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 tiveness went a certain physical sluggishness and diffidence. The reason for this is not difficult to apprehend. The child Hardy of course associated with the youngsters of the hamlet. While he played with them in abandoned jollity, and while he talked with them in the utmost gravity, as children do, he lost himself in their somewhat loutish habits, manners and language. But when he sought to transplant these experiences into his home-life, as children do, he discovered to his astonishment that these were not the proper, dignified things for a Hardy to do. The father, and especially the mother, frowned on all that was rural or crude. Hardy learned that there was an invisible but rigid barrier between the life within his home and the life outside it. He had to learn to trim his sails in both places accordingly. At home he learned to affect his mother's manners; also, like Elizabeth-Jane, to say "stay where you are," instead of "bide where you be," "succeed" instead of "fay," "wild hyacinths" instead of "greggles," "suffering from indigestion" instead of "hag-rid." In the lanes and fields with his playmates, on the other hand, he soon learned to forget the glossy sheen of culture and polite education. Thus, at the age of six, Hardy was already leading a double life.

At the same time, the growing consciousness of his family's social position, although this position was itself rather indeterminate, induced in him a growing and uncomfortable shyness while associating with his childhood cronies. He drew himself away from them, spiritually, as his mother's attitude made itself felt more and more poignantly. He became merely observant at times when he should have been joining whole-heartedly in the diver-


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Rh nections that said tickets may have been regularly issued over and for.

§ 2.]Any person purchasing a ticket from the authorized office of any line for the transportation of passengers, shall have the right to sell his ticket or tickets to any person doing business under this act; Provided, That nothing in this act shall be construed to prevent any incorporated village, town or city to regulate this business by any law deemed necessary for the protection of the public.

§ 3.]All acts or parts of acts conflicting with the provisions of this act be and the same are hereby repealed.

§ 4.This act shall take effect and be in force from and after its passage and approval.

Approved, March 13, 1885.

AN ACT to Repeal Section Two and Amend Section Twelve of Chapter One Hundred and Four of the Session Laws of 1881.

Be it enacted by the Legislative Assembly of the Territory of Dakota:

§ 1.That section two of chapter one hundred and four of the session laws of 1881, entitled “An act to locate and provide for the building and government of a territorial penitentiary,” is hereby repealed.

§ 2.]That the penitentiary at Sioux Falls, Dakota, shall be under the direction and government of five directors who shall be appointed by the Governor of the Territory, with the advice and consent of the Council. Said directors to hold their office for the term of two years or until their successors are appointed and qualified, and in case a vacancy shall occur in the position of the director, such vacancy shall be filled by the other members of the board who shall vote by ballot in filling such vacancy, which person so elected shall hold his office


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 sion of the moment; he became both introspective and critical when he should have lost all consciousness of himself in play or jest. He was forced to paint in for himself a mental background of superiority; this naturally tended to induce a sense of detachment from the "inferiority" of his fellows—and tended to constitute, in itself, a kind of complex of inferiority; for the boy was thus alone, and lonely.

It is important to realize this aspect of Hardy’s childhood, for it both determined and symbolized the mood of analytical detachment coupled with sympathetic appreciation and pity which was later on to characterize his whole artistic attitude. It provides a key to at least a partial understanding of his enviable mental equipment as a transcriber of life.

At the age of eight, the boy was registered as a pupil in the Dorchester primary school. It has already been indicated that this school was originally founded by one of his Sixteenth Century Dorset ancestors, Thomas Hardy of Melcombe Eegis. Thither, at any rate, Hardy journeyed every day for a period of six years. The instruction he received was meagre enough, according to all accounts. At one time during his stay, there were no more than four pupils attending besides himself.

Of these mediocre opportunities, the youngster failed to reap any consequential advantages whatever. He turned out to be a "backward" boy, partially indolent, partially uninterested, impatient and intolerant of the extremely elementary information which the equally uninterested and harassed master attempted to impart. His mother, worried by his reluctance in progressing


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4 friendly to them, and Licinius had never been an active persecutor; whereas Maximin was a cruel and malicious enemy, and Maxentius, standing as he did for Rome, could not but be hostile to them. So Maxentius was to crush Constantine, and Maximin to deal with Licinius.

Constantine did not wait to be crushed. Breaking up his camp at Colmar, he pushed rapidly across the Alps. In a cavalry fight near Turin, the Gauls overcame the formidable cataphracti—horse and rider clad in mail—of Maxentius. Then straight to Verona, where in Ruricius Pompeianus he found a foeman worthy of his steel. Right well did Pompeianus defend Verona; and if he escaped from the siege, it was only to gather an army for its relief. Then another great battle. Pompeianus was killed, Verona surrendered, and Constantine made straight for Rome. Still Maxentius gave no sign. He had baffled invasion twice before by sitting still in Rome, and Constantine could not have besieged the city with far inferior forces. At the last moment Maxentius came out a few miles, and offered battle (28 Oct. 312) at Saxa Rubra. A skilful flank march of Constantine forced him to fight with the Tiber behind him, and the Mulvian bridge for his retreat. His Numidians fled before the Gaulish cavalry, the Praetorian Guard fell fighting where it stood, and the rest of the army was driven headlong into the river. Maxentius perished in the waters, and Constantine was master of the West.

This short campaign—the most brilliant feat of arms since Aurelian’s time—was an epoch for Constantine himself. To it belongs the story of the Shining Cross. Somewhere between Colmar and Saxa Rubra he saw in the sky one afternoon a bright cross with the words Hoc vince, and the army saw it too; and in a dream that night Christ bade him take it for his standard. So Constantine himself told Eusebius, and so Eusebius recorded it in 338; and there is no reason to suspect either the one or the other of deceit. The evidence of the army is in any case not worth much; but that of Lactantius in 314 and of the heathen Nazarius in 321 puts it beyond reasonable doubt that something of the sort did happen. But we need not therefore set it dowilUfr a miracle. The cross observed may very well have been a halo, such as Whymper saw when he came down after the accident on the Matterhorn in 1865—three crosses for his three lost companions. The restus no more than can be accounted for by Constantine’s imagination, inflamed as it must have been by the intense anxiety of the unequal contest. Yet after all, the cross was not an exclusively Christian symbol. The action was ambiguous, like most of Constantine’s actions at this period of his life. He was quite dear about monotheism; but he was not equally dear about the difference between Christ and the Unconquered Sun. The Gauls had fought of old beneath the Sun-god’s cross of light: so while the Christians


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38 than a man, half crazy, and stinking of wine even before breakfast. But he has brought in his whole tribe to swell our company, and here he is with all his rout, whom he passes off as gods—Pan, and Silenus, and the Satyrs, a lot of rough country louts, goat-herds most of them, dancing-fellows, of all manner of strange shapes; one of them has horns, and is like a goat ail below his waist, with a long beard—you hardly can tell him from a goat; another is a bald fellow with a flat nose, generally mounted on an ass—a Lydian, he is. Then there are the Satyrs with their little prick ears, bald too, they are, and with little budding horns like kids—Phrygians, I believe; and they've all got tails besides. You see the sort of gods my noble friend provides us with. And then we are surprised that men hold us in contempt, when they see such ridiculous and monstrous gods as these! I say nothing of his introducing two women here—one his mistress Ariadne (whose crown, too, he has put among the stars, forsooth!), and the other a farmer's daughter, Erigone. And what is more absurd than all, brother deities, he has brought her dog in too: for fear, I suppose, that the girl should cry if she hadn't her darling pet to keep her company in heaven. Now, don't you consider all this an insult,—mere drunken madness and absurdity? And now I'll tell you about one or two more.

Jupiter (interrupting him). Don't say a word, if you please, Momus, either about Hercules or Æsculapius—I see what you're driving at. As to those two, one is a physician, and cures diseases, and, as old Homer says, you know—"is worth a host of men;" and as to


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 with sums and compositions, dusted off her old Latin grammar and began to give him regular training when he was twelve years old. Although his interests in books were somewhat quickened by this experiment, his regular school-work failed to show improvement; it remained poor, even when judged by the not too rigorous standards of mid-century Dorchester.

Instead of poring over his paradigms, the boy showed marked preference to listen to the excommunicated speech of the servants and villagers, and to those beloved reminiscences of his grandmother. In 1854 he left the school. It had given him nothing. Then Mrs. Hardy sniffed danger; she was determined, in spite of all, to civilize and to polish her son. After two years more of tutoring in the Roman writers, leavened with the reading of their more difficult passages in English verse-translations, the Hardys employed a French governess. From her the boy gathered a smattering of her tongue—perhaps also just a snatch of l'esprit Gaulois. For only a year, however, did this sporadic training in the accomplishments of a gentleman continue; then what has sanguinely been called the "formal education" of Hardy came to an end. It was remarkable only for its meagreness and ineffectiveness.

Jude the Obscure, that hapless boy, is thought by many to be a passionate projection of this educational phase of Hardy's early life. But even if we did not have Hardy's own word against it, this not too attractive supposition could never be held logically. Jude was depicted as eager for learning; Hardy was not. Jude perplexed and tortured himself with extremely naïve preconcep-


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Rh Hercules,—why, he's my son, and earned his immortality by very hard work; so say no word against him.

Mom. Well, I'll hold my tongue, Jupiter, though I could say a good deal. They're both as black as cinders still, from the fire. If you would only give me leave to speak my mind freely, I've a good deal to say about you.

Jup. Oh, pray speak out, as far as I am concerned! Perhaps you charge me with being a foreigner too?

Mom. Well, in Crete they do say that, you know; and more than that, they show the place where you were buried. I don't believe them myself—any more than I do what the people of Ægium say,—that you are a changeling. But I do say this, that you've brought in too many of your illegitimate children here.

