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204 (22 Nov. 643). Of course it was a territorial law, for only the Lombard, who alone was "fulc-free," was subject to Lombard law in the Lombard State, and the fact of its being written down shewed clearly enough that the Lombard State placed itself in the same line with the respublica (the Empire) and the other acknowledged States as perfectly equal to them. When Rothari declares the law should protect the poor against the oppressions of the mighty, we can find therein part of the means he employed to keep order in internal matters. The kingdom was not only protected by some of the laws of the Edictus but also shewed its power by the fact of issuing legal regulations for the whole country, which, if not at once, were at all events after a short time accepted irrevocably from Benevento to Cividale. Its matter is essentially German law, but in the supplements which Rothari's successors added, we can trace alien influence; and, moreover, the form is naturally influenced by Roman patterns. Comparative science of law has proved that Lombard law had the greatest likeness to Saxon, Anglo-Saxon, and Scandinavian law — a proof that the Lombards preserved their law unchanged in essential matters since their departure from the lower Elbe. The Edictus is systematically arranged, and treats of crimes against king, state, or man, especially compensations for bodily injuries, law of inheritance and family right, and manumission, then obligations and real estate, crimes against property, oath, and bail. It can well be called the best juridical codification of barbarian law.

The successor of Rothari's son was Aripert, the son of that duke Gundoald of Asti, who had come from Bavaria with his sister Theodelinda. During the nine years of his reign he, as a Catholic, carried on the traditions of Theodelinda, in opposition to Rothari. He built a Catholic church at Pavia and favoured the Catholic hierarchy, although the assertion of a poem which celebrates the merits of his dynasty about the year 700, that "the good and pious king" abolished the Arian heresy, is probably exaggerated. The bishop of Pavia was converted to Catholicism. A change of policy took place only after his death (661), when his two young sons Godepert in Pavia and Perctarit in Milan, to whom he had left the government, fell out, and Godepert claimed the help of the mighty duke Grimoald of Benevento against his brother. After the death of Arichis, and his son Ajo, who had perished in a battle against Slav pirates near Sipontum (662), the two sons of Gisulf of Friuli, Radoald and Grimoald, attained the dignity of dukedom consecutively, and energetically maintained their power in several battles against the imperialists. Grimoald, duke of Benevento since 657, now marched into North Italy by the east side of the Apennines against the centre of the Lombard realm, while his subordinate, the count of Capua, marched through Spoleto and Tuscia and joined the duke by Piacenza. Assisted by the treachery of the duke Garibald of Turin, Grimoald seized the reins of government


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414 round his neck, holding a column of the altar with one hand and a piece of the cross with the other. Maurus and John Struthus the spatharius had been sent to kill him; and, when they entered the church, Maurus was delayed by Anastasia's entreaties, but John transferred the amulets to his own neck, laid the piece of the cross on the altar, and carried the child to a postern-gate of the city, and cut his throat. Varaz Bakur, thinking Justinian's cause desperate, had left the army and fled, but he was caught and killed. Elijah was sent with a small force against Justinian himself, whose soldiers on a promise of immunity deserted their master, and Elijah cut off his head and sent it to Philippicus, who sent it to Rome (end of 711).

The new Emperor was a ready and plausible speaker, and had a reputation for mildness; but he was an indolent and dissolute man, who neglected public affairs and squandered the money amassed by his predecessors. Accordingly no better resistance was offered to the Arabs. In 712 Maslama and his nephews, 'Abbās and Marwān, entered Roman territory from Melitene and took Sebastia, Gazelon, and Amasia, whence Marwān advanced to Gangra, while Walīd ibn Hishām took Misthia in Lycaonia and carried off many of the inhabitants of the country. In 713 'Abd-al-'Azīz again raided as far as Gazelon, while Yazīd invaded Isauria, and 'Abbās took Antioch in Pisidia and returned with numerous captives. Meanwhile Philippicus for some unknown reason expelled the Armenians from the Empire, and they were settled by the Arabs in Armenia Quarta and the district of Melitene (712). In Europe also the Bulgarians advanced to the gates of Constantinople (712).

There was however one subject on which Philippicus shewed a misplaced energy. Having been educated by Stephen, the pupil of Macarius, he was a fervent Monothelete, and even before entering the city he ordered the picture of the sixth synod to be removed from the palace and the names of those condemned in it restored to the diptychs. Cyrus, who refused to comply with his wishes, was deposed and confined in a monastery, and a more pliant patriarch found in the deacon John (early in 712), who was supported by two men afterwards celebrated, Germanus of Cyzicus and Andrew of Crete. Shortly afterwards the Acts preserved in the palace were burnt, and a condemnation of the synod and the chief Dithelete bishops was issued, while many prominent men who refused to sign this were exiled. At Rome the document was contemptuously rejected, the Romans retaliated by placing a picture of the six synods in St Peter's and abandoning the public use of the Emperor's name; and Peter, who was sent to Rome as duke, was attacked and forced to retire (713).

An emperor without hereditary claim to respect, who could not defend the Empire from invasion and wantonly disturbed the peace of the Church, was not likely to reign long; but the fall of Philippicus was


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 36 "They are the same," replied Kutadanta.

"Then sameness is constituted by continuity only!" asked the Teacher.

"Not only by continuity," said Kutadanta, "but also by identity of character."

"Then," said the Teacher, "thou agreest that persons can be the same, in the same sense as two flames of the same kind are called the same; and thou must recognize that in such sense another of the same character, and product of the same karma, is the same as thou."

"I must."

And the Teacher said: "In this same sense alone art thou the same today as yesterday. Thy nature is not constituted by the matter of which thy body consists, but by thy sankharas, the forms of the body, of sensations, of thoughts. Thy person is the combination of the sankharas. Wherever they are, thou art. Whithersoever they go, thou goest. Thus thou wilt recognize in a certain sense an identity of thy self, and in another sense a difference. But he who does not recognize the identity should deny all identity, and should say that the questioner is no longer the same person as he who a minute after receives the answer. Now consider the continuation of thy personality, which is preserved in thy karma. Is it death and annihilation, or life and continued life?

"I would call it life and continued life," said Kutadanta. "It is the continuation of my existence, but I do not care for such continuation. I only care for the continuation of self


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768-772] that of the "unification of Italy" are applied to the policy of a ruler like the Lombard Desiderius, we may lose sight of the fact that under this specious veneer there lay an utterly disintegrated society, characterised by a savagery which could hardly be paralleled by the acknowledged barbarism of many countries north of the Alps, The pontificate of Stephen IV (768-772) is, as has been already hinted, a period of violence and bloodshed: and the events which characterised it are repeated almost exactly not thirty years later in the days of Leo III: for centuries not even the person of a pope was safe in Rome without the protecting hand of some external authority. It is only possible here to allude to the strange story of Stephen IV as related in the Liber Pontificalis; and to proceed to a hasty summary of the main events of the reign of Charles the Great.

On Pepin's death the Frankish dominions were divided between his two sons Charles and Carloman. The two brothers speedily became rivals, and the scene of their machinations was Italy. Their mother Bertrada had brought about a nominal reconciliation between her two sons Charles king in Austrasia, and Carloman king in Neustria, and in the interests of peace sought to contract matrimonial alliances with the Lombard monarch Desiderius. With this end in view she visited Italy and persuaded Charles to give up the lady whom he had perhaps irregularly married and to take Desiderata, the daughter of the Lombard king. These projects alarmed Stephen IV, and his letter to Charles and Carloman warning them against an alliance with the detestable Lombards, a race infected with leprosy and naturally repulsive to noble Franks, is one of the most extraordinary in the papal correspondence with the Carlovingian family; and confirms us in the idea that Stephen's passionate weakness of character was one cause of the misfortunes of that unhappy pontiff. But the alliance was short-lived. Charles repudiated his Lombard wife, and on Carloman's death in 771 the widow Gerberga placed herself and her children under the protection of Desiderius — a proof that the two brothers regarded the Lombard as the determining factor in their rivalry for the possession of the whole Frankish realm. The Pope sided with Charles against Gerberga and her children; for Desiderius, no doubt hoping that the Franks were sufficiently divided to leave him alone, had ravaged the newly acquired papal dominions in the exarchate and the Pentapolis.

Stephen died in 772, and was succeeded by two pontiffs who held the Papacy for no less than forty-four years. Hadrian I from 772 to 795 and Leo III from 795 to 816. Never till our own days have two successive pontificates occupied so long a period. Till the days of Pius IX no pope so nearly attained to the traditional years of Peter as Hadrian.

Judged by his actions Hadrian was a man of vigour and ability; and if he shews himself querulous and apprehensive in his correspondence with Charles, it only reveals the extreme difficulty of the situation in


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 Rh in the other sense, which makes of every one, whether identical with me or not, an altogether different person than myself."

"This," said the Teacher, "is the love of self. This is thine error. All things are transitory. They grow old and decay. Where is thy self? Thy self to which thou cleavest is a constant change. Years ago thou wert a babe; then thou wert a boy; then a youth, and now thou art a man. Is there any identity of the babe and the man? Which is thy self, that of yesterday, that of today, or that of tomorrow, for the preservation of which thou longest?"

"Thou hast confused me," said Kutadanta.

The Teacher said: "It is by the process of evolution that sankharas come to be. No sankhara has sprung into being without a gradual becoming. Thy sankharas are the product of thy deeds in former existences. The combination of thy sankharas is thyself. Wheresoever they go, thither thou goest. In thy sankharas thou wilt continue to live, and thou wilt reap in future existences the harvest sown now, and in the past."

(The literal Sanscrit definition of sankhara is "conformation," "disposition." It is the formative element in the karma as it has taken shape in bodily existence.)

