginning of something which can scarcely be left alone. The problematic relation between history and criticism has always existed. It may have been adjusted during one long epoch of our tradition, the classical, by a certain neglect of the claims of history. The modern advance of historical techniques and consequent sharpening of historical conscience have, however, sufficiently reasserted the problem and sufficiently increased its difficulty.

Sing Me a song of social significance.“ So went the refrain in one of the musical numbers of a revue produced during the 30's, by the International Ladies' Garment Workers Union. It has been a national theme song ever since. Only an intellectual ostrich refuses to face the social awareness which is demanded of the individual today. High school students are being educated more intensely than ever for citizenship; college graduates are soberly urged in all public addresses to assume their responsibilities as leaders in society. The international situation, so charged with serious trouble, is a constant reminder that no man is an island unto himself. He learns slowly and painfully that he must accept great obligations outside his town, his state, and his nation, or perish. Problems of crime, juvenile delinquency, public health, old age, mental hygiene, and underprivileged families are as old as the human race. During the last twenty years, people have attacked them with such scientific knowledge and training as they possess and with a determination never before manifested. The social sciences, as well as the biological and physical sciences, are daily making practical contributions to society's needs.

It Happens occasionally that, inside or outside of my university, I am asked about possible replacements of emeriti in the humanities and when, as is quite frequently the case, I have to report that I have no suggestion to make, I meet with the surprised reaction: “How is that possible? There must exist among 150 million Americans at least one promising young man who one day may become what his predecessor was!” And often some promising young man on whose record achievements are still to be inscribed is indeed appointed by the faculties, with the result that after a few years his record is still pure and the faculty decides to accept him as a hope of the past. This question: why do we not find more easily today adequate successors to the world-renowned pleiad of American-born humanistic scholars we had in the previous generation, the group of Armstrong, Blondheim, Elliott Ford, Grandgent, Lang, Marden, Nitze, Northup, to mention only the medieval Romance field—this serious question I shall attempt to discuss, well aware that my audience may find answers different from my own, but confident also that I have carefully weighed the pros and cons of my opinions in the fourteen years of my American career.

MASTERY of the mother tongue is properly regarded in all cultures as a primary object of education, probably the most important. During recent generations in which the opportunity for learning has been viewed increasingly as a right for all and not merely a privilege for the few, reading and writing have helped to define the purpose of the schools of America.

THE American Council of Learned Societies and the Modern Language Association of America conducted a joint survey of personnel in the modern language field during the summer of 1950. The survey was an experimental effort to obtain quantitative information on the characteristics of specialists in the field, and was intended to disclose the practicability of the method as well as to furnish the needed information. Members' response to the inquiry was very good, and the tabulated returns accounted for 48 percent of the membership. Details of the questionnaire and processing procedure are appended. The following represents the results of our first effort to obtain information of this kind in one of the humanistic disciplines.