Momus goes on to tell the royal chairman some home truths, which Jupiter hears with great equanimity. Then he inveighs against the monstrous forms introduced from Eastern mythology; Phrygians and Medes like Atthis and Mithras, who cannot even talk Greek; the dog-faced Anubis, and the spotted bull from Memphis, apes and ibises from Egypt. And how can Jupiter himself have allowed them to put ram's horns on his head at Ammon? No wonder that mortals learn to despise him.

A solemn decree is drawn up by Momus, in strict legal form, beginning ag follows: "Whereas divers aliens, not only Greeks but Barbarians, who are in no wise entitled to the freedom of our community, have got themselves enrolled as gods, and so crowded heaven


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 tions as to the nature of the foreign languages; such things never really bothered Hardy. Poor predestinate Jude smarted under the cruel frustrations of his desires for academic and university attainments; there is nothing to show that Hardy ever overweeningly craved scholarly distinction.

Learning, wide and deep, was in time absorbed by the young poet; hut it was absorbed in his own way and at his own sweet will, free from discipline and even from guidance. And, as might be expected, his learning proved to be of the vivid and thoroughgoing kind that is characteristic of the man who gathers his information and pursues his inquiries outside the walls of a university. Browning was a contemporary example of the possessor of this ample and colorful variety of erudition, skilfully applied to and permeating his artistic output, just as in the case of Hardy.

If Dorchester failed to school Hardy into respect for a supervised education, it did however present him with a unique and deeper education of an entirely different kind. He was, after all, able to write; the adolescent youths and maidens of the town were not. Consequently they fell into the habit of waylaying the young student (reputed to be so terribly erudite that he even read hooks in Latin and French), and of begging him to set down on paper their correspondence. Hardy complied willingly. He became the village amanuensis. The letters he wrote out from dictation in this way were undoubtedly amatory for the most part, and the authors were chiefly the girls. It was a rare opportunity for him to study the surface of human nature under the stress of


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40 that it has become a mere disorderly mob of all nations and languages: and whereas thereby the ambrosia and the nectar runs short, so that the latter is now four guineas a pint, because there are so many to drink it; and whereas these new-comers, in their impudence, push the old and real gods out of their places, and claim precedence for themselves, against all our ancient rights, and demand also priority of worship on earth; it seemed good, therefore, to the Senate and Commons of Olympus, to hold a High Court at the winter equinox, and to elect as Commissioners of Privileges seven of the greater gods,—three from the ancient council of the reign of Saturn, and four from the twelve gods, of whom Jupiter to be one."

The business of the Commission is to be the examination of all claims to a seat in Olympus. Claimants are to bring their witnesses, and prove their pure descent; and they who cannot make good their claims are to be sent back to the tombs of their fathers. Moreover, from this time forth every deity is to mind his or her proper business, and none to pursue more than one art or science; Minerva is not to practise physic, nor Æsculapius divination; and Apollo is to make his election, and either be a seer, or a musician, or a doctor—but not all three.

Jupiter had intended to put this decree to the vote; but, foreseeing that a great many who were there present would probably vote against it, he took the easier course of issuing it on his own royal authority.

The dramatic sketch entitled "Timon" handles the


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 emotion and circumstance, and lie undoubtedly made the most of it. This education in the school of life was acquired as naturally as oxygen is acquired by breathing, and the process at first was unconscious or subconscious.

Hardy claimed to be entirely uninterested in the subject-matter which he indited; this was of course the only condition under which he could be entrusted with the precious and carefully guarded secrets of the correspondents, added to the fact that they probably considered him too young and guileless to apprehend fully the import of the glowing words he set down as they timorously whispered them into his ears. In this fond supposition they were most assuredly mistaken.

This activity again illustrates the lad's growing sympathy with the rustic heart, together with his growing critical appreciation of the machinery of the rustic mentality. Later on he beautifully capitalized these experiences of his. Reminiscential is Mother Cuxsom's remark in The Mayor of Casterbridge: "Love-letters? Then let's hear 'em, good soul . . . Lord, do ye mind, Richard, what fools we used to be when we were younger? Getting a schoolboy to write 'em for us; and giving him a penny, do ye mind, not to tell other folks what he'd put inside, do ye mind?"

A remnant of Hardy's actual memories of some of these epistles is preserved in a delicious bit, found in The Hand of Ethelberta. Tipman, Lord Mountclere's valet, is writing to Mrs. Menlove, his "intended": "His lordship impressed this upon me very strong, and familiar as a brother, and of course we obey his instructions to the letter; for I need hardly say that unless he


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Rh Olympian Jupiter in the same free spirit as the preceding Dialogues, and is by some considered as the author's masterpiece. The character of Plutus, the god of Riches, introduced into the piece, is obviously borrowed from Aristophanes's comedy of that name. Timon is introduced after he has forsaken society, and is digging for his livelihood.

Timon (stopping his work, and leaning on his spade). O Jupiter!—god of Friendship, god of Hospitality, god of Sociality, god of the Hearth, Lightning-flasher, Oath-protector, Cloud-compeller, Thunderer,—or by whatever name those moon-struck poets please to call you (especially when they have a hitch in the verse, for then your great stock of titles helps to prop a lame line, or fill a gap in the metre),—where be your flashing lightnings now, and your rolling thunders, and that terrible levin-bolt of yours, blazing and red-hot? Plainly all these are nonsense,—a mere humbug of the poets, nothing but sonorous words. That thunderbolt which they are always singing of, that strikes so far and is so ready to hand,—it's quenched, I suppose? got cold, and hasn't a spark of fire left in it to scorch rascals. A man who has committed perjury is more afraid, now, of the snuff of last night's lamp than of your invincible lightning. 'Tis just as if you were to throw the stump of a torch among them,—they would have no fear of the fire or smoke, but only of getting besmirched with the black from it.

Ah, Jupiter! in your youthful days, when you were


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1843 ment that negotiations had again commenced. Meanwhile, the troops began to arrive from Chusan, and the head-quarters of the regiment joined by the detachment were collected together with the rest of the force at the Bocca Tigris, on which all had fallen back. Here lieut.-colonel James going away on sick leave, the command of the corps devolved on lt.-col. Pratt.

“The whole force, after dropping down to Hongkong bay, were making preparations for a move to the northward, when very hostile preparations being displayed at Canton, the fleet and army again moved up the river. On the 22d22nd [sic] May the combined forces reached within a few miles of Canton, and on the 24th May proceeded to attack Canton. The post allotted to the Cameronians was to land and take possession of the factories, and to coöperatecooperate [sic] in any measures with the navy on that side, whilst the remainder of the force moved to the north of the city, and took possession of the heights and forts there on the 25th, while the 26th were protecting the factories. An agreement had been made with the senior naval officer for a simultaneous attack on the sea side, when the general having determined to escalade on the north front, sent orders for the 26th to join him without delay; this they did on the 27th, and were quartered in the joss house:—but pending certain negotiations warlike operations were all stopped.

“During these, on the morning of the 30th May, the right wing was suddenly ordered out in consequence of multitudes of armed men advancing from the interior. The major-general ordered the 26th, and a party of the 37th M. N. I. and Bengal Volunteers, to drive them from the opposite hills; this service was performed, the enemy retiring in all directions. It was now nearly sunset, and a violent thunder storm coming on, the general directed the troops to return; some of the Chinese thinking the firelocks would not go off from the violence of the rain, (which indeed was the case,) made an attempt by rushing on the rear of the column to spear the men, and it became necessary to reform line in the midst of the paddy cultivation, and drive them off with the bayonet. The whole of this affair was performed under a burning sun, so violent that the quarter-master general dropped dead on the field, and the successive actions from 10 o’clock until 8  through perfect swamps, were considered so creditable, that a General Order was issued on the subject.

“The troops were again ordered out on the 31st, but no action took place. In the meantime, a ransom had been obtained for Canton, and a provisional treaty agreed to, and on the 1st June the


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42 hot-blooded and quick-tempered, then you used to deal summary justice against knaves and villains: never made truce with them for a day: but the lightning was always at work, and the ægis always shaking over them, and the thunder rolling, and the bolts continually launched here and there, like a skirmish of sharp-shooters: and earthquakes shook us all like beans in a sieve, and snow came in heaps, and hail like pebbles, and—for I'm determined, you see, to speak my mind to you—then your rain was good strong rain,—each drop like a river. Why, in Deucalion's days, there rose such a deluge in no time, that everything was drowned except one little ark that stuck on Mount Lycôris, and preserved one little surviving spark of human life,—in order, I suppose, to breed a new generation worse than the other.

Well—you see the consequences of your laziness, and it serves you right. No man now offers you a sacrifice, or puts a garland on you, except at odd times the winners at Olympia; and they do it not because they feel under any obligation to do it, but merely in compliance with a kind of old custom. They'll very soon make you like Saturn, and take all your honours from you, though you think yourself the grandest of the gods. I say nothing as to how often they have robbed your temples—nay, some fellows, I hear, actually laid hands on your sacred person at Olympia; while you,—the great thunder-god,—did not even trouble yourself to set the dogs at them, or rouse the neighbours, but sat there quiet,—you, the celebrated Giant-killer and Titan-queller, as they call you,—while


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72

With these there went, in order, the thanes of Isenland,

The warriors of Brunhilda, each with his sword in hand,

Five hundred men, or over; whereat their hearts misgave.

Then from their seats uprose they, the heroes bold and brave.

When first the Queen Brunhilda perceived the knight Siegfried,

Ye would, perchance, be told of the words the maiden said:

“Be welcome,” quoth she, “Siegfried, here unto this our land.

What meaning hath your journey I fain would understand?”

“I proffer, dame Brunhilda, my hearty thankfulness,

That you have deigned to greet me, most generous princess,

Before this noble warrior, who stands beside me now;—

Seeing that he my lord is, such grace I disavow!

“By birth he is of Rhineland; and what shall I say more?

His love for thee ’tis only that brings us to this shore.

My lord doth seek to wed thee, whatever may befall;

Of this, in time, bethink thee: he will not change at all.