Kutadanta said: "I cannot recognize the justice that others after me will reap what I am sowing."

The Teacher said: "Is this teaching in


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Lastly, as most important, after all, to human beings in our disputable state, what is that higher prudence which was to be the aim and issue of these deliberate productions?

Whitman is too clever to slip into a succinct formula. If he could have adequately said his say in a single proverb, it is to be presumed he would not have put himself to the trouble of writing several volumes. It was his programme to state as much as he could of the world with all its contradictions, and leave the upshot with God who planned it. What he has made of the world and the world's meanings is to be found at large in his poems. These altogether give his answers to the problems of belief and conduct; in many ways righteous and high-spirited, in some ways loose and contradictory. And yet there are two passages from the preface to the Leaves of Grass which do pretty well condense his teaching on all essential points, and yet preserve a measure of his spirit.

"This is what you shall do," he says in the one, "love the earth, and sun, and animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labour to others, hate tyrants, argue


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 38 vain? Know thou that those others are thyself. Thou thyself wilt reap what thou sowest. There is no salvation through worship or sacrifice. Verily I say unto thee: Not in the heavens, not in the midst of the sea, not if thou hidest thyself in the clefts of the mountains, wilt thou find a place where thou canst escape the fruit of thine actions, be they good or evil. The man who has long been journeying, and who returns home, finds the welcome of kinsfolk and friends. So do the fruits of good works bid welcome to him who has walked in the paths of love and truth, when he passes from the present life to the hereafter.

"Practice the truth, that declares that thy brother is the same as thou. Walk in the noble path of truth, and thou wilt understand that while there is death in self, there is immortality in truth."

Buddha said unto the venerable Kassapa, one of his disciples:

"All things are made of one essence, yet are different according to the forms which they assume under different impressions. As they form themselves so they act, and as they act so they are. It is as if a potter made different vessels of the same clay. There is no diversity in the clay; the diversity of the pots is only due to the moulding hands of the potter.


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 Rh "And as all things originate from one essence, so they develop according to one law, and are destined to one aim, which is Nirvana."

It is told that a celestial deva (spirit, or messenger) once came to Buddha in the shape of a Brahmin, dressed in white garments.

The deva asked: "What is the sharpest sword? What is the deadliest poison? What is the fiercest fire? What is the darkest night?"

The Teacher replied: "A word spoken in anger is the sharpest sword; greed is the deadliest poison; passion is the fiercest fire; ignorance is the darkest night."

The deva said: "Who gains the greatest benefit? Who loses most? What armor is invulnerable? What is the best weapon?"

The Teacher replied: "He is the greatest gainer who helps others; he loses most who greedily receives; patience is the invulnerable armor; wisdom is the best weapon."

The deva said: Who is the greatest thief? What is the most precious treasure? Who is the most successful in gaining possessions? What is the securest reward?"

The Teacher replied: "Evil thought is the greatest thief; virtue is the most precious treasure; the mind is the most successful in gaining possessions; Nirvana is the securest reward."


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 40 The deva said: "What causes ruin in the world?"

The Teacher replied: "Ignorance causes the ruin of the world."

The deva said: "I have but one more question: What is it that fire cannot burn, nor dampness corrode, nor wind blow down, and which is able to redeem the world?"

The Teacher replied: "Neither fire, nor dampness, nor wind can destroy the blessing of a good deed; and by good deeds shall the world be redeemed."

And the deva, hearing the words of the Teacher, bowed down before him in reverence.

Buddha said to his disciples: "What is evil?

"Killing is evil; stealing is evil; yielding to sexual passion is evil; lying is evil; slandering is evil; abuse is evil; gossip is evil; hatred is evil; false teaching is evil.

"And what is the root of evil?

"Lust is the root of evil; hatred is the root of evil; illusion is the root of evil.

"What is good?

"Not to kill is good; not to steal is good; abstaining from sensuality is good; speaking only the truth is good; not to slander is good; kindness is good; not to gossip is good; not to envy is good; to love, and not hate, is good.

"And what is the root of good?


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 Rh "Freedom from lust is the root of good; freedom from hatred and illusion is the root of good.

"What is suffering? What is the origin of suffering? What is the annihilation of suffering?

"Birth is suffering; old age is suffering; death is suffering; sorrow and pain are suffering; affliction and despair are suffering; to associate with loathsome things is suffering; the loss of that we love, and the failure to attain that which we long for are suffering.

"And what is the origin of suffering?

"It is lust, passion, and the thirst for existence that yearns for pleasure, that leads to continual rebirths. It is sensuality, desire, selfishness.

"And what is the annihilation of suffering?

"The liberation from desire, the deliverance from passion, is the annihilation of suffering.

"And what is the path that leads to the annihilation of suffering?

"It is the righteous eightfold path that leads to the annihilation of suffering—Right Views, Right Decision, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Living, Right Struggling, Right Thoughts, and Right Meditation.

The Buddha said: I have taught the truth. But, simple as it is, the people cannot understand it. I will speak to them in their own language. I will adapt my thoughts to their


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 not concerning God, have patience and indulgence towards the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown, or to any man or number of men; go freely with powerful uneducated persons, and with the young, and mothers of families, read these leaves (his own works) in the open air every season of every year of your life; re-examine all you have been told at school or church, or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults your own soul."

"The prudence of the greatest poet," he adds in the other—and the greatest poet is, of course, himself—"knows that the young man who composedly perilled his life and lost it, has done exceeding well for himself; while the man who has not perilled his life, and retains it to old age in riches and ease, has perhaps achieved nothing for himself worth mentioning; and that only that person has no great prudence to learn, who has learnt to prefer real long-lived things, and favours body and soul the same, and perceives the indirect surely following the direct, and what evil or good he does leaping onward and waiting to meet him again, and who in his spirit, in any emergency whatever, neither hurries nor avoids death."

There is much that is Christian in these extracts, startlingly Christian. Any reader who bears in mind Whitman's own advice and "dismisses whatever insults his own soul" will find plenty that is bracing, brightening, and chastening to reward him for a little patience at first. It seems hardly possible that any being should get evil from so healthy a book as the Leaves of Grass, which is simply comical wherever it falls short of nobility; but if there be any such, who cannot


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 on no charges at all, or on charges that are manifestly framed-up.

The defense is offered that it is not the Bolsheviki who are being prosecuted, but only certain definite persons and on definite accusations. But these declarations are deliberately and manifestly untrue, for how can printing offices be wrecked for the transgressions of individual persons, even if these persons have been found guilty and duly sentenced in court? Unless, indeed, the government should legally have found guilty the whole Bolshevist party, its views and its tendencies. But the government of free Russia could not, and never did, do anything of the sort.

The clearest exposure of the fictitious character of the accusations directed against the Bolsheviki is in the fact that the newspapers of the landholders and the capitalists have been rabidly denouncing the Bolsheviki for their agitation against the war, against the landholders and against the capitalists, and demanding the arrest and prosecution of the Bolsheviki—before even a single accusation had been lodged against even one Bolshevik.

The people want peace. But the "revolutionary" government of Russia continued to wage a war of conquest, on the basis of the same secret treaties which the late Czar Nicholas II concluded with the English and French capitalists, in the interests of the subjection of foreign races by the Russian capitalists. The government of free Russia has been very prolific in its excuses, but it has not offered a righteous peace to all the nations.

We have no bread. Hunger again approaches. Everybody knows that the capitalists and the wealthy are cheating ruthlessly on the prices of war materials, are making unheard-of profits out of high prices, but nothing at all has been done toward a serious study of the production of commodities and their distribution by the workers. The capitalists are becoming more and more impudent, even throwing the workers out of the factories into the streets, and that at a time when there is a famine of manufactured articles among the people.

The great majority of the peasants have declared loudly and plainly in a long series of congresses, that they consider the feudal ownership of land to be unjust—mere usurpation. But a government styling itself revolutionary and democratic continues for


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2

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1482-3

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 months to hoodwink the peasants and deceive them with promises and excuses. The capitalists for months do not permit the Chernov ministry to issue laws prohibiting the transfer of land by sale. And no sooner is this law finally promulgated than the capitalists begin a vile and baseless legal hounding of Chernov, and continue it up to the present time. In its defense of the landholders, the government was even bold enough to bring peasants to court for their "irresponsible" seizure of land.

The peasants are hoodwinked and persuaded to wait for the Constituent Assembly. But the capitalists continue to postpone the opening of this Assembly. Now, when at last the Assembly is summoned for the 30th of September, the capitalists raise a howl and declare that it is "impossible" to convene the Constituent Assembly in so short a time and demand another postponement of its convocation. The most influential members of the capitalist and landholding party, the "Cadet" Party, for example, openly advocate postponing the Constituent Assembly until after the war.

Land? Wait for the Constituent Assembly Constituent Assembly? Wait until after the war End of the war? Wait until we have reached a victorious conclusion.

That is the satisfaction we get. The capitalists and landholders, who have their majority in the government, thus make sport of the peasants.

But how is it possible for such things to go on in a free country, a country that has overthrown its Czar?

After the downfall of the Czarist power, state power passed into the hands of the first Provisional Government. The party of the revolutionary workers, the Bolsheviki, demanded a transfer of all state power to the Soviets. The greater number of delegates in the Soviets were on the side of the Mensheviki or with the Social-Revolutionists, who were against a transfer of power to the Soviets. Instead of brushing aside the bourgeois government and substituting a Soviet government in its place, the Mensheviki and Social-Revolutionists advocated support of the bourgeois government and a coalition with it, in other words, the formation of a new government composed of representatives of the bourgeoisie, Mensheviki


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 42 thoughts. They are like unto children, and love to hear tales. I will tell them parables to show the glory of the Dharma (Truth).

