 New York's Backbone, a passing glimpse of America's most famous thoroughfare, by Emma Archer Osborn. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Broadway. A unique street is this endless highway of New York City, which was once but an insignificant Indian trail tipping the rocky ridge that constituted the backbone of Manhattan Island and was used by the Manahatas when making their peregrinations to and from the sea. A romantic history has this old thoroughfare from its aboriginal days down to these, its most civilized and cosmopolitan period, and proud is the city of this ancient cradle of New York for Broadway and to dates even the days of Henry Hudson, the time from which almost everything pertaining to the metropolis is reckoned. Indeed, Broadway and to dates European highways, for while Europe boasts of her old roads, made centuries back when civilization commenced to emerge from the dark ages, New York can go the old world one better. Broadway always was. Skipping history, passing the days when Manhattan Island was sold for $24, passing the days of Dutch and British rule of the period when colonial society centered on lower Broadway, when Lord Cornwallis, Lord Howe and Sir Henry Clinton, Talleyrand, General Gates, Benedict Arnold and other celebrities lived there. When President Washington during his short sojourn in the city, finding Cherry Hill, now the Manhattan terminus of the Brooklyn Bridge, too far out in the country to enable him to be in the social swim, moved down nearly opposite Wall Street and passing scores of other interesting and important events in the streets, national, municipal, commercial and social history. We take it as it is today. What a place Broadway is and what a vast amount of entertainment can be gained by a visit to it. Unique indeed and never ending in versatility with its shifting, changing life. Architecturally, the street is many stories above and many stories below ground. It is like city after city built each on top of the other. Officially, it is 14 miles long, extending to the Yonkers line. In reality, it lobes along to Albany where it is supposed to end since New Yorkers cannot conceive of anything going beyond the capital of their state. Locally, the length, breadth, height and depth of the street is measured by the time of day or night. Broadway is a great living, breathing thing, its life and pulsations visible in localities, according to the moods and modes of the restless human element which imbues it. Someone has said that if one stands long enough at one place on Broadway, you will see half the people he ever knew. Maybe the remark is a bit exaggerated, but one need not stand long in one spot to see many people and he will see all classes, kinds, nationalities and conditions in the general procession. The sidewalks are wide. They are not broad enough to accommodate all who would travel them. The throngs push and jostle along in uncomfortable and acrobatic fashion. They thread their ways in and out, dodging horses and bumping into wagons, carriages and automobiles. Looking on the street from an elevated position is like viewing a mighty black stream, rapid and ceaseless in its movement, with countless outlets to relieve it of its constantly swelling tide. And what a motley stream of humanity it is, taking the street in its entirety through the many divisions of the great city. In its lower part, we are located great financial, banking and legal institutions. One may see kings of finance and men who have laid down the affairs of the nation to take up business in New York at a neck and neck pace, sans dignity, with messenger boys and tramps, each trying to get ahead of the other or to cross the street before a cold truck, a load of tropical fruit, or an indiscriminating juggernaut of a streetcar crushes them to a jelly. Wild eyed immigrants in odd looking costumes, with bundles and trunks balanced on their heads, bump into X almost everybody of note, as they stare at the cloud piercing buildings of this new world wonderland. The whole world crosses Broadway at City Hall Park and Chamber Street on its way to the bridge. People and vehicles, clergymen and gamblers, trucks and automobiles, funeral processions and wedding parties, fuckers and merchants, journalists and society men, women of Sterlingworth and painted and ragged outcast from society, travel wheel to wheel, elbow to elbow and skirt to skirt across that busy center. Merchants from every city in the world visit the wholesale districts and where the street makes a turn now and then on its way past Union and Madison squares, the circle and other Oasis in the heart of the busy city. One sees innumerable battered and worthless members of the sons of perpetual rest idly dreaming as they look out from their beautiful secluded retreats on the busy movement before them. From the battery to Yonkers, it is like an endless panorama in its diversity of people, motives and structures, a business and pleasure. Every class of trade, profession and commerce, every science and every religion is represented here. One can buy everything on Broadway, everything, hats, railroads, shoes, ships, dresses, a title, neckties, food, land, shoestrings, pictures, theater tickets, new things and old things, things one needs and things one doesn't need. Things