“The name he bears is Gunther, he is a mighty king.

If haply he may win thee, he asks no other thing.

’Twas this good warrior bade me upon this journey come:

An’ I had dared deny him, I’d fain have stay’d at home.”

She spake: “Since he’s thy master, and thou his vassal art,

I’ll stake a venture with him, if he dare play his part,

And if he gain the mast’ry, then will I be his wife;

But should I be the winner, ye all do risk your life.”


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56 clear, natural exposition of the text, and it enforces rules of conduct both ethical and ritual. The historical and moral traditions which clustered round the incidents and characters of the Bible soon received a more vivid setting. The poetical sense of the Rabbis expressed itself in a vast and beautiful array of legendary additions to the Bible, but the additions are always devised with a moral purpose, to give point to a preacher's homily or to inspire the imagination of the audience with nobler fancies. Besides being expository, the Midrash is, therefore, didactic and poetical, the moral being conveyed in the guise of a narrative, amplifying and developing the contents of Scripture. The Midrash gives the results of that deep searching of the Scriptures which became second nature with the Jews, and it also represents the changes and expansions of ethical and theological ideals as applied to a changing and growing life.


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 Map 41

Cambridge University Press ' ' W.^A.K Johnston L^"


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900 774 Annexation of the Lombard kingdom by Charlemagne.

775 (14 Sept.) Death of the Emperor Constantine V and accession of Leo IV

the Chazar.

780 (8 Sept.) Death of Leo IV and Regency of Irene.

781 Pope Hadrian I ceases to date official acts by the regnal years of the Emperor.

787 Ecumenical Council of Nicaea. Condemnation of Iconoclasm.

788 Establishment of the Idrlsid dynasty in Morocco.

790 (Dec. ) Abdication of Irene. Constantine VI assumes power.

797 (17 July) Deposition of Constantine VI. Irene becomes Emperor.

800 Establishment of the Aghlabid dynasty in Tunis.

(25 Dec.) Charlemagne crowned Emperor of the West.

802 (31 Oct.) Deposition of Irene and accession of Nicephorus I.

803 Destruction of the Barmecides.

809 Death of Harun ar-Rashid and civil war in the Caliphate.

The Bulgarian Khan Krum invades the Empire.

Pepin of Italy’s attack upon Venice.

810 Nicephorus I’s scheme of financial reorganisation.

Concentration of the lagoon-townships at Rialto.

811 The Emperor Nicephorus I is defeated and slain by the Bulgarians:

accession of Michael I Rangabe.

812 Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle recognises Charlemagne’s imperial title.

813 Michael I defeated at Versinicia: Krum appears before Constantinople. Deposition of Michael I and accession of Leo V the Armenian.

Battle of Mesembria.

Ma’mun becomes sole Caliph.

814 (14 April) Death of Krum : peace between the Empire and the Bulgarians.

815 Iconoclastic synod of Constantinople.

Banishment of Theodore of Studion.

820 (25 Dec.) Murder of Leo V, and accession of Michael II the Amorian. 822 Insurrection of Thomas the Slavonian.

826 Death of Theodore of Studion.

Conquest of Crete by the Arabs.

827 Arab invasion of Sicily.

829-842 Reign of Theophilus.

832 Edict of Theophilus against images.

833 Death of the Caliph Ma’mun.

836 The Abbasid capital removed from Baghdad to Samarra.

839 Treaty between the Russians and the Greeks.

840 Treaty of Pavia between the Emperor Lothar I and Venice.

842 The Arabs take Messina.

Disintegration of the Caliphate begins.

842-867 Reign of Michael III.

843 Council of Constantinople, and final restoration of image-worship by the

Empress Theodora.

846 Ignatius becomes Patriarch.

852-893 Reign of Boris in Bulgaria.

856-866 Rule of Bardas.

858 Deposition of Ignatius and election of Photius as Patriarch.

860 The Russians appear before Constantinople.

860-861 (?) Cyril’s mission to the Chazars.

863 (?) Mission of Cyril and Methodius to the Moravians.

864 Conversion of Bulgaria to orthodoxy.

867 The Schism of Photius.

The Synod of Constantinople completes the rupture with Rome.

(23 Sept. ) Murder of Michael III and accession of Basil I the Macedonian. Deposition of Photius. Restoration of Ignatius.

867 (13 Nov.) Death of Pope Nicholas I.

(14 Dec.) Election of Pope Hadrian II.

868 Independence of Egypt under the Tulunid dynasty.


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VII.

Then Hagen spake, of Tronjé: “O lady, let us see

This mighty game you play at; before a victory

You score off my lord Gunther, it will go hard enow!

For such a beauteous maiden he’ll count to win, I trow.”

“The stone he must throw boldly, then leap to where it lies;

Then hurt the javelin with me: so be ye not unwise!

Who knows? each may be losing his honour and his head!

You must bethink you therefore,” the winsome fair one said.

On this, the gallant Siegfried unto King Gunther went,

And bade him tell the princess his purpose and intent;

He might be for the issue without anxiety:

“I shall be there to shield you with all my craft,” quoth he.

Then spake the royal Gunther: “Most high and mighty queen!

Declare your task unto me; and had it harder been,

For sake of your fair body I everything would stake:

My very head I’d venture you for my wife to take.”

As soon as Queen Brunhilda his will and meaning knew,

She bade the games be hastened, as seemed to her but due.

And ordered them to bring her her wonted gear for fight,

A ruddy golden breastplate, and buckler round and bright.

A silken fighting-doublet drew over all the maid,

Such as, in closest combat, would turn the sharpest blade;

Of Lybian stuff ’twas woven, and it was deftly done;

A bright embroider’d trimming upon the border shone.


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110 The leader of a gang of banditti in Corsica, who had long been famous for his exploits, was at length taken, and committed to the care of a soldier, from whom he contrived to escape. The solider was condemned to death. At the place of execution, a man coming up to the commanding officer, said, “Sir, I am a stranger to you, but you shall soon know who I am. I have heard that one of your soldiers is to die for having suffered a prisoner to escape. He was not at all to blame; besides, the prisoner shall be restored to you. Behold him here! I am the man. I cannot bear that an innocent man should be punished for me, and have come to die myself; lead me to execution.” “No!” exclaimed the French officer, who felt the sublimity of the action as he ought; “thou shalt not die; and the solider shall be set at liberty. Endeavour to reap the fruits of thy generosity. Thou deserves to be henceforth an honest man.”

In the year 1756, when the city and diocese of Milan were visited by the plague, which swept away incredible numbers, the conduct of Cardinal Borromeus was truly christian and heroic. He not only continued on the spot, but he went about giving directions for accommodating the sick, and burying the dead, with a zeal and attention that were at once


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 private observation, inquiry and experiment were far more important factors than any instruction, or rather perhaps the instruction I received was less even than what I learned for myself, and it terminated at thirteen. I had come into pretty intimate contact with the harder realities of life, with hunger in various forms, and many base and disagreeable necessities, before I was fifteen. About that age, following the indication of certain theological and speculative curiosities, I began to learn something of what I will call deliberately and justly, Elementary Science—stuff I got out of "Cassell's Popular Educator" and cheap text-books—and then, through accidents and ambitions that do not matter in the least to us now, I came to three years of illuminating and good scientific work. The central fact of those three years was Huxley's course in Comparative Anatomy at the school in Exhibition Road. About that as a nucleus I arranged a spacious digest of facts. At the end of that time I had acquired what I still think to be a fairly clear and complete and ordered view of the ostensibly real universe. Let me try to give you the chief things I had. I had man definitely placed in the great scheme of space and time. I knew him incurably for what he was, finite and not final, a being of compromises and adaptations. I had traced his lungs, for example, from a swimming bladder, step by step, with scalpel and probe, through a dozen types or more; I had seen the ancestral cæcum shrink to that disease nest, the appendix of to-day, I had watched the gill slit patched slowly to the purposes of the ear and the reptile jaw suspension utilised to eke out the needs of a sense


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Rh tions, they settled in Fez, where they found the Almohades equally powerful and equally vindictive. Maimon and his son were compelled to assume the outward garb of Mohammedanism for a period of five years. From Fez the family emigrated in 1165 to Palestine, and, after a long period of anxiety, Moses Maimonides settled in Egypt, in Fostat, or Old Cairo.

In Egypt, another son of Maimon, David, traded in precious stones, and supported his learned brother. When David was lost at sea, Maimonides earned a living as a physician. His whole day was occupied in his profession, yet he contrived to work at his books during the greater part of the night. His minor works would alone have brought their author fame. His first great work was completed in 1168. It was a Commentary on the Mishnah, and was written in Arabic. But Maimonides’ reputation rests mainly on two books, the one written for the many, the


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82 brilliant future awaits you, while I am an uninteresting girl of no importance, and you know very well that I should be only a hindrance in your life. It is true that you were attracted by me and thought you had found your ideal in me, but that was a mistake, and now you are asking yourself in despair: ‘Why did I meet that girl?’ And only your goodness of heart prevents you from owning it to yourself. . . .”

Nadya felt sorry for herself, she began to cry, and went on:

“It is hard for me to leave my mother and my brother, or I should take a nun’s veil and go whither chance may lead me. And you would be left free and would love another. Oh, if I were dead!”

She could not make out what she had written through her tears; little rainbows were quivering on the table, on the floor, on the ceiling, as though she were looking through a prism. She could not write, she sank back in her easy-chair and fell to thinking of Gorny.