There was a man born blind, and he said: "I do not believe in the world of light and color. There is no sun, no moon, no stars. No one has seen these things."

His friends, who could see, tried to convince him of his error, but without avail. "What you say you see," he said, "are illusions. If light and colors existed I should be able to touch and feel them."

There was a renowned physician, who was called to examine the eyes of the blind man; and when he had examined them, he put together four remedies, and applied them; and the eyes of the blind man were brought to sight.

The Tathagata (Buddha) is the physician, the blindness is the error of self, and the four remedies are the four noble truths.

There was a householder's son who went away into a far country; and, while his father accumulated great wealth, the son became destitute.

And at last the son, searching for food, came to the country where his father lived; and his father saw him in his wretchedness, and ordered his servants to bring him to him.

When the son saw the place to which he was brought, he said to himself: "I surely have


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 Rh caused the suspicion of some powerful chief to fall upon me, and be will throw me into prison." Therefore he made his escape without knowing where he was, or seeing his father.

Then the father sent other servants after him, who, having caught him, brought him back. And the father commanded all to deal kindly with the son; and he was given work to do, and also a teacher was employed to instruct him. And the son became pleased with his lot.

From the window of his palace the father watched the son; and as he saw him industriously laboring, he promoted him to higher and higher duties; and at last he sent for him, and disclosed to him who he was. And the son was exceedingly glad, and filled with joy.

Thus it is that little by little are our minds trained to receive the truth.

There was a certain bhikkhu (monk) who had great difficulty in holding his passions under control. Therefore he resolved to go back to the world, and came to the Buddha, asking to be released from his vows. And the Buddha said to him:

"Fall not a prey to thy passions. In former existences thou hast suffered from the consequences of lust, and unless thou canst control thy sensual desires, thou wilt, in this life, be ruined. Listen to the story of another existence of thine, when thou wert a fish:"


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 44 The fish, swimming lustily in the river, was playing with his mate. She, swimming ahead, perceived the meshes of a net, and changing her course escaped being caught; but he, blinded by his infatuation, swam straight into the mouth of the net. The fisherman pulled up the net, and the imprisoned fish, bemoaning his fate, said: "This, then, is the bitter fruit of my folly"; and would have died had not a Bodhisatta (one who has only to be born once more to enter Nirvana) chanced to pass that way, and took pity on him. He bought the fish from the fisherman, and said to him: "My good fish, had I not discovered thee, thou wouldst have lost thy life. I will save thee, but hereafter avoid the temptation of lust." With these words he threw the fish back into the river.

My son, make the best of the time that is offered to thee in thy present existence. Guard against the evils that lead only to suffering.

A tailor, who prided himself on his ability to outwit his customers, entered upon a business transaction with a stranger, in whom he found his master in fraudulent practices, and suffered a heavy loss.

The Buddha said: In other incarnations this tailor had lived greedy lives, and suffered many losses. Many generations gone he had lived as a crane near a pond, and, when the dry season set in, he said to the fishes: "Are you not anxious for your future welfare? There


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 Rh is now very little water, and very little food in this pond. What will you do should the pond become entirely dry?"

And the fishes replied: "What, indeed, should we do?"

Then the crane said: "I know of a large lake, which never goes dry. Would you not like to have me carry you there in my beak?"

But the fishes, knowing the habits of the crane, distrusted his honesty; until at last a large carp decided, for the sake of the others, to take the risk. The crane then carried him to a beautiful lake, and brought him back in safety. At this the other fishes gained confidence in the crane; and so he took them one by one in his beak, and devoured them on a big varana-tree.

Now there was also a lobster in the pond, which the crane had not taken; and when the fishes were all gone, the crane said to him: "I have taken all the fishes away and put them in a large lake. Come, and I will also take thee."

"But I am heavy," replied the lobster. "How wilt thou carry me?

"I shall take hold of thee with my beak," answered the crane.

"Thou wilt let me fall," said the lobster. "I will not go with thee."

"Thou needst not fear," said the crane. "I will hold thee tight all the way."

Then said the lobster to himself: "If this crane gets hold of a fish, he will never put him into a lake. Now if he should really put


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The Man Who Hated His Wife

N a red hotel which used to stand on the sea-front at Naples I encountered Madame. She was traveling with a remarkable looking man who drew my attention before I took any notice of her. Indeed he practically effaced her by his strong personality, as a mighty rock effaces a small plant meekly sprouting in its shadow.

This man was enormous, much over six feet high, with great shoulders, a tremendously deep chest, a vast, jutting out stomach, big, sturdy legs, broad capacious feet. His startling bulk of body was finished off with a head and face which simply demanded your attention; the head covered with dense black hair brushed back from a mighty forehead and worn long over the nape of a thick bull-like neck; the face bronzed, with large handsome features quivering with expression, and hot, staring black eyes.

The mouth and chin were adorned with elaborate mustaches and an ample square-cut Assyrian beard.

The voice and manner of this personage were just what they should have been to accord with the rest of him. The former was a sonorous and commanding bass, the sort that would sound just the thing in the finale of Verdi's “Aida.” The latter—but that's more difficult to describe.

Sometimes it suggested to me an earthquake, at other times a storm at sea. It embraced voluminously, or rejected and dashed down with violence. It was gesticulatory. Hands, arms, head seemed always in movement. Often, too, the great body seemed to quake. The large hot eyes rolled. The Assyrian beard was thrust out this way and that, as if to the four points of the compass.

As I watched, imaginations of what Alexandre Dumas père must surely have been came to me. Did some obscure black blood, flowing in those canal-like veins, cause all this restless, yet not happy, exuberance? Was there a nigger hiding deep down somewhere in that gesticulating mass?

I sat not far from him in the restaurant and noticed that he was a great eater and that he drank like a Russian. Also he was an epicure and was never satisfied with the cooking. There were perpetual summonses to the maître d'hôtel, perpetual arguments, scoldings and commands. And these upheavals ended invariably in a a distribution of largesse. Tipping I cannot call it.

After dinner, when I came into the semi-Oriental hall which occupied the middle of the hotel, I would find the Potentate—as I had secretly named him—protuding from a large armchair, a mighty cigar in his mouth, a magnum of champagne in an ice pail beside him. Madame had vanished to some distant corner and was occupied with some foreign newspaper, as often as not held upside down. But one didn't miss her because one hadn't noticed her. The Potentate had a strange power of making those near him seem so unimportant that they became practically invisible. They were there, but one didn't genuinely see them. I didn't genuinely see Madame till some time after I had minutely observed every detail of her phenomenal companion.

He soon spoke to me. He soon spoke to everyone. Solitude was as abhorrent to him as tranquillity. Despite his evident herculean strength he was, I'm convinced, a martyr to neurasthenia. He had the mania of motion. He couldn't be quiet. He couldn't sit really still. Some malady of the mind or the nerves was forever whipping him. And he was forever responding to the lash. During the day he was heaven knows where; up Vesuvius, one volcano going to another, at Ana Capri, at Sorrento, coasting among the caves beyond Posilipo, visiting the prisons of Nisida, diving into the lowest quarters of Naples, here, there, everywhere.

But at eight-thirty he was usually to be found in the restaurant and generally after dinner he managed to stay in the hall for some time, companioned by the champagne and the ice pail and by anyone he could capture to serve as the victim of his avalanche of talk. Later, in a vast overcoat, with an immense black hat spreading wings about him, cigar in mouth, he would pass out by the revolving door and disappear into the night.

When he caught me coming out of the restaurant he poured iced champagne down my throat and smothered me with intimate information. He was a Brazilian, a doctor, a publicist, journalist, politician, millionaire. He owned great tracts of land, large segments of cities in South America, plantations, mines, ranches. He had built himself palaces. He showed me photographs of one, apparently all of white marble, with columns, terraces, fountains, bath-houses, lakes, tennis-courts, a racing track, exotic gardens. And he was there in the gardens, striking a tremendous attitude, his head exposed to a tropical sun.

The friend of presidents, it seemed that he had made revolutions and been instrumental in overthrowing governments and placing his nominees in positions of autocratic power. He had traveled all over the world, and was traveling still. He was in fact always traveling. He spoke of going from Naples to Japan, Tibet, New Zealand, Central Asia, the islands of the Southern Pacific. The round world shrank to the size of a pea as I listened to his uproar of conversation.

One night, when he caught me, Madame was as usual in the offing, but this time well in sight and well within hearing distance of us. She was sitting on a pseudo-divan, holding the “Berliner Tageblatt” upside down in front of her. The Potentate pointed at her with a big brown forefinger.

“That package is the curse of my life,” he said in his loud bass.

He spoke usually in French, with a tremendously strong accent, but often introduced Italian, Spanish and English words into the conversation.

I begged his pardon.

“That woman—my wife—she's a package!” He turned on me. The beard swept about me. “Look at her! Isn't she a package?” he bayed.

I said I really couldn't agree with him. I begged him to remember that the lady could hear everything that me said.

“Hear! She's a fool! She's an ignoramus! She understands no language but Portuguese. Think of being married to a package who understands not one word of any language but Portuguese!”

I did so.

“And isn't she ugly?” he exclaimed, with a violent gesture towards her. “Tell me—isn't she frightful? And I didn't marry her till I was forty and she was forty-three. So she wasn't even young. Look at her!”

Madame, at whom I then was obliged to look, was certainly not a beauty. She was very thin, with an indefinite flat face, powdered here and there in patches, a retreating chin and coarse, dusty looking dark hair, so badly arranged that it suggested that hens had been scratching about in it.

