Critical people may be inclined to doubt the propriety, or even the propinquity, of some of the literary changes due to the war.  But there can be no doubt of the excellent effect of one of them, namely, the increasing knowledge and use among us of the pleasant language of France.  It is no exaggeration to say that, before the war, few people in the United States, even among the colored population, spoke French with ease.  In fact, in some cases the discomfort was so obvious as to be almost painful.  This is now entirely altered.  Thanks to our military guide-books, and to the general feeling of the day, our citizens are setting themselves to acquire the language of our gallant ally.  And the signs are that they will do it.  One hears every day in metropolitan society such remarks as, “Have you read, ‘Soo le foo?’” “Oh, you mean that book by Haingri Barbooze?  No, I have not read it yet, but I have read ‘Mong Swassant Quinz’ you know, by that other man.”

This is hopeful indeed.  Nor need we wonder that our best magazines are reflecting the same tendency.

Here for instance are the opening sentences of a very typical serial now running in one of our best periodicals:  for all I know the rest of the sentences may be like them.  At any rate, any magazine reader will recognize them at once: 

BONNE MERE PITOU

A Conte of Old Normandy

Bonne Mere Pitou sat spinning beside the porte of the humble chaumiere in which she dwelt.  From time to time her eyes looked up and down the gran’ route that passed her door.

“Il ne vient pas,” she murmured (he does not come).

She rose wearily and went dedans.  Presently she came out again, dehors.  “Il ne vient toujours pas,” she sighed (he still does not come).

About her in the tall trees of the allee the percherons twittered while the soft roucoulement of the bees murmured drowsily in the tall calice of the chou-fleur.

“Il n’est pas venu,” she said (perfect tense, third singular, he is not, or has not, come).

Can we blame him if he didn’t?  No doubt he was still studying his active verb before tackling Mere Pitou.

But there!  Let it pass.  In any case it is not only the magazines, but the novels themselves, that are being transformed by the war.  Witness this: 

BY ONE OF OUR MOST POPULAR NOVELISTS

“It was in the summer house, at the foot of the old garden, that the awaited declaration came.  Edwin kneeled at Angelina’s feet.  At last they were alone!  The successful barrage of conversation which he had put up at breakfast had compelled her mother to remain in her trenches, and had driven her father to the shelter of his dug-out.  Her younger brother he had camouflaged with the present of a new fishing rod, thus inducing him to retire to the river.  The communications with the servants had been cut.  Of the strict neutrality of the gardener he was already assured.  Edwin felt that the moment had come for going over the top.  Yet being an able strategist, he was anxious not to attempt to advance on too wide a front.