My God! how interesting, how fascinating men were! Nadya recalled the fine expression, ingratiating, guilty, and soft, which came into the officer’s face when one argued about music with him, and the effort he made to prevent his voice from betraying his passion. In a society where cold haughtiness and indifference are regarded as signs of good breeding and gentlemanly bearing, one must conceal one’s passions. And he did try to conceal them, but he did not succeed, and everyone knew very well that he had a passionate love of music. The endless discussions about music and the bold criticisms of people


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30 soul, and of the mind. Business, religion, social duties, ritual, are all dealt with in one and the same code. The fault of this conception is, that by associating things of unequal importance, both the mind and the conscience may become incapable of discriminating the great from the small, the external from the spiritual. Another ill consequence was that, as literature corresponded so closely with life, literature could not correct the faults of life, when life became cramped or stagnant. The modern spirit differs from the ancient chiefly in that literature has now become an independent force, which may freshen and stimulate life. But the older ideal was nevertheless a great one. That man's life is a unity: that his conduct is in all its parts within the sphere of ethics and religion: that his mind and conscience are not independent, but two sides of the same thing: and that therefore his religious, ethical, æsthetic, and intellectual literature is one


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74

Meantime the stranger-warriors were eyed somewhat askance,

And Dankwart and Sir Hagen ill brooked this arrogance.

And how the king would fare, too, did weigh upon their mood.

They thought: “unto us warriors our journey bodes no good.”

The while these things were doing, Siegfried, the crafty one,

Had, unperceived of any, back to the vessel gone,

And found his hoed of darkness, where hidden it had lain,

And swiftly slipped it on him: thus he became unseen.

Then back again he hastened to where the queen he found

Her fateful game arranging, with many knights around.

Invisibly he joined them: so cunningly ’twas done

That, midst the whole assembly, he was discern’d by none.

The ring was marked out clearly wherein the games should be;

In presence of bold warriors, who came the sport to see.

Seven hundred men and over one saw, who weapons bare:

Which of the two was winner the heroes must declare.

Ere long appeared Brunhilda in all her warlike gear,

As if she meant to conquer all kingdoms far and near.

Above her silken vestment was twisted golden twine:

One saw thereunder ever her lovely colour shine.

And then came her attendants; who in their hands did hold

A, mighty round-rimmed buckler, all wrought of ruddy gold,

With steel-like clasps upon it, many, and broad, and bright;

And underneath its shelter the lovely maid would fight.


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Rh up the former and stop short at the limit of the latter.

“These three principles supply a clear, natural, and logical explanation of our last military operations in Central Asia. In fact, our original frontier line extending along the Syr-Darya to Fort Peroffsky on one side, and on the other to the lake Issyk-Kul, had the drawback of being almost on the verge of the desert. It was broken by a wide gap between the two extreme points; it did not offer sufficient resources to our troops, and left unsettled tribes over the border, with which any settled arrangement became impossible.

“In spite of our unwillingness to extend our frontier, these motives had been powerful enough to induce the Imperial Government to establish this line between Lake Issyk-Kul and the Syr-Darya by fortifying the town of Tchimkent, lately occupied by us. By the adoption of this line we obtain a double result. In the first place, the country it takes in is fertile, well wooded, and watered by numerous watercourses; it is partly inhabited by various Khirghiz tribes which have already accepted our rule; it consequently offers favourable conditions for colonisation and the supply of provisions to our garrisons. In the second place, it puts us in the immediate neighbourhood of the agricultural and commercial populations of Khokand. We find ourselves in the presence of a more solid and compact, less unsettled, and better organized social state, fixed for us, with geographical precision, the limit up to which we are bound to advance, and at 21 *


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 organ taken from its native and natural water. I had worked out the development of those extraordinarily unsatisfactory and untrustworthy instruments, man's teeth, from the skin scutes of the shark to their present function as a basis for gold stoppings, and followed the slow unfolding of the complex and painful process of gestation through which man comes into the world. I had followed all these things and many kindred things by dissection and in embryology—I had checked the whole theory of development again in a year's course of palæontology, and I had taken the dimensions of the whole process, by the scale of the stars, in a course of astronomical physics. And all that amount of objective elucidation came before I had reached the beginnings of any philosophical or metaphysical inquiry, any inquiry as to why I believed, how I believed, what I believed, or what the fundamental stuff of things was.

Now following hard upon this interlude with knowledge, came a time when I had to give myself to teaching, and it became advisable to acquire one of those Teaching Diplomas that are so widely and so foolishly despised; and that enterprise set me to a superficial but suggestive study of educational method, of educational theory, of logic, of psychology, and so at last, when the little affair with the diploma was settled, to philosophy. Now to come to logic over the bracing uplands of comparative anatomy is to come to logic with a lot of very natural preconceptions blown clean out of one's mind. It is, I submit, a way of taking logic in the flank. When you have realised to the marrow, that all the physical organs of man


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Rh and indivisible.—this was a noble conception which, with all its weakness, had distinct points of superiority over the modern view.

The Mishnah is divided into six parts, or Orders (Sedarim); each Order into Tractates (Massechtoth); each Tractate into Chapters (Perakim): each Chapter into Paragraphs (each called a Mishnah). The six Orders are as follows:

(“Seeds”). Deals with the laws connected with Agriculture, and opens with a Tractate on Prayer (“Blessings”).

(“Festival”). On Festivals.

(“Women”). On the laws relating to Marriage, etc.

(“Damages”). On civil and criminal Law.

(“Holy Things”). On Sacrifices, etc.

(“Purifications”). On personal and ritual Purity.


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 Mongol Empire (about 1250)


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 Map 45

Turkish Sultanate in 1481


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 Kingdom of Stepha

Map 44

& AK. Johnston L * 4


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 and all his physical structure are what they are through a series of adaptations and approximations, and that they are kept up to a level of practical efficiency only by the elimination of death, and that this is true also of his brain and of his instincts and of many of his mental predispositions, you are not going to take his thinking apparatus unquestioningly as being in any way mysteriously different and better. And I had read only a little logic before I became aware of implications that I could not agree with, and assumptions that seemed to me to be altogether at variance with the general scheme of objective fact established in my mind.

I came to an examination of logical processes and of language with the expectation that they would share the profoundly provisional character, the character of irregular limitation and adaptation that pervades the whole physical and animal being of man. And I found the thing I had expected. And as a consequence I found a sort of intellectual hardihood about the assumptions of logic, that at first confused me and then roused all the latent scepticism in my mind.

My first quarrel with the accepted logic I developed long ago in a little paper that was printed in the Fortnightly Review in July, 1891. It was called the "Rediscovery of the Unique," and re-reading it I perceive not only how bad and even annoying it was in manner—a thing I have long known—but also how remarkably bad it was in expression. I have good reason for doubting whether my powers of expression in these uses have very perceptibly improved, but at


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 Map 43


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 Map 43 Latin States in the East


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 Map 42 The Empire of the Comneni


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 Map 40


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 any rate I am doing my best now with that previous failure before me.

That unfortunate paper, among other oversights I can no longer regard as trivial, disregarded quite completely the fact that a whole literature upon the antagonism of the one and the many, of the specific ideal and the individual reality, was already in existence. It defined no relations to other thought or thinkers. I understand now, what I did not understand then, why it was totally ignored. But the idea underlying that paper I cling to to-day. I consider it an idea that will ultimately be regarded as one of primary importance to human thought, and I will try and present the substance of that early paper again now very briefly, as the best opening of my general case. My opening scepticism is essentially a doubt of the objective reality of classification. I have no hesitation in saying that is the first and primary proposition of my philosophy.

I have it in my mind that classification is a necessary condition of the working of the mental implement but that it is a departure from the objective truth of things, that classification is very serviceable for the practical purposes of life but a very doubtful preliminary to those fine penetrations the philosophical purpose, in its more arrogant moods, demands. All the peculiarities of my way of thinking derive from that.

A mind nourished upon anatomical study is of course permeated with the suggestion of the vagueness and instability of biological species. A biological species is quite obviously a great number of unique


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Map 38

I 30 35 40 45 Longitude East 50 of Greenwich 55 60 65 |

Cambridge University Press Yt. &AJ5L, JoTmstan LP 1


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 THE

CAMBRIDGE MEDIEVAL

HISTORY

MAPS VOLUME IV

38 THE BREAK UP of the CALIPHATE

39 ASIA MINOR, shewing the Themes of the tenth

century, and ARMENIA

40 NORTHERN NEIGHBOURS of the EMPIRE in the

tenth century

41 BULGARIA and the BALKANS in the tenth century

42 THE EMPIRE of the COMNENI about 1130

43 THE LATIN STATES in the EAST in 1214

44 THE EMPIRES of the PALAEOLOGI and STEPHEN

DUSAN

45 THE TURKISH SULTANATE in 1481

46 THE MONGOL EMPIRE about 1250

47 a THE CITY of CONSTANTINOPLE

47 b THE ENVIRONS of CONSTANTINOPLE


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 individuals which is separable from other biological species only by the fact that an enormous number of other linking individuals are inaccessible in time—are in other words dead and gone—and each new individual in that species does, in the distinction of its own individuality, break away in however infinitesimal degree from the previous average properties of the species. There is no property of any species, even the properties that constitute the specific definition, that is not a matter of more or less. If, for example, a species be distinguished by a single large red spot on the back, you will find if you go over a great number of specimens that red spot shrinking here to nothing, expanding there to a more general redness, weakening to pink, deepening to russet and brown, shading into crimson, and so on, and so on. And this is true not only of biological species. It is true of the mineral specimens constituting a mineral species; and I remember as a constant refrain in the lectures of Prof. Judd upon rock classification, the words "they pass into one another by insensible gradations." That is true, I hold, of all things.

You will think perhaps of atoms of the elements as instances of identically similar things, but these are things not of experience but of theory, and there is not a phenomenon in chemistry that is not equally well explained on the supposition that it is merely the immense quantities of atoms necessarily taken in any experiment that mask by the operation of the law of averages the fact that each atom also has its unique quality, its special individual difference. This idea of uniqueness in all individuals is not only true of the


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 “Thank you so much,” she said.

He called to a soldier in the gateway.

I will send you in the automobile of my friend,” he said. "It will be better than a taxi. You don’t like the bull-fight?”