“Well?”

What could I say? I said nothing.

“Goon! I tell you she understands nothing but Portuguese!”

“But really”

“You can shout. She won't understand you.”

But politeness prevented me from shouting that I thought Madame a very unfortunate looking female. Her timid, anxious eyes were upon me, peeping over the upside down newspaper. And they surely understand a language other than Portuguese.

“Just think!” the Potentate went on. “I have to drag that package there with me all over the world. She's been round the world with me three times already. And she sees nothing, comprehends nothing, enjoys nothing. What does she do? Sits in hotels all over the globe reading papers written in languages she can't understand upside down! What a life companion for a man blazing with ideas! But I'll pack her back to Brazil.” He spoke at her across the room. “One day when she least expects it down to the Port with her boxes, and”—he actually got up and extending his right leg brought it back, then shot it forward in a violent kick—“and off to Brazil with you, you package!”

He followed up the kick with a movement of his hands doubled up into fists.

“Boum—pouf—and off with you!”

I seemed to see the fists catching her in the small of the back and elsewhere, I seemed to see her shot over the gangplank head foremost into the ship that was bound for Brazil. Then I looked across the hall and met those small furtive eyes peeping over the “Berliner Tageblatt” upside down, and I believe I reddened.

“Really,” I said, turning to the Potentate, “really, I think we ought to be more—more careful.”

It wasn't a very adequate sentence, I know. He swept it away with a blast of withering scorn that seemed to run like fire through pampas grass.

“Haven't I told you again and again that she understands nothing but Portuguese?”

It was, I think, two days after this rather unfortunate introduction—if it can be properly called an introduction—to the Potentate's helpmate that between ten and eleven o'clock in the evening I was in the outer hall of the hotel, in front of the cage that served as the home of the electric lift. The Potentate, after a stormy hour with me by the ice pail, had just barged out alone into the night, having failed to persuade me to accompany him in a search for the horrors of Naples. Ever since dinner Madame had been sitting by a pseudo-hubble-bubble on the usual pseudo-divan, reading “Echo de Paris” upside down, while her spouse had been entertaining me with copious iced champagne and a torrent of abuse of her.

It seemed that matters matrimonial were moving rapidly towards a crisis in the Brazilian ménage. Monsieur was about to depart for Java—he had suddenly thrown over Tibet—and he had affirmed to me that evening that if he saw Madame sitting about in Java, reading Javanese papers upside down, he would assuredly strangle her “with his own hands.” He had indulged in a violent and marvelously expressive pantomime of strangling a reluctant consort, during which Madame's small eyes had peeped at us both over the bottom of the “Echo de Paris.” And then, foaming more or less over my refusal to bear him company, he had flung away into the night. Now, feeling really rather unnerved by it all, I was on my way to bed.

I must tell you that in our hotel we sometimes operated the lift ourselves by shutting the gate and pressing a button. I was now bringing the lift down from an upper story. It arrived empty, and not seeing any attendant at the moment I stepped in, shut the cage gate and was about to press the button which would take me up to the third floor when I saw peeping at me through the bars of the gate the small furtive eyes of the Potentate's wife.

Knowing she understood no language but Portuguese I felt it was useless to address her in English, French or Italian, the only languages I can speak, and I therefore asked her by gesture if she wanted to go up. She nodded vaguely, whereupon ] opened the gate, let her in and then by facial expression and hand pantomime inquired which floor she wished to go to. She pointed to my button, the third floor button. I pressed it and the lift immediately began to ascend. We had glided upwards past two floors when the electric light went out, the lift stopped between floors two and three, and the Potentate's wife and I were imprisoned in total darkness. Evidently a short-circuit had occurred.

Now while the lift had been in movement Madame had been sitting on a narrow seat with which it was provided and I had remained standing ready to open the gate when we arrived at the third floor. Neither of us of course had uttered a word to the other. I could not speak Portuguese, and besides we had never been formally introduced to one another. Certainly I had been asked in her presence whether she wasn't frightful and had been told I could shout my acquiescence. I had also been told, when she was there, that she was a package, a fool, an ignoramus, that she had been forty-three when she married, that she read newspapers in languages she didn't understand upside down all over the world, that she saw nothing, comprehended nothing, enjoyed nothing, that if she went to Java she was going to be strangled, but that in all probability she would be kicked almost immediately on board a vessel bound for South America and exported to Brazil. All this might perhaps be said to have forged a sort of link between us. Still I must repeat that in my opinion it scarcely constituted a strictly formal introduction. And now we were closeted together in the pitch dark and might be there, isolated from the outer world, for a considerable time.

I felt, I confess, rather awkward as I remained standing perfectly still.

There was at first not a sound from the Potentate's wife. She mightn't have been there, so mute was she. I remember absurdly thinking, “Suppose she's dead!” (Such ridiculous thoughts come to you in the dark.) She might be dead. Some people did die suddenly. She might be one of them. If it were so, if she were dead, should I be compromised? I found myself asking that question of myself. A comparatively young man is discovered shut up alone in a pitch dark lift between two floors with a dead lady from Brazil, whom he had been seen to let into the lift a few minutes before in apparently perfect health!

It hadn't at all a nice sound about it! I had to admit that to myself. It didn't suggest a nice character at all. And how would the Potentate take it? I knew of course that he was anxious to strangle the lady, but I knew also that his intention was, if the strangling were to be done, to do it with his own hands. He had expressly said so, and more than once. If he thought he had reason to suppose that I had stepped in and taken the matter into my own competence, he mightn't like it. He mightn't like it at all. He might consider that I had played false with him, had as it were stolen his idea and used it before he had had leisure to. He might turn nasty, and if he did I should probably have an exceedingly unpleasant time.

I was beginning to feel extremely apprehensive when out of the darkness came a thin soprano murmur of words which I didn't understand. Madame was not dead and was saying something to me, doubtless in Portuguese. “I'm so sorry I don't understand Portuguese,” I replied politely.

The murmur came again. “Je le regrette beaucoup mais je ne comprends pas la langue portugaise,” I said.

For the third time the voice spoke.

“Mi rincresce tanto tanto, ma veramente non capisco la bella lingua del Portogallo,” I exclaimed in desperation.

To my intense surprise the voice said: “'Elp me! I spik little Inglis, French, Italian, little German, too. 'Elp me! Aidez moi! Sauvez moi!” There was a second of deep silence. Then came a sort of thin cry out of the darkness. “Aiutatemi, Signorino!”

“I don't understand German,” I said hastily, fearing that Madame would break into that language and then go on possibly to Spanish, Russian, Greek, Roumanian, Dutch and other European languages. “But don't be afraid. It's only a short-circuit. I'm convinced of that. Probably in a few minutes it will be all right. Meanwhile there's no danger.”

“'Elp me!” the voice replied. “Sauvez moi!”

“I assure you, Madame, I gladly would if I could do anything. But we are between two floors and there's no possible means of getting out. You see, the lift”

“'E is mad!”

“No, no! What I mean is that the lift”

“I not understand!”

“L'ascenseur! L'ascenseur! L'ascensore!”

“'Elp me! 'E is mad! Il est fou. E pazzo!”

“But it isn't the lift's fault, really, Madame. What has happened is this. There has been a short-circuit and”

“I say 'e is mad.”

“But it's the electricity which has—”

“You t'ink not. 'E give you champagne. Vous en buvez. Vous pensez qu'il—you t'ink 'im good man. But 'e is mad.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon! You are speaking about your husband. I thought you were upset about the lift.”

“'Elp me! Bitte helfen Sie mir! helfen Sie mir!”

“Madame, I'm very sorry but I don't understand Ger

“'E is mad. Er ist verrückt! 'Elp me, sair!”

Now that I understood the exact meaning of this oft-repeated exclamation I began to feel extremely uncomfortable. I was very sorry for the poor lady. Her situation awoke all my chivalrous feelings. The prospect before her if, as was at least possible, she did ever reach Java with the Potentate was certainly very far from reassuring. No one likes to be strangled, and she was probably as averse as anybody else to such an end. Nevertheless I really didn't quite see what I could do.

“Per-raps you—peut-étre vous comprenez Spaneesh, sair?” the voice broke in on my anxious self-communing.

“I don't, Madame, not one word! I must ask you to stick to English, French or Italian.”

“'Elp me! 'E is mad!”

This reiteration of a very unpleasant, even sinister, statement began to get on my nerves. Things always seem worse in the dark. Hideous visions of the Potentate mad rose before my imagination. Such a large man—mad! It scarcely bore thinking.of. A moderate-sized man gone crazy is all very well, but dementia on such a scale as the Potentate's would be altogether too much, a thoroughly inartistic piece of exaggeration.

“'Elp ...”

“Madame!” I exclaimed, “I only wish I could, but you must realize how very difficult my position is in this matter. I know your husband so very little. And besides”—suddenly the ice pail rose before me in the darkness—“besides, I have received nothing but hospitality at his hands. I have drunk his champagne. How can I interfere? How can I take any steps which might end in his incarceration in a lunatic asylum?”

“When you spik I understand no t'ing.”

I realized that in my excitement I had been talking with voluble rapidity. Now I bent forward in the direction in which I believed Madame to be located—I was beginning to get confused, to lose my bearings, as one easily may in the dark—and said very slowly:

“Your husband has given me champagne, iced champagne. That makes my position very delicate. Champagne! you understand? Cham-pagne!”

That word, pronounced first English, then French fashion, evidently got home to what Madame no doubt thought of as her brain. For she replied with unexpected lucidity:

“Il donne toujours du champagne. 'E give champagne to all. In France 'e give champagne, in Italie, in Japon, dans les Indes. When I say ''Elp! everyone 'e say 'Champagne!'”