one should have and things one shouldn't have such a jumbled street of finance and catch penny contrivances, such a mixture of good and evil of greatness and insignificance of honesty and trickery of distinction and social ostracism as it all is. And what a study. The old and the new are side by side. The living and the dead are in constant proximity. A way down on Broadway are old St. Paul's and Trinity with the dead sleeping in their respective church yards, a holy calm resting overall. While hemming them in our great busy buildings, the number of people in any one of which is sufficient to populate a good sized village. Grace Church with its beautiful lawn and quiet air of sacred solitude, as for a neighbor, a German restaurant where tables and chairs are set outside in the summertime and beer served. Immense skyscrapers with electric lights, elevators and other modern improvements rise 26 stories while nestling close to their basis are little old fashioned four and five story buildings where tenants have to walk upstairs and everything has a generally dilapidated look. In one corner of Trinity's church yard is a fine monument erected to the noble dead of the Civil War. Directly opposite is the entrance to Wall Street, the pit into which thousands fall to financial ruin each year. So it goes as Broadway wins its way. It has its centers where certain activities and interests peculiar to those localities exist, none of which is more noted than the Rialto. That section between 28th and 45th streets locally known as the Great White Way because of the thousands of glittering theatrical and other electric street signs. The Rialto is awake while other parts of Broadway sleep. Here are the theaters, music halls, eating houses and many hotels. Here, nightly, rolling wheels, clattering hoofs, motor vehicles and hurrying feet are traveling pleasures highway after the day's turmoil of business. Here actor folk assemble and here also the stranger within the city's gates spends his money. This part of Broadway especially when the lights are on is considered by many to be the essence of New York. At places are little kiosks on either side of the roadway hurrying people plunge into and emerge from these all day and all night. They are the entrances and exits of the subway, the city's 36 million dollar transportation line. Although this underground railway has been in operation but a year carrying thousands of persons daily it is already overwhelmed with its task and the shrill little shrieks of its electric whistles that tear up through entrances and air vents are like plaintive calls for help. They also remind one of the marvelous and rapid changes that have swept the length of the old zigzag street. Mentally one hears the tyrannical snap of the stage driver's whip and the musical tinkle of the horse car bell that not so long ago cleared the way for the bold and haughty monopolists in the matter of public carriers. A momentary comparison of Broadway of yesterday with the street of today explains the necessary presence of more rapid means of transit. The famous thoroughfare cannot be adequately described. Nothing short of a promenade will equate one with its characteristics and peculiarities but if there's anything in mundane affairs that is worthwhile it is a stroll along this backbone of Gay Gotham. End of New York's Backbone by Emma Archer Osborne. Recording by Betty B. The Problem of Types in Poetry. Carl Spittler's Prometheus and Epimetheus by Carl Gustav Young. 1875 to 1961. From Psychological Types or the Psychology of Individuation. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. If among the themes offered to the poet by the intricacies of emotional life the Problem of Types did not play a significant role it would practically prove that such a problem did not exist. But we have already seen how in Schiller this problem stirred the poet in him as deeply as the thinker. In this chapter we shall turn our attention to a poetic work which is almost exclusively based on the motif of the type problem. I refer to Carl Spittler's Prometheus and Epimetheus which first appeared in 1881. I have no wish to explain at the outset that Prometheus the fore-thinker stands for the introvert while Epimetheus the man of action and after-thinker signifies the extrovert. In the conflict of these two figures the principal issue is the battle of the introverted with the extroverted line of development in one and the same individual though the poetic presentation has embodied the conflict in two independent figures with their typical destinies. It is self-evident that Prometheus exhibits introverted character traits. He presents the picture of a man faithfully introverted to his inner world, true to his soul. His reply to the angel is a telling expression of his nature. Yet it is not mine to judge my soul's appearance, for behold, my mistress she is, my God in joy and sorrow, and whatsoever I am I have from her alone, and so with her will I share my glory, and if need be boldly will I renounce it. Footnote. Prometheus and Epimetheus. Dietrich's edition, 1920, page 9. And footnote. In this act Prometheus surrenders himself unconditionally to his own soul, i.e. to the function of relation to the inner world, hence the soul has also a mysterious metaphysical