“No! Horrible!” said Kate. "But do get me a yellow taxi. That is quite safe.”

"Well, the man has gone for the automobile. You are English, yes?"

"Irish,” said Kate.

"Ah Irish!" he replied, with the flicker of a smile.

"You speak English awfully well,” she said.

“Yes! I was educated there. I was in England seven years.”

“Were you! My name is Mrs Leslie.”

“Ah Leslie! I knew James Leslie in Oxford. He was killed in the war.”

“Yes. That was my husband’s brother.”

"Oh really!"

"How small the world is!" said Kate.

"Yes indeed!" said the general.

There was a pause.

"And the gentlemen who are with you, they are—?"

"American,” said Kate.

"Ah Americans! Ah yes!”

"The older one is my cousin—Owen Rhys.”

"Owen Rhys! Ah yes! I think I saw in the newspaper you were here in town—visiting Mexico.”

He spoke in a peculiar quiet voice, rather suppressed, and his quick eyes glanced at her, and at his surroundings, like those of a man perpetually suspecting an ambush. But his face had a certain silent hostility, under his kindness. He was saving his nation’s reputation.

"They did put in a not very complimentary note,” said Kate. “I think they don’t like it that we stay in the Hotel San Remo. It is too poor and foreign. But we are none of us rich, and we like it better than those other places.”

"The Hotel San Remo? Where is that?"

"In the Avenida del Peru. Won’t you come and see us there, and meet my cousin and Mr Thompson?"

“Thank you! Thank you! I hardly ever go out. But I will call if I may, and then perhaps you will all

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 come to see me at the house of my friend, Señor Ramón Carrasco.”

“We should like to," said Kate.

“Very well. And shall I call, then?"

She told him a time, and added:

“You mustn’t be surprised at the hotel. It is small, and nearly all Italians. But we tried some of the big ones, and there is such a feeling of lowness about them, awful! I can’t stand the feeling of prostitution. And then the cheap insolence of the servants. No, my little San Remo may be rough, but it’s kindly and human, and it’s not rotten. It is like Italy as I always knew it, decent, and with a bit of human generosity. I do think Mexico City is evil, underneath.”

“Well,” he said, "the hotels are bad. It is unfortunate, but the foreigners seem to make the Mexicans worse than they are, naturally. And Mexico, or something in it, certainly makes the foreigners worse than they are at home."

He spoke with a certain bitterness.

"Perhaps we should all stay away," she said.

"Perhaps!" he said, lifting his shoulders a little. "But I don’t think so.”

He relapsed into a sligintly blank silence. Peculiar how his feelings flushed over him, anger, diffidence, wistfulness, assurance, and an anger again, all in little flushes, and some-what naive.

"It doesn’t rain so much," said Kate." When will the car come?"

“It is here now. It has been waiting some time," he replied."

“Then I’ll go,” she said.

“Well,” he replied, looking at the sky. "It is still raining, and your dress is very thin. You must take my cloak.”

“Oh!” she said, shrinking, It is only two yards.”

"It is still raining fairly fast. Better either wait, or let me lend you my cloak.”

He swung out of his cloak with a quick little movement, and held it up to her. Almost without realising, she turned her shoulders to him, and he put the cape on her. She caught it round her, ran out to the gate, as if escaping. He followed, with a light yet military stride. The soldiers saluted rather slovenly, and he responded briefly.

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 A not very new Fiat stood at the gate, with a chauffeur in a short red-and-black check coat. The chauffeur opened the door. Kate slipped off the cloak as she got in, and handed it back. He stood with it over his arm.

“Goodbye!" she said. "Thank you ever so much. And we shall see you on Tuesday. Do put your cape on.”

“On Tuesday, yes. Hotel San Remo. Calle de Peru,” he added to the chauffeur. Then turning again to Kate:

“The hotel, no?”

“Yes,” she said, and instantly changed. "No, take me to Sanborn’s, where I can sit in a corner and drink tea to comfort me.”

“To comfort you after the bull-fight?" he said, with another quick smile. "To Sanborn’s, Gonzalez.”

He saluted and bowed and closed the door. The car started.

Kate sat back, breathing relief. Relief to get away from that beastly place. Relief even to get away from that nice man. He was awfully nice. But he made her feel she wanted to get away from him too. There was that heavy, black Mexican fatality about him, that put a burden on her. His quietness, and his peculiar assurance, almost aggressive; and at the same time, a nervousness, an uncertainty. His heavy sort of gloom, and yet his quick, naive, childish smile. Those black eyes, like black jewels, that you couldn’t look into, and which were so watchful; yet which, perhaps, were waiting for some sign of recognition and of warmth! Perhaps!

She felt again, as she felt before, that Mexico lay in her destiny almost as a doom. Something so heavy, so oppressive, like the folds of some huge serpent that seemed as if it could hardly raise itself.

She was glad to get to her corner in the tea-house, to feel herself in the cosmopolitan world once more, to drink her tea and eat strawberry shortcake and try to forget.

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text: The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor

title: The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor


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Rh of tradition, has, in a wonderful degree, possessed himself of what these could only strive after; and with his “clear feeling of fictitious truth,” avoided as false the errors and monstrous perplexities in which they vainly struggled. He is of another species than they; in language, in purity and depth of feeling, in fineness of invention, stands quite apart from them.

The language of the “Heldenbuch,” as we saw above, was a feeble half-articulate child’s-speech, the metre nothing better than a miserable doggerel; whereas here in the old Frankish (Oberdeutsch) dialect of the “Nibelungen,” we have a clear decisive utterance, and in a real system of verse, not without essential regularity, great liveliness, and now and then even harmony of rhythm. Doubtless we must often call it a diffuse diluted utterance; at the same time it is genuine, with a certain antique garrulous heartiness, and has a rhythm in the thoughts as well as the words. The simplicity is never silly: even in that perpetual recurrence of epithets, sometimes of rhymes, as where two words, for instance lip (body, life, leib) and wip (woman, wife, weib) are indissolubly wedded together, and the one never shows itself without the other following,—there is something which reminds us not so much of poverty, as of trustfulness and childlike innocence. Indeed a strange charm lies in those old tones, where, in gay dancing melodies, the sternest tidings are sung to us; and deep floods of Sadness and Strife play lightly in little curling billows, like seas in summer. It is as a meek smile, in whose still, thoughtful depths a whole infinitude of patience, and love, and heroic strength lie revealed. But in other cases too, we have seen this outward sport and inward earnestness offer grateful contrast, and cunning excitement; for example, in Tasso; of whom, though otherwise different enough, this old Northern Singer has more than once reminded us. There too, as here, we have a dark solemn meaning in light guise; deeds of high temper, harsh self-denial, daring and death, stand embodied in that soft, quick-flowing, joyfully-modulated verse. Nay farther, as if the implement, much more than we might fancy, had


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 “Move on, there!”

But Maurice and the Japanese angel were fencing and heard nothing. The musician heard nothing but his own melodies. Prince Istar was absorbed in the explanation of explosive formulæ. Zita was discussing with Arcade the greatest enterprise that had ever been conceived since the solar system issued from its original nebula,—and thus they all remained unconscious of their surroundings.

“Move on, I tell you!” repeated Inspector Grolle.

This time the angels heard the solemn word of warning, but either through indifference or contempt, they neglected to obey, and continued their talk, their songs, and their cries.

“So you want to be taken up, do you?” shouted Inspector Grolle, clapping his great hand on Prince Istar’s shoulder.

The Kerûb was indignant at this vile contact, and with one blow from his formidable fist sent the Inspector flying into the gutter. But Constable Fesandet was already running to his comrade’s aid, and they both fell upon the Prince, whom they belaboured with mechanic fury, and whom, notwithstanding his strength and weight, they would perchance have dragged all bleeding to the police station, had not the Japanese angel over them one after the other without effort, and reduced them to writhing and shrieking in the


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 CHAP: II. TEA-PARTY IN TLACOLULA.

came back to the hotel at about half-past six, tired, excited, a little guilty, and a good deal distressed at having let Kate go alone. And new the whole thing was over, rather dreary in spirit.

"Oh, how did you get on?" he cried, the moment he saw her, afraid almost like a boy of his own sin of omission.

"I got on perfectly. Went to Sanborn’s for tea, and had strawberry short-cake—so good!"

"Oh, good for you!" he laughed in relief. "Then you weren’t much overcome! I’m so glad. I had such awful qualms after I’d let you go. Imagined all the things that are supposed to happen in Mexico—chauffeur driving away with you into some horrible remote region, and robbing you and all that—but then I knew really you’d be all right. Oh, the time I had—the rain!—and the people throwing things at my bald patch—and those horses—wasn’t that horrible?—I wonder I’m still alive.” And he laughed with tired excitement, putting his hand over his stomach and rolling his eyes.

"Aren’t you drenched?" she said.

“Drenched!" he replied. "Or at least I was. I’ve dried off quite a lot. My rain-coat is no good—I don’t know why I don’t buy another. Oh, but what a time! The rain streaming on my bald head, and the crowd behind throwing oranges at it. Then simply gored in my inside about letting you go alone. Yet it was the only bull-fight I shall ever see. I came then before it was over. Bud wouldn’t come. I suppose he’s still there.”

“Was it as awful as the beginning?" she asked.

“No! No! It wasn’t. The first was worst—that horse-shambles. Oh, they killed two more horses. And five bulls! Yes, a regular butchery. But some of it was very neat work; those toreadors did some very pretty feats. One stood on his cloak while a bull charged him.”

"I think,” interrupted Kate, "if I knew that some of those toreadors were going to be tossed by the bull, I’d go to see another bull-fight. Ugh, how I detest them! The longer I live the more loathesome the human species becomes to me. How much nicer the bulls are!"

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 mud, before Maurice, Arcade, and Zita had time to intervene. As to the angelic musician, he stood apart trembling, and invoked the heavens.