This was a veritable heart cry and it did not leave me unmoved.

There was something genuinely pathetic and terrible in the thought of this poor and ineffective lady being whirled about the habitable globe by the extraordinary being she had somehow—how I could not conceive—had somehow married, being whirled about the globe, and when she appealed in all the languages of the nations for help in her doubtless very grave dilemma, being met always by the same very brief remark, “Champagne!” Something terrible in it, but something irresistibly comic, too! And in the dark I saw men of all nations, in all quarters of the world, being caught by the Potentate as they emerged from the restaurant of hotels de luxe, and held captive by the ice pail, while Madame sat in the offing, peeping at them over her upside down newspaper and realizing that yet another possible rescuer was being rendered impotent by the cruel generosity of the Brazilian phenomenon. And the farcical comedy of it struck away the tragedy out of my mind, and I began to laugh.

That was dreadful, but I couldn't help it any more than a man with a keen sense of humor can help laughing in church when anything ridiculous happens there. I laughed. I shook with laughter. My whole body quivered and was convulsed with laughter. And tears of laughter ran out of my eyes and down my laughing face. But through it all I was intent on not making a noise. Some, I hope gentlemanly, instinct prompted the avoidance of the roar. And I believe this praiseworthy endeavor would have been crowned with success if just at the crisis of my convulsion the thin voice out of the darkness had not exclaimed:

“'Elp me, sair! Aidez moi! Aiutatemi, Signorino!” And then, though she knew surely by this time I didn't understand German: “Helfen Sie mir! Er ist verrückt.”

I think it was the German that finished me off. Anyhow, when she said the last words I saw all the nations, represented by their male populations, round the Potentate's ice pail, and I let out one of the biggest bursts of laughter that probably ever broke from the frame of a man.

Long ago in a French farce called “Les surprises du divorce” I saw Coquelin ainé in a laughing scene. He began to laugh and he couldn't stop. His laughter escaped entirely from control, like Frankenstein's monster. It dominated him, it devastated him, it ransacked him from top to toe, it reduced him finally to a sort of human jelly, but still he went on laughing. The mind had long since ceased from laughing, but the body couldn't stop laughing. It was doubled up with laughing while the mind looked on shocked.

So I laughed that night in the lift with Madame. I thought of her marriage to the Potentate at the mature age of forty-three, and laughed. I thought of her traveling three times round the globe with him, doing nothing except read foreign newspapers upside down, and laughed. I thought of the Potentate's gradually going mad under the stress of her impotent companionship, and laughed. I thought of the Potentate's rendering all the knights-errant who might have succored the poor lady innocuous by means of iced champagne, and laughed. I thought of her being picked on board a ship bound for Brazil, and laughed. I thought of her being strangled by the Potentate in Java, and shrieked with laughter. Yes, I grieve to say it, that final vision of tragedy made me throw back my head in the by then almost suffocating darkness and laugh till my knees gave way.

How long I laughed I shall never know. But at length human nature seemed to go on strike from sheer exhaustion. My mind had long since stopped laughing, or even smiling. Now the last drops of laughter oozed—so I felt it—out of the squeezed sponge of my body. The tears of laughter began to dry on my cheeks, and in another moment I should have returned to my normal self-possession when just at the psychological moment I heard the thin voice say in the darkness, “Why you laugh, sair?”

And that set me off again.

When at last I did finally and permanently stop, stop “for good and all,” I felt physically exhausted and mentally very much ashamed of myself. I realized that I must have made a quite tremendous row and wondered whether my terrible outburst of merriment had been carried by the lift shaft, as by a sound conductor, into the farthest corners of the hotel. If so, what would people think? When a man shouts with laughter in a dark lift stuck between two floors the most natural supposition would surely be that he is singularly devoid of proper feeling. And when it is known—as I realized that it must by this time be known in the hotel—that his companion in misfortune is an elderly Brazilian lady, of permanently lugubrious temperament and entirely devoid of all sense of humor, and moreover that this lady is a total stranger to him, how must his conduct appear to all decent and right-thinking people?

My own laughter had rendered me deaf to any outside happenings, though not to the still, small Brazilian voice enclosed with me in the lift, but now I found myself listening intently for noises from the hotel. Madame, after the question which had renewed my convulsions. had subsided into the death-like silence which had alarmed me at the beginning of our adventure. I conceived of her as finally stricken dumb by my shameless hilarity. But I was now concerned not with her but with the hotel. Our imprisonment could not be permanent. We should presently be enabled to emerge once more into the outer world. How should I be received there after what had just taken place? I listened as I don't think I have ever listened either before or since.

Presently I seemed to become aware of great confusion at a distance, of a confusion manifesting itself in multitudinous noises which were all blended together into an indeterminate something that was neither sound nor silence. And I was obscurely conscious that the hotel must be in an uproar.

Now what could be the cause of an uproar in the hotel? I asked myself the question and I immediately thought of the Potentate.

I had now lost all count of time and really had not the remotest idea how long we had been shut up in the lift. Had we been there for a quarter of an hour, for an hour, for two hours? The Potentate had flung out into the night sometime after ten o'clock, and I had thought to retire to bed almost immediately after his departure. If Madame and I had been in the lift for half an hour or so it must be about eleven o'clock. But it might well be later. Possibly it was near midnight. I began to wonder at what hour the Potentate usually returned from his nocturnal excursions. Beneath us, it seemed to me now, the muffled uproar in the hotel was growing in volume. What could be the cause of such mysterious confusion in a hitherto well-ordered establishment? Had the Potentate

But I put the ugly thought from me.

I realized that I had no definite idea what happened in a first-class hotel when a lift containing an elderly lady from Brazil and a comparatively young Englishman stuck fast in the dark between two floors. The matter was outside my experience of life. I could only guess and imagine. But guess and imagine as I might, the ugly conviction remained with me: “The Potentate has returned and has found out about the lift.”

What he was doing in consequence of having found out, of course I couldn't know. But having observed his demonstrations in the restaurant when an omelet was lacking in truffles or when a bottle of Burgundy wasn't warmed to a nicety, I could deduce from them what he might well be capable of if he imagined that his honor was in question. And he wouldn't be reasonable. At all times he was like a thoroughly unreasonable volcano. It would, I knew, be quite useless for me to tell him that I hadn't deliberately arranged for a short-circuit in order that I might secure an undisturbed tête-à-tête with Madame. He wouldn't believe me. I remembered my reiterated refusal to go out with him that night. By Jove, that would look bad too if he suspected anything! He would certainly bring that up against me.

I found myself sweating profusely with heat and apprehension.

“Why you laugh, sair?” said the thin voice.

I began to understand in some degree why the Potentate had at any rate thought of strangling my companion. Why will women go back upon the past? Why will they rake up memories which are far best forgotten? It seemed to me now incredible that I had ever laughed, and I was intensely irritated by this cross-examination upon a matter which was, as I recognized, very little to my credit, and which it was quite impossible for me to explain to anyone, least of all to Madame. For how could I possibly tell her the simple truth, which was that I had nearly died of laughing because I had been visualizing her assassination at the hands of the Potentate in Java?

“I can't explain, Madame,” I said. “Please don't ask me. Please forget all about it. And now I beg you to tell me something. At what time does your husband usually come back?”

“Sair?”

“At what hour does your husband generally come in to go to bed?”

“Sair?”

I clenched my hands. “A quelle heure votre mari—votre mari! Comprenez vous?—à quelle heure se couche-t-il généralement?”

“Sair?”

I raised my fists, as the Potentate had raised his in the pantomime of the exportation to Brazil. “Vostro marito—capisce Lei? Vostro marito—a che ora va a letto?”

“Sair?”

“At what o'clock—a quelle heure—a che ora”

“I understand no t'ing!”

“But you told me that you spoke Inglis—I mean English—French, Italian and even German. But you assured me—mais vous m'avez assuré que—ma Lei mi ha detto che Lei parlava quattro lingue, guattro lingue”

“When you spik I understand no t'ing.”

The perspiration was dropping from me. I was bathed in it, partly on account of the intense heat generated in the lift shaft, but partly also, I am certain, on account of my mental exasperation, my fear of the immediate future and my inability to induce my extraordinary companion to comprehend any mortal thing I said. That was it, then! She was one of those intolerable women who can't comprehend one word of any language spoken to them. And I remembered that the Potentate had told me that Portuguese was the only language she understood, not that Portuguese was the only language she spoke. For all I knew she might be able to speak badly in all the living languages extant. But it was quite certain that she was totally incapable of grasping the meaning of the simplest sentence in any one of them, however carefully spoken to her.

Suddenly desperation rose in me. I resolved that somehow I would make this extraordinary being understand me. And I recollected having been told that the best way to force a very stupid or very ignorant or very obstinate person into comprehension of your meaning is to speak of something which vitally affects his, or her, comfort, safety or happiness—of money owed, for instance, or of food long overdue, or of personal insecurity—such as danger to life or limb.

I therefore crouched forward in the darkness towards where I supposed Madame to be and said in a penetrating voice: “If you value your life on no account go to Java!”

“Sair?” came, to my great surprise, from immediately behind me.

I spun round. “N'allez pas à Java, je vous en prie, Madame! N'allez jamais à Java!”

“'Elp me, sair!”

“I'm trying to help you. Lei non deve andare a Java! Ha capito?”

“When you spik I understand no t'ing.”

“Don't go to Java!” I roared.

“'Elp me, sair!”

“I'm telling you” My voice failed me.

“Aiutatemi, Signorino! Helfen Sie mir!”