character precisely on account of its relation to the unconscious. Prometheus concedes it absolute significance as mistress and guide in the same unconditional manner in which Epimetheus yields himself to the world. He sacrifices his individual ego to the soul, to the relation with the unconscious as the mother womb of eternal images and meanings. He thereby surrenders the self since he loses the counterweight of the persona, i.e. the relation to the external object. With this surrender to his soul, Prometheus drops away from every connection with the surrounding world, thus escaping the indispensable correction gained through external reality. But this loss is irreconcilable with the nature of this world. Therefore an angel appears to Prometheus, clearly a representative of world government. Expressed psychologically, he is the projected image of a tendency directed towards reality adaptation. The angel accordingly says to Prometheus, It shall come to pass, if thou dost not prevail and free thyself from thy souls on righteous way, that the great reward of many years and thy heart's content and all the fruits of thy subtle mind shall be lost unto thee. And in another place, rejected shall thou be on the day of glory for the sake of thy soul, who knoweth no God, and heedeth no law, for to her arrogance nothing is holy, neither in heaven nor upon earth. Because Prometheus has a one-sided orientation to his soul, every impulse towards adaptation to the outer world tends to be repressed, and to sink into the unconscious. Consequently, if perceived at all, they appear as separate from the individuality, hence as projections. In this connection it would seem that there is a certain contradiction in the fact that the soul, whose cause Prometheus has espoused, and which he, as it were, accepted in full consciousness, appears as a projection. Since the soul, like the persona, is a function of relationship, it must consist in a certain sense of two parts, one part belonging to the individuality, and the other adhering to the object of relationship, in this case the unconscious. One is indeed generally inclined, unless one is a Frank adherent to the Hartman philosophy, to grant the unconscious only the relative existence of a psychological factor. On the grounds of the theory of cognition, we are as yet quite unable to make any valid statement with regard to an objective reality of the phenomenal psychological complex, which we term the unconscious, just as we are equally powerless to determine anything valid about the nature of real things which lie beyond our psychological capacity. On the ground of experience I must, however, point out that in relation to our conscious activity, the contents of the unconscious make the same claim to reality by virtue of their obstinacy and persistence as do the real things of the outer world. Even when this challenge appears very improbable to a mentality with a preferential bias towards external reality, it must not be forgotten that there have always been many for whom the contents of the unconscious possessed a greater reality than the things of the outer world. The history of human thought bears witness to both realities. A more searching investigation of the human psyche shows unquestionably that there is, on the whole, an equally strong influence from both sides upon conscious activity, so that psychologically we have a right on purely empirical grounds to treat the contents of the unconscious as just as real as the things of the outer world, albeit these two realities may be mutually contradictory and appear entirely different in their natures. But to subordinate one reality over the other would be an altogether unjustifiable presumption. Theosophy and spiritualism are no better than materialism in their outrageous encroachments upon reality. We have, in fact, to resign ourselves to the sphere of our psychological possibilities. The peculiar reality of unconscious contents, therefore, gives us the same right to describe these as objects as the things of the outer world, whereas the persona, considered as a relation, is always conditioned by the outer object, and hence is as firmly anchored in the outer object as it is in the subject. The soul, as a relation to the inner object, is similarly represented by the inner object. In a sense, therefore, it is always distinct from the subject, and is actually perceptible as something distinct, hence it appears to Prometheus as something quite separate from his individual ego. In the same way as a man who yields himself entirely to the outer world still has the world as an object, distinct from himself, so the unconscious world of images remains as an object distinct from the subject, even when a man is wholly surrendered to it. Just as the unconscious world of mythological images speaks indirectly through the experience of external things to the man who abandons himself to the outer world, so the real world and its claims find their way indirectly to the man who has surrendered himself to the soul, for no man can escape both realities. If a man is fixed upon the outer reality, he must live his myth. If he is turned towards the inner reality, then must he dream his outer, his so-called real life. Thus the soul says to Prometheus, A God of crime am I who leadeth the