At this moment two bakers who were kneading their dough in a neighbouring cellar ran out at the noise, in their white aprons, stripped to the waist. With an instinctive feeling for social solidarity they took the side of the downfallen police. Théophile conceived a just fear at the sight of them, and fled away; they caught him and were about to hand him over to the guardians of the peace, when Arcade and Zita tore him from their hands. The fight continued, unequal and terrible, between the two angels and the two bakers. Like an athlete of Lysippus in strength and beauty, Arcade smothered his heavy adversary in his arms. The beautiful archangel drove her dagger into the baker who had attacked her. A dark stream of blood flowed down over his hairy chest, and the two white-capped supporters of the law sank to the ground.

Constable Fesandet had fainted face downwards in the gutter. But Inspector Grolle, who had got up, blew a blast on his whistle loud enough to be heard at the neighbouring police-station, and sprang upon young Maurice, who, having but one arm with which to defend himself, fired his revolver with his left hand at the inspector, who put his hand to his heart, staggered, and dropped


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xxxii influenced the work done, these two Poems, could we trust our individual feeling, have in one respect the same poetical result for us: in the “Nibelungen” as in the “Gerusalemme,” the persons and their story are indeed brought vividly before us, yet not near and palpably present; it is rather as if we looked on that scene through an inverted telescope, whereby the whole was carried far away into the distance, the life-large figures compressed into brilliant miniatures, so clear, so real, yet tiny, elf-like and beautified as well as lessened, their colours being now closer and brighter, the shadows and trivial features no longer visible. This, as we partly apprehend, comes of singing Epic Poems; most part of which only pretend to be sung. Tasso’s rich melody still lives among the Italian people; the “Nibelungen” also is what it professes to be, a Song.

No less striking than the verse and language is the quality of the invention manifested here. Of the Fable, or narrative material of the “Nibelungen,” we should say that it had high, almost the highest merit; so daintily yet firmly is it put together; with such felicitous selection of the beautiful, the essential, and no less felicitous rejection of whatever was unbeautiful or even extraneous. The reader is no longer afflicted with that chaotic brood of Fire-drakes, Giants, and malicious turbaned Turks, so fatally rife in the “Heldenbuch”; all this is swept away, or only hovers in faint shadows afar off; and free field is open for legitimate perennial interests. Yet neither is the “Nibelungen” without its wonders; for it is poetry and not prose; here too, a supernatural world encompasses the natural, and, though at rare intervals and in calm manner, reveals itself there. It is truly wonderful, with what skill our simple untaught Poet deals with the marvelous; admitting it without reluctance or criticism, yet precisely in the degree and shape that will best avail him. Here, if in no other respect, we should say that he has a decided superiority to Homer himself. The whole story of the “Nibelungen” is fateful, mysterious, guided on by unseen influences; yet the actual marvels are few, and done in the far distance; those


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 down. He gave a long sigh, and the shadows of eternity darkened his eyes.

Meanwhile, windows opened one by one, and heads looked out on the street. A sound of heavy steps approached. Two policemen on bicycles debouched upon the street. Thereupon Prince Istar flung a bomb which shook the ground, put out the gas, shattered some of the houses, and enveloped the flight of young Maurice and the angels in a dense smoke.

Arcade and Maurice came to the conclusion that the safest thing to do after this adventure was to return to the little flat in the Rue de Rome. They would certainly not be sought for immediately and probably not at all, the bomb thrown by the Kerûb having fortunately wiped out all witnesses of the affair. They fell asleep towards dawn, and they had not yet awoke at ten o’clock in the morning when the concierge brought their tea. While eating his toast and butter and slice of ham, young d’Esparvieu remarked to the angel:

“I used to think that a murder was something very extraordinary. Well, I was mistaken. It is the simplest, the most natural action in the world.”

“And of most ancient tradition,” replied the angel. “For long centuries it was both usual and necessary for man to kill and despoil his fellows. It is still recommended in warfare. It is also honourable to attempt human life in certain


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 "Oh, quite!” said Owen vaguely. "Exactly. But still there was some very skilful work, very pretty. Really very plucky.”

“Yah!” snarled Kate. "Plucky! They with all their knives and their spears and cloaks and darts—and they know just how a bull will behave. It’s just a performance of human beings torturing animals, with those common fellows showing off, how smart they are at hurting a bull. Dirty little boys maiming flies—that’s what they are. Only grown-up, they are bastards, not boys. Oh, wish I could be a bull, just for five minutes. Bastard, that’s what I call it!"

"Well!” laughed Owen uneasily, "It is rather.”

"Call that manliness!" cried Kate. "Then thank God a million times that I’m a woman, and know poltroonery and dirty-mindedness when I see it.”

Again Owen laughed uncomfortably.

"Go upstairs and change,” she said. "You’ll die.”

"I think I’d better. I feel I might die any minute, as a matter of fact. Well, till dinner then. I’ll tap at your door in half an hour.”

Kate sat trying to sew, but her hand trembled. She could not get the bull-ring out of her mind, and something felt damaged in her inside.

She straightened herself, and sighed. She was really very angry, too, with Owen. He was naturally so sensitive, and so kind. But he had the insidious modern disease of tolerance. He must tolerate everything, even a thing that revolted him. He would call it Life! He would feel he had lived this afternoon. Greedy even for the most sordid sensations.

Whereas felt as if she had eaten something which was giving her ptomaine poisoning. If was life!

Ah men, men! They all had this soft rottenness of the soul, a strange perversity which made even the squalid, repulsive things seem part of to them. Life! And what is life? A louse lying on its back and kicking? Ugh!

At about seven o’clock Villiers came tapping. He looked wan, peaked, but like a bird that had successfully pecked a bellyful of garbage.

"Oh it was GREAT!” he said, lounging on one hip. "GREAT! They killed BULLS.”

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 definite circumstances, and people approved when you wanted to assassinate me, Maurice, because it appeared to you that I had been intimate with your mistress. But killing a police-inspector is not the action of a man of fashion.”

“Be silent,” exclaimed Maurice, “be silent, scoundrel! I killed the poor Inspector instinctively, not knowing what I was doing. I am grieved to my heart about it. But it is not I, it is you who are the guilty one; you who are the murderer. It was you who lured me along this path of revolt and violence which leads to the pit. You have been my undoing. You have sacrificed my peace of mind, my happiness, to your pride and your wickedness, and all in vain; for I warn you, Arcade, you will not succeed in what you are undertaking.”

The concierge brought in the newspapers. On seeing them Maurice grew pale. They announced the outrage in the Rue de Ramey in huge headlines:

“An Inspector killed—Two cyclist policemen and two bakers seriously wounded—Three houses blown up, numerous victims.”

Maurice let the paper drop, and said in a weak, plaintive voice:

“Arcade, why did you not slay me in the little garden at Versailles amidst the roses, to the song of the blackbirds?”


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 Meanwhile terror reigned in Paris. In the public squares, and in the crowded streets, housewives, string-bag in hand, grew pale as they listened to the story of the crime, and consigned the perpetrators to the most dreadful punishment. Shopkeepers, standing at the doors of their shops, put it all down to the anarchists, syndicalists, socialists, and radicals, and demanded that special measures should be taken against them.

The more thoughtful people recognized the handiwork of the Jew and the German, and demanded the expulsion of all aliens. Many vaunted the ways of America and advocated lynching. In addition to the printed news sinister rumours became current. Explosions had been heard at various places; everywhere bombs had been discovered; everywhere individuals, taken for malefactors, had been struck down by the popular arm and given up to justice, torn to ribbons. On the Place de la République a drunkard who was crying "Down with the police" was torn to pieces by the crowd.

The President of the Council and Minister of Justice held long conferences with the Prefect of Police, and they agreed to take immediate action. In order to allay the excitement of the Parisians, they arrested five or six hooligans out of the thirty thousand which the Capital contains. The chief of the Russian police, believing he


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Rh Dwarfs, and Cloaks of Darkness, and charmed Treasure-caves, are heard of rather than beheld, the tidings of them seem to issue from unknown space. Vain were it to inquire where that Nibelungen-land specially is: its very name is Nebel-land or Nifl-land, the land of Darkness, of Invisibility. The “Nibelungen Heroes” that muster in thousands and tens of thousands, though they march to the Rhine or Danube, and we see their strong limbs and shining armour, we could almost fancy to be children of the air. Far beyond the firm horizon, that wonder-bearing region swims on the infinite waters; unseen by bodily eye, or at most discerned as a faint streak, hanging in the biue depths, uncertain whether island or cloud. And thus the “Nibelungen Song,” though based on the bottomless foundations of Spirit, and not unvisited of skyey messengers, is a real, rounded, habitable Earth, where we find firm footing, and the wondrous and the common live amicably together. Perhaps it would be difficult to find any Poet of ancient or modern times, who in this trying problem has steered his way with greater delicacy and success.

To any of our readers who may have personally studied the “Nibelungen,” these high praises of ours will not seem exaggerated; the rest, who are the vast majority, must endeavour to accept them with some degree of faith, at least of curiosity; to vindicate, and judicially substantiate them would far exceed our present opportunities. Nay in any case, the criticism, the alleged Characteristics of a Poem are so many Theorems, which are indeed enunciated, truly or falsely, but the Demonstration of which must be sought for in the reader’s own study and experience. Nearly all that can be attempted here, is some hasty epitome of the mere Narrative; no substantial image of the work, but a feeble outline and shadow. To which task, as the personages and their environment have already been in some degree illustrated, we can now proceed without obstacle.

The “Nibelungen” has been called the Northern Epos; yet it has, in great part, a Dramatic character: those thirty-nine Aventiuren (Adventures), which it consists of, might be so many


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 recognised in this attack the methods of the Nihilists, demanded, on behalf of his Government, that a dozen refugees should be given up. The demand was immediately granted. Proceedings were also taken for certain individuals to be extradited to ensure the safety of the King of Spain.