“I don't understand Ger”

“Er ist verrückt! 'E 'ave give you champagne but 'e is mad. È pazzo. È pazzissimo! Monsieur, c'est un grand fou! Ich fürchte mich vor ihm. Aber was soll ich thun? Niemand hilft mir, weil Sie alle zusammen von seinem Champagner getrunken haben. Ich bitte Sie”

“Madame, how many times must I tell you that I don't under”

“Wenn mir niemand helfen will weiss ich wirklich nicht was ich thun soll. Er ist mein Mann aber er hat mich nicht lieb. Wenn Sie nur”

But at this point in our conversation a diversion occurred. The electric light gleamed out once more, and I found that I was standing up in the lift with my back to Madame and my face to the folding doors. I was about to turn round when the lift moved upwards and stopped with a jerk. Concluding that at last we reached floor number three I pulled the door inwards and was confronted by a wall. We had stuck again.

But something—it seemed fatally—drew my glance upwards and I saw above the wall, through the bottom of a grille, a pair of enormous feet and the beginnings of two mighty legs. They were immovable, like things put outside a bedroom door at night to be cleaned, Despite the bars which partially concealed them, I knew them for what they were—the Potentate's feet and ankles—and I looked round at Madame.

“For mercy's sake,” I whispered, “don't”

The lift moved with a jerk and stuck again, I was now confronted by a mountainous protuberance decorated with a cable chain of gold and a whole family of seals of various shapes and sizes: Again I turned my head.

“For heaven's sake!” I whispered urgently, “mind you don't”

“Sair?”

“Dites lui que—spiegate che quando voi siete venuto”

The lift glided smoothly upward, stop gently, blandly almost, and I was face to face with the Potentate. His enormous black eyes were staring into mine. His Assyrian beard was thrust out towards me. He still wore the vast overcoat and enormous hat in which he had passed out into the night.

“It isn't my fault!” I began through the bars. “I assure you solemnly that”

He flung open the lift gate. I thought of course that he was going to assault me, but his eyes traveled fiercely beyond me to Madame, who was still seated in the corner and who now peeped out into the regained world exactly as she peeped over her newspapers.

The Potentate looked at her and then at me in deadly silence.

“I positively assure you,” I began again, “I solemnly swear on my honor that”

He swept aside my excuses with a gesture. I stepped meekly out onto the landing. Exactly what happened then I don't know. But I suppose Madame must have summoned courage to get out of the lift of her own accord, for the next thing I remember was seeing her thin back and scratchy head of hair disappearing in the distance of the corridor. She seemed to creep round the corner and was gone. I was alone with the Potentate.

He took out an immense gold watch and looked at it. “The electric light and power failed all over Naples at twenty minutes to eleven,” he said in the “Aida” bass. “It's twelve o'clock now. You've been shut in there alone with her for an hour and twenty minutes.”

“It wasn't my fault! I positively assure you, I swear on my sacred honor, that it wasn't my”

“For an hour and twenty minutes—and you haven't strangled her!”

He stared into my eyes like one who regards a phenomenon, something which he sees but in which he finds it almost impossible to believe.

Then without another word he turned and walking as it seemed to me with majestic contempt, disappeared round the corner of the corridor.

I kept my room all next day. On the following morning when I ventured out I learn from the polite young man at the bureau that the Potentate and Madame had just set sail for Java.

title: The Man Who Hated His Wife


text: Talk:The Man Who Hated His Wife

title: Talk:The Man Who Hated His Wife


text:
Portal:Felicia Hemans in Gift Books

The Literary Souvenir, 1825

 * The Mother and Child
 * The Grave of Körner

The Amulet, 1826

 * The Hebrew Mother
 * Christ in the Garden

title: Portal:Felicia Hemans in Gift Books


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/26

] Mouth. The site of this settlement was visited by the writer in April, 1902. It is marked by several acres of potsherds that are scattered about the sand dunes on the south side of the dry river bottom that is scarcely lower than the level of the plain. A few Mexican families have lived in the vicinity for many years, pumping water from a depth of a hundred feet and depending upon crops of corn and beans raised in the summer when a few showers fall upon their fields. These Mexicans plow out stone implements and bits of pottery, but have never found any burial places. There are two medium-sized adobe ruins on the flat river bottom; one of these has walls of the same pisé type that is exhibited by the Casa Grande ruin (pl. ), situated 25 miles to the northward. from S. Ex. Doc. 1, pt. 1, 559, 35th Cong., 2d sess., 1859. The number of Maricopas is included that the comparatively small importance of that tribe may be appreciated.

Mr Browne, a member of Commissioner Poston’s party that visited the villages in January, 1864, wrote: "The number of Pima villages is 10; Maricopas, 2; separate inclosures, 1,000." (J. Ross Browne, Adventures in the Apache Country, 110.) On a later page (290) he gives the population by villages, of which he names but seven:

"There are 1,200 laboring Pimas and 1,000 warriors."

James F. Rueling (The Great West and the Pacific Coast, 369), who visited the Pimas in 1867, also states that there were then ten Pima villages.

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/26


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 awe of Nature's lasting majesty or the true love of her beauty. In the Chansons de Geste and the songs of Minnesingers the life of the wandering minstrel could not but leave traces of Nature’s influences; but these are seen merely in general allusions, and if among the trampling of horses and the baying of hounds, among the sights and sounds of the chase or the hawking party, we catch a glimpse of "gentle May," or the "dew glistening on the heather-bells," or hear the song of the nightingale, it is only because the feudal scene needs the addition of some such prettiness. These feudal singers reverse the practice of that prose-poet Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, who makes his narratives only frames for his pictures of Nature; they offer us hardly any pictures of Nature, little but scattered images (such as the "fading leaves of autumn" or "the fields bared in winter's snow"), which are so frequently and mechanically repeated as to suggest anything but lively sympathy with Nature. The flower and the leaf are but emblems of war and love to them; as sings Bertran de Born—

German critics have asked whether contact with Southern Italy, with Asia Minor and Palestine by the Crusades, enriched the feudal poetry of Germany with new imagery drawn from more sunny climes, and have decided in the negative. The question suggests one reason for the weak and stereotyped sentiments of Nature


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name at the head of this page is probably unknown to the English reader, and yet I think it should become a household word like that of Garibaldi or John Brown. Some day soon, we may expect to hear more fully the details of Yoshida's history, and the degree of his influence in the transformation of Japan; even now there must be Englishmen acquainted with the subject, and perhaps the appearance of this sketch may elicit something more complete and exact. I wish to say that I am not, rightly speaking, the author of the present paper: I tell the story on the authority of an intelligent Japanese gentleman, Mr. Taiso Masaki, who told it me with an emotion that does honour to his heart; and though I have taken some pains, and sent my notes to him to be corrected, this can be no more than an imperfect outline.

Yoshida-Torajiro was son to the hereditary military instructor of the house of Choshu. The


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 scription as a fitting frame for human love-scenes, we shall be disappointed; for, though we may admire the Italian stylist's sonnet on the effects of the Valley of Vaucluse upon his feelings after Laura's death, he sympathises rather with city life and classical reminiscences than with the splendid life of Nature round about him, "I miss with astonishment," says Humboldt, "any expression of feeling connected with the aspects of Nature in the letters of Petrarch, either when, in 1545, he attempted the ascent of Mont Ventour from Vaucluse, longing to catch a glimpse of his native land, or when he visited the gulf of Baiæ, or the banks of the Rhine to Cologne. His mind was occupied by classical remembrances of Cicero and the Roman poets, or by the emotions of his ascetic melancholy, rather than by surrounding Nature."

This was while the Greek revival had scarcely yet begun; no wonder that when the models which Rome had essayed to copy were unveiled before the eyes of Western scholars, their faces were averted from all sights and sounds of Nature save such as their classical gods—for gods indeed the classical artists now became—had stamped with approval. The beauties of the physical world exist only for him who can see them; and when the exquisite but delusive mirage of classical associations stole over the face of Western Europe, men of culture came to see Nature—nay, even social and individual life—through mists in which nothing loomed out clearly save the phantom men and manners of Athens and Rome. "For long the only forests or seas, gardens or fields, frequented by poets, were to be found in the descriptions of Vergil and Homer. In France, at least down to the time of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and Chateaubriand, the only voyages made by men of letters, the only storms


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Rh March 8, 1870. THOMAS HAWKSLEY, Vice-President, in the Chair.

No. 1.245.-"Description of the Line and Works of the São Paulo Railway in the Empire of Brazil.” By, M. Inst. C.E.

The São Paulo railway is the last in date of concession and of construction of the three Anglo-Brazilian railways, but if considered from an engineering or a commercial point of view, whether as regards the past difficulties and the cost of construction, the present success, or the prosperous future of the enterprise, it is entitled to the first place. Although the last to be realised, it is probable that the first railway project in the Empire was a line from Santos, passing by the city of São Paulo, into the interior of the province; for as early as 1837-8 such an idea was broached by Mr. Fred. Forum, an English merchant resident at Santos, and studies of a cursory nature were made under his auspices by Mr. A. de Mornay, and submitted to the late Mr. Robert Stephenson (Past-President Inst. C.E.), who reported thereon in 1839. It maybe interesting to quote the following remarks by Mr. Stephenson, in recommending an easy valley line, in preference to a shorter line with heavy works: "What is of the greatest importance, it is entirely free from works of magnitude, such as render an accurate calculation of expense not only extremely difficult, but absolutely impracticable, for throughout my experience I have found that the application of ordinary estimates to works of extraordinary magnitude is worse than useless, as it never fails to mislead. This remark is peculiarly applicable to your project, for you are preparing to execute work in a country where the facilities are not only few but limited, where the simplest and cheapest, rather than the most refined and expeditious, methods of operation must be made available." The year 1839 was, however, too early an era for such an enterprise, and the project remained in abeyance until 1853-4, when it was revived under the auspices of the Baron de Mauá and other distinguished Brazilians. Preliminary plans were commenced, but not completed, owing to the stagnation of affairs


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 droning over my lessons, Yoshida was goading himself to be wakeful with the stings of the mosquito; and while you were grudging a penny income tax, Kusákabé was stepping to death with a noble sentence on his lips.