astray upon untried and pass, but thou wouldest not hearken unto me, and now hath it come to pass according to my words, for my sake have they robbed thee of the glory of thy name, and stolen from thee thy life's content. Footnote. Prometheus and Epometheus. Pages 24 and following. Footnote. Prometheus refuses the kingdom the angel offers him, which means that he refuses adaptation to things as they are, because his soul is demanded from him in exchange. While the subject, i.e. Prometheus, is essentially human, the soul is of quite a different character. It is demonic, because the inner object, namely the supra-personal collective unconscious to which it is attached as the function of relation, gleams through it. The unconscious, regarded as the historical background of the psyche, contains in a concentrated form the entire succession of engrams, imprints, which from time immemorial have determined the psychic structure as it now exists. These engrams may be regarded as function traces, which typify on the average the most frequently and intensely used functions of the human soul. These function engrams present themselves in the form of mythological themes and images, appearing often in identical form, and always with striking similarity among all races. They can also be easily verified in the unconscious material of modern man. It is intelligible, therefore, that avowedly animal traits or elements should also appear among the unconscious contents by the side of those sublime figures which from oldest times have accompanied man on the road of life. The unconscious disposes of a whole world of images whose boundless range yields in nothing to the claims of the world of real things. To the one who personally surrenders himself wholly to the outer world, the unconscious comes in the form of some intimate and beloved being. In whom, should his destiny lie in extreme devotion to the personal object, he will experience the duality of the world and his own nature. In like manner there comes to the other a demonic personification of the unconscious embodying the totality, the extreme oppositeness and duality of the world of images. These are borderline phenomena which overstep the normal. Hence the normal mind knows nothing of these cruel enigmas. They do not exist for him. It is always only the few who reach the rim of the world where its mirage begins. For the man who stands always upon the normal path, the soul has a human and not a dubious demonic character. Neither do his fellow men appear to him in the least problematical. Only complete abandonment either to one world or to the other evokes their duality. Spittler's intuition caught that picture of the soul, which in a less profound nature would at most have found utterance in dreams. Accordingly we read, page 25, and while he thus demeaned himself in the fury of his passion, there played a strange quiver about her mouth and face, and ever and again her eyelids flickered, shutting and opening hastily, and behind the soft, delicate fringe of her lashes there lurked something which threatened and crept about like the fire which glided stealthily through the house, or like the tiger stealing among the bushes, while from the dark foliage in broken flashes Gleamoth ever and anon his yellow-modeled flanks. The line of life which Prometheus chooses is thus unmistakably introverted. He sacrifices all connection with the present in order to create in anticipation the distant future. It is very different with Epimetheus. He realizes that his aim is the world, and what the world values. Hence he says to the angel, Yet now I long for truth, and my soul lieth in thy hand, and it please thee. Therefore give me a conscience that will teach me shun, and ness, and every just precept. Epimetheus cannot resist the temptation to fulfill his own destiny, and submit himself to the soulless point of view. This junction with the world is immediately re-borded. And it came to pass, as Epimetheus rose up, that he felt his stature was increased and his courage more steadfast. He was at one with all his being, and his whole feeling was sound and mightily at ease, and thus he strode with bold steps through the valley on a straight course, as one who feareth no man, and with a bold glance like a man inspired by the contemplation of his own riches. He has, as Prometheus says, bartered his free soul for shun, and ness. The soul is lost to him in favor of his brother. He has followed his extraversion, and because this orientates him towards the external object, he is caught up in the desires and expectations of the world, seemingly at first to his great advantage. He has become an extrovert, after having lived many solitary years under the influence of his brother as an extrovert, falsified through imitation of the introvert. Such involuntary simulation dance-like character, footnote Paul Han, end footnote, occurs not infrequently. His conversion to true extroversion is therefore a step towards truth, and deservedly brings him a partial reward. Whilst Prometheus, through the tyrannical claims of his soul, is hampered in every relation to the external object, and has to make the cruelest sacrifices in the service of the soul, Epimetheus receives an immediately effective shield against the danger that most threatens the