On learning of these energetic measures, Paris breathed once more, and the evening papers congratulated the Government. There was excellent news of the wounded. They, were out of danger and identified as their assailants all wher anet before them. True, Inspector Grolle was dead; but two Sisters of Mercy kept vigil at his side, and the President of the Council came and laid the Cross of Honour on the breast of this victim of duty.

At night there were panics. In the Avenue de la Révolte the police, noticing a travelling acrobat’s caravan on a piece of waste ground, took it for the retreat of a band of robbers. They whistled for help, and when they were a goodly number, attacked the caravan. Some worthy citizens joined them; fifteen thousand revolver-shots were fired, the caravan was blown up with dynamite, and among the débris they found the corpse of a monkey.


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 “No calves, unfortunately," said Kate, suddenly furious again.

He paused to consider the point, then laughed. Her anger was another slight sensational amusement to him.

"No, no calves," he said. "The calves have come home to be fattened. But several more horses after you’d gone.”

“I don’t want to hear," she said coldly.

He laughed, feeling rather heroic. After all, one must be able to look on blood and bursten bowels calmly: even with a certain thrill. The young hero! But there were dark rings round his eyes, like a debauch.

“Oh but!" he began, making a rather coy face. “Don’t you want to hear what I did after! I went to the hotel of the chief toreador, and saw him lying on his bed all dressed up, smoking a fat cigar. Rather like a male Venus who is never undressed. So funny!"

"Who took you there?" she said.

"That Pole, you remember?—and a Spaniard who talked English. The toreador was great, lying on his bed in all his get-up, except his shoes, and quite a crowd of men going over it all again—!—you never heard such a row!"

"Aren’t you wet?" said Kate.

“No, not at all. I’m perfectly dry. You see I had my coat. Only my head, of course. My poor hair was all streaked down my face like streaks of dye.”” He wiped his thin hair across his head with rather self-conscious humour. “Hasn’t Owen come in?" he asked.

“Yes, he’s changing.”

“Well I’ll go up. I suppose it’s nearly supper time. Oh yes, it’s !" At which discovery he brightened as if he’d received a gift.

"Oh by the way, how did you get on? Rather mean of us to let you go all alone like that,” he said, as he hung poised in the open doorway.

“Not at all,” she said. “You wanted to stay. And I can look after myself, at my time of life.”

“We-ell!” he said, with an American drawl. "Maybe you can! Then he gave a little laugh. "But you have seen all those men rehearsing in that bedroom, throwing their arms about, and the toreador lying on the bed like Venus with a fat cigar, listening to her lovers.”

“I’m glad I didn’t,” said Kate.

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AURICE D’ESPARVIEU passed a terrible night. At the least sound he seized his revolver that he might not fall alive into the hands of justice. When morning came he snatched the newspapers from the hands of the concierge, devoured them greedily, and gave a cry of joy; he had just read that Inspector Grolle having been taken to the Morgue for the postmortem, the police-surgeons had only discovered bruises and contusions of a very superficial nature, and stated that death had been brought about by the rupture of an aneurism of the aorta.

“You see, Arcade,” he exclaimed triumphantly; “you see I am not an assassin. I am innocent. I could never have imagined how extremely agreeable it is to be innocent.”

Then he grew thoughtful, and—no unusual phenomenon—reflection dissipated his gaiety.


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 means “God with us.” This passage is quoted from the prophet to prove that Jesus was the Messiah. What connection there is between these words and the divinity of Christ is absolutely inexplicable. Second proof:

“(2) The Evangelist Mark begins his Gospel with the words: The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark i. 1), and later, when he tells of the baptism of the Saviour, he says: And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened, and the Spirit like a dove descending upon him: and there came a voice from heaven, saying, Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased (Mark i. 10, 11).”

The words of the Gospel, “The Son of God,” and, “Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased,” signify only that the beloved Son of God can by no means be God himself.

“(3) The Evangelist Luke quotes the prophecy of the angel to Zechariah about the coming birth of his son John, the forerunner of the Saviour: And many of the children of Israel shall he turn to the Lord their God. And he shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elias (Luke i. 16, 17).” (p. 52.)

The words of the prophecy of the angel to Zacharias refer to God, and not to Christ. Fourth proof:

“(4) St. John begins his Gospel with the words: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made (John i. 1-3), that is, he directly calls the Word God, represents it as existing from the beginning, or from eternity, separate from God, and as having created everything which exists. Farther on he writes: And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth—for the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came


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dear father had been killed by the Doones of Bagworthy, while riding home from Porlock market, on the Saturday evening. With him were six brother-farmers, all of them very sober; for father would have no company with any man who went beyond half-a-gallon of beer, or a single gallon of cider. The robbers had no grudge against him; for he had never flouted them, neither made overmuch of outcry, because they robbed other people. For he was a man of such strict honesty, and due parish feeling, that he knew it to be every man's own business to defend himself and his goods; unless he belonged to our parish, and then we must look after him.

These seven good farmers were jogging along, helping one another in the troubles of the road, and singing goodly hymns and songs to keep their courage moving, when suddenly a horseman stopped in the starlight full across them.

By dress and arms they knew him well, and by his size and stature, shown against the glimmer of the


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 Villiers disappeared with a wicked little laugh.

And as she sat her hands trembled with outrage and passion. A-moral! How could one be a-moral, or non-moral, when one’s soul was revolted! How could one be like these Americans, picking over the garbage of sensations, and gobbling it up like carrion birds. At the moment, both Owen and Villiers seemed to her like carrion birds, repulsive.

She felt, moreover, that they both hated her first because she was a woman. It was all right so long as she fell in with them in every way. But the moment she stood out against them in the least, they hated her mechanically for the very fact that she was a woman. They hated her womanness.

And in this Mexico, with its great under-drift of squalor and heavy reptile-like evil, it was hard for her to bear up.

She was really fond of Owen. But how could she respect him? So empty, and waiting for circumstance to fill him up. Swept with an American despair of having lived in vain, or of not having lived. Having missed something. Which fearful misgiving would make him rush like mechanical steel filings to a magnet, towards any crowd in the street. And then all his poetry and philosophy gone with the cigarette-end he threw away, he would stand craning his neck in one more frantic effort to —just to. Whatever it was, he must see it. Or he might miss something. And then, after he’d seen an old ragged woman run over by a motor-car and bleeding on the floor, he’d come back to Kate pale at the gills, sick, bewildered, daunted, and yet, yes, glad he’d seen it. It was Life!

"Well,” said Kate, "I always thank God I’m not Argus. Two eyes are often two too many for me, in all the horrors. I don’t feed myself on street-accidents.”

At dinner they tried to talk of pleasanter things than bull-fights. Villiers was neat and tidy and very nicely mannered, but she knew he was keeping a little mocking laugh up his sleeve, because she could not stomach the afternoon’s garbage. He himself had black rings under his eyes, but that was because he had "lived.”

The climax came with the dessert. In walked the Pole and that Spaniard who spoke American. The Pole was unhealthy and unclean-looking. She heard him saying to Owen, who of course had risen with automatic cordiality:

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 “I am innocent,—but there is no disguising the fact,” he said, shaking his head, “I am one of a band of malefactors. I live with miscreants. You are in your night place there, Arcade, for you are deceitful, cruel, and perverse. But I come of good family and have received an excellent education, and I blush for it.”

“I also,” said Arcade, “have received an excellent education.”

“Where was that?”

“In Heaven.”

“No, Arcade, no; you never had any education. If good principles had been inculcated into you, you would still hold them. Such principles are never lost. In my childhood I learnt to revere my family, my country, my religion. I have not forgotten the lesson and I never shall. Do you know what shocks me most in you? It is not your perversity, your cruelty, your black ingratitude; it is not your agnosticism, which may be borne with at a pinch; it is not your scepticism, though it is very much out of date (for since the national awakening there is no longer any scepticism in France);—no, what disgusts me in you is your lack of taste, the bad style of your ideas, the inelegance of your doctrines. You think like an intellectual, you speak like a freethinker, you have theories which reek of radicalism and Combeism and all ignoble systems. Get along with you! you


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 evening star; and though he seemed one man to seven, it was in truth one man to one. Of the six who had been singing songs and psalms about the power of God, and their own regeneration—such psalms as went the round, in those days, of the public-houses—there was not one but pulled out his money, and sung small beer to a Doone.

But father had been used to think that any man who was comfortable inside his own coat and waistcoat deserved to have no other set, unless he would strike a blow for them. And so, while his gossips doffed their hats, and shook with what was left of them, he set his staff above his head, and rode at the Doone robber. With a trick of his horse, the wild man escaped the sudden onset, although it must have amazed him sadly that any durst resist him. Then when Smiler was carried away with the dash and the weight of my father (not being brought up to battle, nor used to turn, save in plough-harness), the outlaw whistled upon his thumb, and plundered the rest of the yeomen. But father, drawing at Smiler's head, to try to come back and help them, was in the midst of a dozen men, who seemed to come out of a turf-rick, some on horse, and some a-foot. Nevertheless, he smote lustily, so far as he could see; and being of great size and strength, and his blood well up, they had no easy job with him. With the play of his wrist, he cracked three or four crowns, being always famous at single-stick; until the rest drew their horses away, and he thought that he was master, and would tell his wife about it.


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 Any Member of the League may, after two years' notice of its intention so to do, withdraw from the League, provided that all its international obligations and all its obligations under this Covenant shall have been fulfilled at the time of its withdrawal.

The action of the League under this Covenant shall be effected through the instrumentality of an Assembly and of a Council, with a pennanent Secretariat.

The Assembly shall consist of Representatives of the Members of the League.

The Assembly shall meet at stated intervals and from time to time as occasion may require at the Seat of the League or at such other place as may be decided upon.

The Assembly may deal at its meetings with any matter within the sphere of action of the League or affecting the peace of the world.