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Rh. Where did you come by it? Your own child, or another?

. It was not my own child—I had it from another.

. From any of those here? From what house?

. Do not ask any more, master; for the love of God do not ask.

. You are lost if I have to question you again.

. It was a child from the house of Laius.

. A slave? Or one of his own race?

. Alas! I am on the edge of dreadful words.

. And I of hearing: yet hear I must.

. It was Said to have been his own child. But your lady within can tell you of these things best.

. How? It was she who gave it to you?

. Yes, king.

. To what end?

. That I should make away with it.

. Her own child?

. Yes: from fear of evil prophecies.

. What prophecies?

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42. That he should kill his father.

. Why, then, did you give him up to this old man?

. Through pity, master, believing that he would carry him to whatever land he had himself come from—but he saved him for dreadful misery; for if you are what this man says, you are the most miserable of all men.

. O! O! All brought to pass! All truth! Now O Light, may I look my last upon you, having been found accursed in bloodshed, accursed in marriage, and in my coming into the world accursed!

[He rushes into the palace.

What can the shadow-like generations of man attain

But build up a dazzling mockery of delight that under their touch dissolves again?

Oedipus seemed blessed, but there is no man blessed amongst men.

Oedipus overcame the woman-breasted Fate;

He seemed like a strong tower against Death and first among the fortunate;

He sat upon the ancient throne of Thebes and all men called him great.

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Rh But, looking for a marriage bed, he found the bed of his birth,

Tilled the field his father had tilled, cast seed into the same abounding earth;

Entered through the door that had sent him wailing forth.

Begetter and begot as one! How could that be hid?

What darkness cover up that marriage bed? Time watches, he is eagle-eyed,

And all the works of man are known and every soul is tried.

Would you had never come to Thebes, nor to this house,

Nor riddled with the woman-breasted Fate, beaten off death and succoured us,

That I had never raised this song, heart-broken Oedipus.

[coming from the house]. Friends and kinsmen of this house! What deeds must you look upon, what burden of sorrow bear, if true to race you still love the House of Labdicus. For not Istar nor Phasis could wash this house clean, so many misfortunes have been brought upon it, so many has it brought upon itself, and those misfortunes are always the worst that a man brings upon himself.

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44. Great already are the misfortunes of this house, and you bring us a new tale.

. A short tale in the telling; Jocasta, our queen, is dead.

. Alas, miserable woman, how did she die?

. By her own hand. It cannot be as terrible to you as to one that saw it with his eyes, yet so far as words can serve, you shall see it. When she had come into the vestibule, she ran half crazed towards her marriage bed, clutching at her hair with the fingers of both hands, and once within the chamber dashed the doors together behind her. Then called upon the name of Laius, long since dead, remembering that son who killed the father and upon the mother begot an accursed race. And wailed because of that marriage wherein she had borne a twofold race—husband by husband, children by her child. Then Oedipus with a shriek burst in and rushing here and there asked for a sword, asked where he would find the wife that was no wife but a mother who had borne his children and himself. Nobody answered him, we all stood dumb; but super natural power helped him for, with a dreadful shriek, as though beckoned, he sprang at the double doors, drove them in, burst the bolts out of their sockets, and rushed into the room. There we saw the woman hanging in a

title: Page:Sophocles' King Oedipus.pdf/54


text: Familiar Studies of Men and Books/Yoshida-Torajiro


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30 caused by the Crimean war. In the beginning of 1856, the scheme was placed by the Baron de Mauá in the hands of Mr. James Brunlees, M. Inst. C.E., who was charged with the preparation of the plans and sections, and of the report and estimates necessary for the organisation of a company in England, under the terms of the concession which was granted to the Baron de Mauá, the Marquis de Mont Alegre, and Councillor J. A. P. Bueno, by Imperial Decree of the 20th of April, 1856.

The concession is for a line of railway commencing at Santos, passing close by the city of São Paulo,and terminating at the town of Jundiahy, a distance of about 88 miles, with a guarantee of 7 per cent. interest on a maximum capital of $2,000,000 for a period of ninety years, with a right of preference for continuing the line to Rio Claro, a further distance of about 80 miles. These terms do not differ materially from those granted to the Pernambuco and the Bahia railways.

Early in 1856, the Author was sent out by Mr. Brunlees to undertake the preliminary surveys, and to furnish data for the plans, report, and estimates, which after having been presented to, and being approved by, the Imperial Government, should enable a Company to be formed, and contracts for the work to be entered into in England. The concession distinctly specified the termini, and to a certain extent the intermediate route of the line. The capital was arbitrarily fixed at $2,000,000, although the undertaking involved the construction of a first-class railway up the precipitous sides of the escarpment called the "Serra do Mar," which runs parallel to the sea coast, in a direction at right angles to that of the railway, and which rises abruptly to a minimum height of 2,500 feet above the sea level. No plans or sections, nor indeed any studies whatever, appear to have been previously made to determine the best mode and the probable cost of surmounting the barrier. This, it is obvious, materially affected the engineering of the line, as it was distinctly understood that no guarantee of additional capital would be allowed. The Author’s instructions from England were to layout a locomotive line over the Serra; but the first sight of the country convinced him that this could not be done and the line carried to Jundiahy within the prescribed capital. In consequence of his representations, Mr. Brunlees determined that inclined planes, with a gradient of 1 in 10 to be worked by stationary engines, should be employed, in order to shorten the ascent and enable the line to be made within the prescribed sum, and these inclined planes arethe distinctive features of the railway. At that time surveys were being made for the extension of the Dom Pedro Segundo railway up the "Serra do Mar," near Rio de Janeiro. As the range at that point is about 1,000 feet lower than in the province of São Paulo, and the nature of the ground enables


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Rh swinging halter, and with a terrible cry he loosened the halter from her neck. When that unhappiest woman lay stretched upon the ground, we saw another dreadful sight. He dragged the golden brooches from her dress and lifting them struck them upon his eyeballs, crying out, ‘You have looked enough upon those you ought never to have looked upon, failed long enough to know those that you should have known; henceforth you shall be dark’. He struck his eyes, not once, but many times, lifting his hands and speaking such or like words. The blood poured down and not with a few slow drops, but all at once over his beard in a dark shower as it were hail.

[The wails and he steps further on to the stage.

Such evils have come forth from the deeds of those two and fallen not on one alone but upon husband and wife. They inherited much happiness, much good fortune; but to-day, ruin, shame, death, and loud crying, all evils that can be counted up, all, all are theirs.

. Is he any quieter?

. He cries for someone to unbar the gates and to show to all the men of Thebes his father’s murderer, his mother’s—the unholy word must not be spoken. It is his purpose to cast himself out of the land

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 name you are to pronounce with an equality of accent on the different syllables, almost as in French, the vowels as in Italian, but the consonants in the English manner—except the j, which has the French sound, or, as it has been cleverly proposed to write it, the sound of zh. Yoshida was very learned in Chinese letters, or, as we might say, in the classics, and in his father's subject; fortification was among his favourite studies, and he was a poet from his boyhood. He was born to a lively and intelligent patriotism; the condition of Japan was his great concern; and while he projected a better future, he lost no opportunity of improving his knowledge of her present state. With this end he was continually travelling in his youth, going on foot and sometimes with three days' provision on his back, in the brave, self-helpful manner of all heroes. He kept a full diary while he was thus upon his journeys, but it is feared that these notes have been destroyed. If their value were in any respect such as we have reason to expect from the man's character, this would be a loss not easy to exaggerate. It is still wonderful to the Japanese how far he contrived to push these explorations; a cultured gentleman of that land and period would leave a complimentary poem wherever he had been hospitably entertained; and a friend of


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 Mr. Masaki, who was likewise a great wanderer, has found such traces of Yoshida's passage in very remote regions of Japan.

Politics is perhaps the only profession for which no preparation is thought necessary; but Yoshida considered otherwise, and he studied the miseries of his fellow-countrymen with as much attention and research as though he had been going to write a book instead of merely to propose a remedy. To a man of his intensity and singleness, there is no question but that this survey was melancholy in the extreme. His dissatisfaction is proved by the eagerness with which he threw himself into the cause of reform; and what would have discouraged another braced Yoshida for his task. As he professed the theory of arms, it was firstly the defences of Japan that occupied his mind. The external feebleness of that country was then illustrated by the manners of overriding barbarians, and the visits of big barbarian war ships: she was a country beleaguered. Thus the patriotism of Yoshida took a form which may be said to have defeated itself: he had it upon him to keep out these all-powerful foreigners, whom it is now one of his chief merits to have helped to introduce; but a man who follows his own virtuous heart will be always found in the end to have been fighting for the best. One thing leads naturally to another


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Rh the summit level to be reduced by tunnelling, a locomotive line with gradients of 1 in 55 has been constructed. Had a similar line been laid out on the São Paulo Serra, a continuous incline of at least 26 miles in length would have been entailed, and taking the cost of the Dom Pedro Segundo mountain line as a basis, the outlay for overcoming the Serra alone would have reached £1,500,000.