extrovert, with a complete surrender to the external object. This protection consists in the conscience, which is based upon traditional right ideas, and which therefore possesses that not to be despised, treasure of inherited worldly wisdom, which is employed by public opinion in much the same fashion as the judge uses the penal code. This provides Epimetheus with a circumscribed code which restrains him from abandoning himself to objects in the same degree as Prometheus does to his soul. This is forbidden him by the conscience, which stands in the place of his soul. When Prometheus turns his back upon the world of men and its codified conscience, he falls into the hands of his cruel soul mistress, with her arbitrary power, and only through endless suffering does he make expiation for his neglect of the world. The prudent restraint of a blameless conscience sets such a bandage over Prometheus's eyes that he must blindly live his myth, at ever with a sense of doing right, since he dwells in constant harmony with general expectation, with success ever at his side, since he fulfills the wishes of all. Thus men desire to see the king, and thus Epimetheus plays his part to the inglorious end, never forsaken by the strong backing of public approval. His self-assurance and self-righteousness, his unshakable confidence in his general worth, his unquestionable right doing and good conscience, present an easily recognizable portrait of that extroverted character which Jordan depicted. Compare page 102 and the following pages, describing the visit of Epimetheus to the sick Prometheus, where king Epimetheus is anxious to heal his suffering brother. And when all was duly accomplished, the king stepped forth, and supported by a friend on the left hand and on the right, he lifted up his voice in greeting, and spake these well-intentioned words. My heart grievous me on thy account, Prometheus, my beloved brother. But now take heart, for behold, I have here a self of virtue for every ill. Wondrous is its healing power, both in heat and in frost, and thou mayest use it alike to comfort or chastise thyself. And speaking thus he took his staff and bound the self fast, and proffered it to him all wearily with weighty mean. But hardly had Prometheus perceived the odor and aspect of the ointment, then he turned his head away with disgust, whereupon the king changed the tone of his voice, and began to cry aloud and to prophesy with great heat. Of a truth that seemeth thou hast need of greater punishment, since thy present fate does not suffice to teach thee. And speaking thus he drew a mirror from his cloak, and declared unto him all things from the beginning, and became very eloquent, and knew all his faults. The words of Jordan are speakingly illustrated in this scene. Society must be pleased, if possible, if it will not be pleased, it must be astonished. If it will neither be pleased nor astonished, it must be pestered and shocked. In the above scene we find almost the same climax. In the orient a rich man makes known his rank by never showing himself in public unless supported by two slaves. Epimetheus affects this pose in order to make an impression. While doing must at the same time be combined with admonition and moral discourse. And, as that does not produce an effect, the other must at least be horrified by the picture of his own baseness. Thus everything is aimed towards making an impression. There is an American saying which runs, In America two sorts of men make good. The man who can do something, and the man who can bluff well. Which means that pretenses sometimes just as successful as actual performance. An extrovert of this kind preferably makes his effect by appearance. The introvert tries to force the situation, and to this end may even abuse his work. If we fuse Prometheus and Epimetheus into one personality, we should have a man outwardly Epimethean and inwardly Promethean. An individual constantly torn by both tendencies, each seeking to enlist the ego finally on its side. End of The Problem of Types in Poetry Charles Petler's Prometheus and Epimetheus by Carl Gustav Jung 1875 to 1961 published in 1923 Every Day Japan by Mabel Loomis Todd This is a LibriVox recording. A LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Artistic consistency pervades Japan. During one of our visits to that flowery land, the fact was vividly illustrated. An American acquaintance bought in Tokyo an exquisite ivory carving. A Japanese lady seated beside a low table and vase of flowers. One of the daintiest figures of a well-known artist, this lovely bit was nevertheless bought for half, yes a tenth part of its normal price. And why? Simply because perhaps in a moment of abstraction the carver had represented cherry blossoms in the vase while showing a chrysanthemum pattern in the embroidery of the lady's kimono. No Japanese of refinement would wear a robe out of character with the season, said the dealer simply, and no Japanese would care to own such a combination. Whereupon the American gaily departed with his prize, such fineness of detail would not trouble his countrymen. And this, in different manifestations, seems the pervasive spirit of the country. A respectfulness of attitude toward beauty, an appreciation found with us only in favored classes, tinges