At meetings of the Assembly each Member of the League shall have one vote, and may have not more than three Representatives.

The Council shall consist of Representatives of the Principal Allied and Associated Powers, together with Representatives of four other Members of the League. These four Members of the League shall be selected by the Assembly from time to time in its discretion. Until the appointment of the Representatives of the four Members of the League first selected by the Assembly, Representatives of Belgium, Brazil, Spain and Greece shall be members of the Council.

With the approval of the majority of the Assembly, the Council may name additional Members of the League whose Representatives shall always be members of the Council; the Council with like approval may'increase the number of Members of the League to be selected by the Assembly for representation on the Council.


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 disgust me. Arcade, my old friend, Arcade, my dear angel, Arcade, my beloved child, listen to your guardian angel! Yield to my prayers, renounce your mad ideas; become good, simple, innocent, and happy once more. Put on your hat, come with me to Nôtre-Dame. We will say a prayer and burn a candle together.”

Meanwhile public opinion was still active in the matter; the leading papers, the organs of the national awakening, in articles of real elevation and real depth, unravelled the philosophy of this monstrous attack which was revolting to the conscience. They discovered the real origin, the indirect but effective cause in the revolutionary doctrines which had been disseminated unchecked, in the weakening of social ties, the relaxing of moral discipline, in the repeated appeals to every appetite, to every greedy desire. It would be needful, so as to cut down the evil at its root, to repudiate as quickly as possible all such chimeras and Utopias as syndicalism, the income-tax, etc., etc., etc. Many newspapers, and these not the least important, pointed out that the recrudescence of crime was but the natural fruit of impiety and concluded that the salvation of society lay in an unanimous and sincere return to religion. On the Sunday which followed the crime the congregations in the churches were noticed to be unusually large.


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 Judge Salneuve, who was entrusted with the task of investigation, first examined the persons arrested by the police, and lost his way among attractive but illusory clues; however, the report of the detective Montremain, which was laid before him, put him on the right road, and soon led him to recognise the miscreants of La Jonchère as the authors of the crime of the Rue de Ramey. He ordered a search to be made for Arcade and Zita, and issued a warrant against Prince Istar, on whom the detectives laid hands as he was leaving Bouchotte’s, where he had been depositing some bombs of new design. The Kerûb, on learning the detectives’ intentions, smiled broadly and asked them if they had a powerful motor-car. On their replying that they had one at the door, he assured them that was all he wanted. Thereupon he felled the two detectives on the stairs, walked up to the waiting car, flung the chauffeur under a motor-bus which was opportunely passing, and seized the steering wheel under the eyes of the terrified crowd.

That same evening Monsieur Jeancourt, the Police Magistrate, entered Théophile’s rooms just when Bouchotte was swallowing a raw egg to clear her voice, for she was to sing her new song, “They haven’t got any in Germany,” at the “National Eldorado” that evening. The musician was absent. Bouchotte received the Magistrate,


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 “We thought we’d come here to dinner. Well, how are you."

Kate’s skin was already goose-flesh, But the next instant she heard that dingy voice, that spoke so many languages dingily, assailing her with familiarity:

“Ah, Miss Leslie, you missed the best part of it. You missed all the fun! Oh, I say—"

Rage flew into her heart and fire into her eyes. She got suddenly from her chair, and faced the fellow behind her.

“Thank you!" she said. "I don’t want to hear. I don’t want you to speak to me. I don’t want to know you.”

She looked at him once, then turned her back, sat down again, and took a pitahaya from the fruit plate.

The fellow went green, and stood a moment speechless.

“Oh, all right!" he said mechanically, turning away to the who spoke American.

“Well—see you later!" said Owen rather hurriedly, and he went back to his seat at Kate’s table.

The two strange fellows sat at another table. Kate ate her cactus fruit in silence, and waited for her coffee. By this time she was not so angry, she was quite calm. And even Villiers hid his joy in a new sensation under a manner of complete quiet composure.

When coffee came she looked at the two men at the other table, and at the two men at her own table.

"I’ve had enough of, of any sort," she said.

“Oh, I understand, perfectly," said Owen.

After dinner, she went to her room. And through the night she could not sleep, but lay listening to the noises of Mexico City, then to the silence and the strange, grisly fear that so often creeps out on to the darkness of a Mexican night. Away inside her, she loathed Mexico City. She even feared it. In the daytime it had a certain spell—but at night, the underneath grisliness and evil came forth.

In the morning Owen also announced that he had not slept at all.

"Oh, I never slept so well since I was in Mexico,” said Villiers, with a triumphant look of a bird that has just pecked a good morsel from the garbage-heap.

“Look at the frail aesthetic youth!" said Owen, in a hollow voice.

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 “His frailty and his aestheticism are both bad signs, to me," said Kate ominously.

“And the youth. Surely that’s another!" said Owen, wih a dead laugh.

But Villiers only gave a little snort of cold, pleased amusement.

Someone was calling Miss Leslie on the telephone, said the Mexican chambermaid. It was the only person Kate knew in the capital—or in the Distrito Federal—a Mrs Norris, widow of an English embassador of thirty years ago. She had a big, ponderous old house out in the village of Tlacolula.

“Yes! Yes! This is Mrs Norris. How are you? That’s right, that’s right. Now, Mrs Leslie, won’t you come out to tea this afternoon and see the garden? I wish you would. Two friends are coming in to see me, two Mexicans: Don Ramón Carrasco and General Viedma. They are both men, and Don Ramón is a great scholar. I assure you, they are both entirely the exception among Mexicans. Oh, but the exception! So now, my Mrs Leslie, won’t you come with your cousin? I wish you would.”

Kate remembered the little general; he was a good deal smaller than herself. She remembered his erect, alert little figure, something birdlike, and the face with eyes slanting under arched eyebrows, and the little black tuft of an imperial on the chin: a face with a peculiar Chinese suggestion, without being Chinese in the least, really. An odd, detached, yet cocky little man, a true little Indian, speaking Oxford English in a rapid, low, musical voice, with extraordinarily gentle intonation. Yet those black, inhuman eyes!

Till this minute she had not really been able to recall him to herself, to get any sharp impression. Now she had it. He was an Indian pure and simple. And in Mexico, she knew, there were more generals than soldiers. There had been three generals in the Pullman coming down from El Paso, two, more or less educated, in the "drawing-room,” and the third, a real peasant Indian, travelling with a frizzy half-white woman who looked as if she bad fallen into a flour-sack, her face was so deep in powder, and her frizzy hair and her brown silk dress so douched with the white dust of it. Neither this "general" nor this woman had ever been in a

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xxxiv scenes in a Tragedy. The catastrophe is dimly prophesied from the beginning; and, at every fresh step, rises more and more clearly into view. A shadow of coming Fate, as it were, a low inarticulate voice of Doom falls, from the first, out of that charmed Nibelungen-land; the discord of two women is as a little spark of evil passion, which ere long enlarges itself into a crime; foul murder is done; and now the Sin rolls on like a devouring fire, till the guilty and the innocent are alike encircled with it, and a whole land is ashes, and a whole race is swept away,

Uns ist in alten mæren Wunders vil geseit,

Von helden lobebæren Von grozer chuonheit;

Von vrouden und’ hoch-geziten, Von weinen und von chlagen,

Von chuner rechen striten, Muget ir nu wunder hören sagen.

We find in ancient story Wonders many told,

Of heroes in great glory With spirit free and bold;

Of joyances and high-tides, Of weeping and of woe,

Of noble Recken striving, Mote ye now wonders know.

This is the brief artless Proem; and the promise contained in it proceeds directly towards fulfilment. In the very second stanza we learn:

Es wühs in Burgonden Ein vil edel magedin,

Das in allen landen Niht schoners mochte sin;

Chriemhilt was si geheien, Sie wart ein schone wip;

Darumbe müsen degene Vil verliesen den lip.

A right noble maiden Did grow in Burgundy,

That in all lands of earth Nought fairer mote there be;

Chriemhild of Worms she hight, She was a fairest wife;

For the which must warriors A many lose their life.


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 Pullman before. But the general was sharper than the woman. He was a tall wiry fellow with a reddened pock-marked face and sharp little black eyes. He followed Owen to the smoking room, and watched with sharp eyes, to see how everything was done. And soon he knew. And he would wipe his wash-bowl dry as neatly as anybody. There was something of a real man about him. But the poor, half-white woman, when she wanted the ladies’ toilet, got lost in the passage and wailed aloud: —until the general sent the Pullman boy to direct her.

But it had annoyed Kate to see this general and this woman eating chicken and asparagus and jelly in the Pullman, paying fifteen pesos for a rather poor dinner, when for a peso-and-a-half apiece they could have eaten a better meal, and real Mexican, at the meal-stop station. And all the poor, barefoot people clamouring on the platform, while the "general,” who was a man of their own sort, nobly swallowed his asparagus on the other side of the window-pane.

But this is how they save the people, in Mexico and elsewhere. Some tough individual scrambles up out of the squalor and proceeds to save himself. Who pays for the asparagus and jelly and face-powder, nobody asks, because everybody knows.

And so much for Mexican generals: as a rule, a class to be strictly avoided.

Kate was aware of all this. She wasn’t much interested in any sort of Mexican in office. There is so much in the world that one wants to avoid, as one wants to avoid the lice that creep on the unwashed crowd.

Being rather late, Owen and Kate bumped out to Tlacolula in a Ford taxi. It was a long way, a long way through the peculiar squalid endings of the town, then along the straight road between trees, into the valley. The sun of April was brilliant, there were piles of cloud about the sky, where the volecanoes would be. The valley stretched away to its sombre, atmospheric hills, in a flat dry bed, parched except where there was some crop being irrigated. The soil seemed strange, dry, blackish, artificially wetted, and old. The trees rose high, and hung bare boughs, or withered shade. The buildings were either new and alien, like the

title: Page:The plumed serpent - 1926.djvu/36