Only those engineers who have made surveys through tropical forests can form a definite idea of the immense labour involved in the exploration and selection of a railway route in a country like Brazil, and especially on the precipitous and rugged sea face of the Serra do Mar. To add to the difficulties, the whole escarpment, from the deepest gorge to the loftiest peak, is covered with almost impenetrable primeval forests, through which the explorer has to drive narrow paths resembling 'headings.' The exploring party usually remained in the jungle three weeks at a time, living in huts covered with the leaves of the palmetto, exposed to tropical rains and hardships of which it is difficult to convey an adequate idea, and emerging from the woods blanched from want of sunlight, which rarely penetrates the thick gloom of a Brazilian forest. From the neighbourhood of São Paulo to Jundiahy, the plans and sections drawn in 1835 were verified and made use of, where practicable. The whole of these surveys were completed in about fifteen months, and the Author returned to England in September, 1857. At the close of that year Mr. Brunlees, the Engineer-in-Chief, presented his plans, sections, report, and estimates, which by Decree of the 11th March, 1858, were approved by the Imperial Government of Brazil, with such slight modifications, to insure uniformity with other Brazilian railways, as were proposed by the Government consulting Engineer, Mr. C. B. Lane, M. Inst. C.E.; and by Decree, dated the 13th of March, 1858, the period for the formation of the Company was prolonged for two years, or until the 26th of April, 1860, and the concession was altered in details relating to the guarantee. By Imperial Decree of the 30th of October, 1859, the guarantee was extended to the whole period of the concession, ninety years, and provision was made for interest paid during construction being treated as capital, to bear the guaranteed rate of interest. The Company was formally incorporated under memorandum and articles of association bearing date the 22nd of December, 1859, and in January, 1860, the Author, having been appointed by Mr. Brunlees as his principal resident Engineer, proceeded to São Paulo to take charge of the works, and was shortly followed by Mr. Aubertin, the Company’s superintendent, Mr. Bolland, M. Inst. C.E., Mr. John Henderson, Assoc. Inst. C.E. (the contractors' Engineer),and others. On the 8th of February, a contract between the Company and Messrs. Robert Sharpe and Sons was entered into, whereby the


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46 that he may not bring all this house under his curse. But he has not the strength to do it. He must be supported and led away. The curtain is parting; you are going to look upon a sight which even those who shudder must pity.

. Woe, woe is me! Miserable, miserable that I am! Where am I? Where am I going? Where am I cast away? Who hears my words?

. Cast away indeed, dreadful to the sight of the eye, dreadful to the ear.

. Ah, friend, the only friend left to me, friend still faithful to the blind man! I know that you are there blind though I am, I recognise your voice.

. Where did you get the courage to put out your eyes?

What unearthly power drove you to that?

. Apollo, friends, Apollo, but it was my own hand alone, wretched that I am, that quenched these eyes.

. You were better dead than blind.

. No, it is better to be blind. What sight is there that could give me joy? How could I have looked into the face of my father when I came among the dead, aye, or on my miserable mother, since against them both I sinned such things that no halter can

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Rh punish. And what to me this spectacle, town, statue, wall, and what to me this people, since I, thrice wretched, I noblest of Theban men, have doomed myself to banishment, doomed myself when I commanded all to thrust out the unclean thing.

. It had indeed been better if that herdsman had never taken your feet out of the bonds or brought you back to life.

. O three roads, O secret glen; O coppice and narrow way where three roads met; you that drank up the blood I spilt, the blood that was my own, my father’s blood; remember what deeds I wrought for you to look upon, and then, when I had come hither, the new deeds that I wrought. O marriage bed that gave me birth and after that gave children to your child, creating an incestuous kindred of fathers, brothers, sons, wives, and mothers. Yes, all the shame and the uncleanness that I have wrought among men.

. For all my pity I shudder and turn away.

. Come near, condescend to lay your hands upon a wretched man; listen, do not fear. My plague can touch no man but me. Hide me somewhere out of this land for God’s sake, or kill me, or throw me into the sea where you shall never look upon me more.

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 the next town, said the valet de place—at Vienne; I am glad of it, said I, rising briskly from my chair, and walking across the room with strides twice as long as my usual pace—"for so much the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the two lovers."

What was the cause of this movement, and why I took such long strides in uttering this—I might leave to the curious too; but as no principle of clock-work is concern'd in it—'twill be as well for the reader if I explain it myself.


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8

BY

Dr. Eastman, you are a lawyer, correct?

Correct.

And are you a graduate of the University of Chicago Law School?

Yes.

And I know of your very distinguished clerkships. Can you tell us who you clerked for after law school?

Judge Michael Luttig and Justice Clarence Thomas—like you,.

Yes. And then did you practice at a law firm following your clerkships?

I did, at Kirkland & Ellis.

For how long?

Two years.

And following that—

Not including time as summer associate.

I understand. And what did you do after leaving Kirkland & Ellis?

I went into teaching and founded a public interest law firm called the Center for Constitutional Jurisprudence at the Claremont Institute.

And do I understand that you both have taught in an academic setting and also represented clients as well?

That's correct.

If nobody has any questions about the background of the witness, I'll just start getting into the more substantive questions.

Dr. Eastman, in an interview with Larry Lessig and Matt Seligman on the "Another Way" podcast, September 27th, 2021, you were asked about the memoranda that you


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32 contractors undertook to acquire the land, execute the works and buildings, and supply all rolling stock and plant,in conformity with Mr. Brunlees's plans, sections, and specifications, for a total sum of £1,745,000. A period of eight years, or to the close of 1867, was allowed by the contract for the completion of the works. The first sod was turned in May, 1860, the rails were laid to Jundiahy early in July, 1866, the line was conditionally accepted, subject to completion during maintenance, in October, 1866, and was finally opened for traffic, with the provisional consent of the Government, on the 16th of February, 1867, thus saving ten months of the contract time. By virtue of a contract between Messrs. Sharpe and the Imperial Government, the contractors received a bonus of £43,750 for the saving of time thus effected, which was repaid to the Government by an addition to the tariffs of about 5 per cent. In addition to the contractsum, the contractors, in virtue of subsequent arrangements, and on account of extra cost of stations, &C., were entitled to receive £72,917, making the total paid to the contractors £1,817,917, exclusive of the Government bonus.

When the line was accepted much remained to be done, which the contractors undertook to execute during their term of maintenance, and when the line was provisionally accepted by the Government, an agreement of a stringent nature was entered into by the Company with the Government, which, owing partly to unprecedented rains and floods in the end of 1867 and the beginning of 1868, was not fulfilled until July, 1868, when the line was finally accepted.

The line has been worked ever since the opening with most satisfactory results, both as regards receipts and working expenses; and had the rate of exchange been at par, the traffic during the half-year ending June 30th, 1869, would have been sufficient to pay the full dividend of 7 per cent. on £2,650,000 without the assistance of the Brazilian Government.

Before proceeding to the special object of the Paper, it is thought that a brief description of the physical characteristics, productions, climate, &c., of the province will be of advantage.

The Province of São Paulo lies immediately south of Rio de Janeiro, between 20° and 26° south latitude. It comprises an area of about 95,000 square miles, thus ranking ninth amongst the Brazilian provinces in extent of territory. The population, about 900,000, is only inferior to that of Rio de Janeiro, Minas Geraes, Bahia, and Pernambuco, whilst in material advantages, affecting the powers and variety of production, and in salubrity of climate, San Paulo is entitled to perhaps the first rank. Situated on the verge of, and not within the tropics, the climate is modified by the elevation of the province. An area of about 90,000 square


text: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 30


text:
Page:CTRL0000034608 - Deposition of John Eastman, (Dec. 9, 2021).pdf/9

9 wrote regarding the role of the Vice President in counting the electoral college votes on January 6th, and you said, quote, "Although I did have a client in this, the client, the President, the former President of the United States, has authorized me to talk about these things. I want to make that clear upfront," close quote.

Did President Trump authorize you to talk publicly about the memoranda that you wrote?

Mr. I beg the committee's indulgence.

The On the advice of counsel, I hereby assert my Fifth Amendment right against being compelled to be a witness against myself. And with the committee's permission, I will invoke this right as necessary in response to further questions by simply stating "The Fifth."

BY

So is it your position that you can discuss those memoranda in public settings, but will not discuss those memoranda with the committee pursuant to a subpoena?

Fifth.

On May 5th, 2021, in an interview withof the "Peter Boyle Show," you said, "I met with the President and the Vice President on January 4th in the Oval Office and the President had been advised, based on law review articles that were done after the 2000 election, that, in fact, maybe the Vice President had unilateral authority to determine the validity of contested electoral votes."

You said later in the interview that, quote, "I would normally not talk about a private conversation I had with a client, but I have express authorization from my client, the President of the United States, at that time to describe what occurred, to truthfully describe what occurred in that conversation," close quote.


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48

. Here Creon comes at a fit moment, you can ask of him what you will, help or counsel, for he is now in your place. He is king.

. What can I say to him? What can I claim, having been altogether unjust to him?

. I have not come in mockery, Oedipus, nor to reproach you. Lead him in to the house as quickly as you can. Do not let him display his misery before strangers.

. I must obey, but first, since you have come in so noble a spirit, you will hear me.

. Say what you will.

. I know that you will give her that lies within such a tomb as befits your own blood, but there is something more, Creon. My sons are men and can take care of themselves, but my daughters, my two unhappy daughters, that have ever eaten at my own table and shared my food, watch over my daughters, Creon. If it is lawful, let me touch them with my hands. Grant it, prince, grant it, noble heart. I would believe could I touch them that I still saw them.

[ and are led in by attendants.

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