subject for literature as the Futurists
imagine. It seems to me that even through the slumber which fills the
Siege of Troy, the Song of Roland, and the Orlando Furioso, and in spite
of the thoughtful immobility which marks "Pantagruel," "Henry V," and
the Ballad of Chevy Chase, there are occasional gleams of an admiration
for courage, a readiness to glorify the love of danger, and even the
"strengt of daring," I seem to remember, slightly differently spelt,
somewhere in literature.

The distinction, however, seems to be that the warriors of the past went
in for tournaments, which were at least dangerous for themselves, while
the Futurists go in for motor-cars, which are mainly alarming for
other people. It is the Futurist in his motor who does the "aggressive
movement," but it is the pedestrians who go in for the "running" and the
"perilous leap." Section No. 4 says, "We declare that the splendour of
the world has been enriched with a new form of beauty, the beauty of
speed. A race-automobile adorned with great pipes like serpents
with explosive breath.... A race-automobile which seems to rush over
exploding powder is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace." It
is also much easier, if you have the money. It is quite clear, however,
that you cannot be a Futurist at all unless you are frightfully rich.
Then follows this lucid and soul-stirring sentence: "5. We will sing
the praises of man holding the flywheel of which the ideal steering-post
traverses the earth impelled itself around the circuit of its own
orbit." What a jolly song it would be--so hearty, and with such a simple
swing in it! I can imagine the Futurists round the fire in a tavern
trolling out in chorus some ballad with that incomparable refrain;
shouting over their swaying flagons some such words as these:

A notion came into my head as new as it was bright
That poems might be written on the subject of a fight;
No praise was given to Lancelot, Achilles, Nap or Corbett,
But we will sing the praises of man holding the flywheel of which the ideal
steering-post traverses the earth impelled itself around the circuit of
its own orbit.

Then lest it should be supposed that Futurism would be so weak as to
permit any democratic restraints upon the violence and levity of the
luxurious classes, there would be a special verse in honour of the
motors also:

My fathers scaled the mountains in their pilgrimages far,
But I feel full of energy while