the entire nation low as well as high. Temples and public buildings are not defaced by insignificant names of sightseers. Porcelain seats, storks, vases, lanterns, wood carvings remain uninjured and untouched in parks and gardens, and enthusiastic groups may constantly be seen surrounding any artistic object, gazing lovingly, admiringly, discriminatingly upon its beauties. Their attitude is much like that of the German masses toward the best music. How many generations that will require for our own millions to reach this point would perhaps not be safe to predict. Many years ago, during our first visit to Japan, we spent nearly three months in an old feudal castle in a small city somewhat over 100 miles from Tokyo. Raised 80 feet above the town and surrounding rice fields by three tiers of stone embankments saved from too close scrutiny by a moat filled with blossoming lotus, the picturesque old stronghold stood sentinel on its pinnacle while swinging garlands of white roses knotting themselves in every crevice gave a touch of grace and beauty to the grim walls. The surrounding country was full of myriads of wildflowers and of Easter lilies, tall white fragrant. Too much of a temptation to resist day after day found me painting their lovely tints on whatever improvised canvas I could secure large trays of natural wood even the coolly raincoats were brought into service until my room wide open to the summer air began to resemble a studio in earnest. The amount of interest those flower studies raised not only among our own servants and assistants but in the city as well could hardly have been matched in any other country. Japanese callers flopped to the castle watching as I worked until finally it became a custom for the upper class visitors to bring their own trays bamboo mats long strips of paper to be made into kakamonos whatever pleased them with the requests that I would paint even one blossom on these varied articles. I found my hands full and was finally obliged to refuse after having done about a dozen for the various city fathers. I was sorry as well as they their innocent joy in the work their silent watching of every stroke their sigh of appreciation when any one touch brought out the effect I wanted in which they instinctively recognized all were subtle if unintentional but no less agreeable flattery their presence to us continually offered were characteristic these interested warm-hearted men still wore the beautiful old native costume unspoiled by derby hats and american boots and day after day they toiled up the grassy paths under the flat top pines with their offerings. On one occasion the gift consisted of eight quail alive and very happy pecking galey about their bamboo cage for ekusama tiffin luncheon they explained bowing themselves away with many gracious smiles but the birds did not appear at tiffin that day nor at dinner nor the next. I frequently interrogated the cook as to their whereabouts and asked him to give them to us soon at which he smiled and bowed amiably pointing to the little cage set in the shade of a flowering shrub with its bright eyed occupants when a week had gone by and that day's menu was still flexible I finally told him that now he must cook them a look of distress over sped his face he bowed silently that night at dinner some excellent chickens were served but no quail the reason finally came out reluctantly not a single man in our employ was willing to kill them so they were finally taken down into the town and exchanged for some chickens already killed thus saving the feelings of our tenderhearted menials we have usually had our tables supplied and served in european style even when traveling in the interior or camping in remote localities but occasionally the native inns have proved too tempting in their fresh beauty and daintiness and we have eaten and slept and lived on the floor like veritable natives the tiny table set before each one with its collection of pretty china dishes and lacquer ball for soup the attractive maids waiting on their knees the always delicious pale yellow omnipresent tea the whole gently gay friendly atmosphere is irresistible one never sees their spoon or knife though they are used in preparing the meal kitchen utensils only they are reserved for the use of servants in homely tasks while chopsticks of ivory or ebony lacquer or plain wood are brought to the traveler and really after learning their proper use knives and forks do seem a clumsy invention beside the pretty grace of these toy expedience it is easy to acquire their manipulation not however until one is able successfully to lift an egg in the shell by their aid may the pupil be considered really expert fish is so delicately cooked that it's shredding by chopsticks is very simple and vegetables are already in pieces small enough to eat the large beans lily bulbs bamboo shoots are easy to manipulate while of course rice presents no difficulties at all i never could acquire the ability to have my rice bowl filled more than three times at one meal though i should not dare to numerate the multitudinous refillings indulged in by all Japanese it is even more than their staff of life one soon learns to recognize the street cries as vegetable vendors pipe sellers men with dwarfed pines and other itinerant shopmen pass with their wares and pertinent enough the calls often are successfully translating the article into vocal expression dainty and deeply ingrained in national habit as are their methods of cooking and dining however and widely as these differ from western ways the japanese are singularly adaptable and it only needed a little suggestion of our use of centerpieces and doilies of all sorts for them to seize the idea at once and with their infinite patients and cultivated taste drawn work and embroidery of most exquisite kinds were speedily produced to those who are purists in art demanding that everything shall be made by each nation irrespective of the wants of foreigners and never for purposes of sale to the barbarous outsider these lovely centerpieces will not appeal as japanese works but in themselves they are the most beautiful in the world it is in course satsuma cheap lacquer and rough cloison a made in foreign shapes solely for sale and obviously far removed from their own ideas of the sacredness of beauty that we see art degeneration in japan a sad sight in any country but most of all there where the subtle feeling for art is actually breathed in the air from earliest infancy it must be generations yet however before the moneyed foreigner with more yen than taste will succeed in prostituting the art or many of the customs of a country which was critical in the texture of a surface and making lacquers to defy the wearer of centuries when america was still unbroken forest and all undreaming of its coming conquerors from beyond the sea end of every day japan by mabel lumus todd recording by betty b the ideal house by robert louis stevensson this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libravox.org two things are necessary in any neighborhood where we propose to spend a life a desert and some living water there are many parts of the earth's face which offer the necessary combination of a certain wildness with a kindly variety a great prospect is desirable but the want may be otherwise supplied even greatness can be found on the small scale for the mind and the eye measure differently bold rocks near hand are more inspiring than distant alps and a thick fern upon a surrey heath makes a fine forest for the imagination and the dotted utrees noble mountains a scottish moor with birches and furs grouped here and there upon a knoll or one of those rocky seaside deserts of provance overgrown with rosemary and time and smoking with aroma or places where the mind is never weary forests being more enclosed are not at first sight so attractive but they exercise a spell they must however be diversified with either heath or rock and are hardly to be considered perfect without conifers even sandhills with their intricate plan and their gulls and rabbits will stand well for the necessary desert the house must be within hail of either a little river or the sea a great river is more fit for poetry than to adorn a neighborhood its sweep of waters increases the scale of the scenery and the distance of one notable object from another and a lively burn gives us in the space of a few yards a greater variety of promontory and islet of cascade shallow boil and boiling pool with answerable changes both of song and color an inevitable stream in many hundred miles the fish too make a more considerable feature of the brookside and the trout plumping in the shadow takes the ear a stream should besides be narrow enough to cross or the burn hard by a bridge or we aren't once shut out of Eden the quantity of water need be of no concern for the mind sets the scale and can enjoy a Niagara fall of 30 inches let us approve the singer of shallow rivers by whose falls melodious birds sing madrigals if the sea is to be our ornamental water choose an open seaboard with a heavy beat of surf one much broken in outline with small havens and dwarf headlands if possible a few islets and as a first necessity rocks reaching out into deep water such a rock on a calm day is a better station than the top of tenor ife or chin borazo in short both for the desert and the water the conjunction of many near and bold details is bold scenery for the imagination and keeps the mind alive given these two prime luxuries the nature of the country where we are to live is I had almost said indifferent after that inside the garden we can construct a country of our own several old trees a considerable variety of level several well-grown hedges to divide our garden into provinces a good extent of old well-set turf and thickets of shrubs and evergreens to be cut into and clear at the new owner's pleasure are the qualities to be sought for in your chosen land nothing is more delightful than a succession of small lawns opening one out of the other through tall hedges these have all the charm of the old bowling green repeated do not require the library of many trimmers and afford a series of changes you must have much lawn against the early summer so as to have a great field of daisies the years morning frost as you must have a wood of lilacs to enjoy to the full the period of their blossoming hawthorn is another of the spring's ingredients but it is even best to have a rough public lane at one side of your enclosure which at the right season shall become an avenue of bloom and odor the old flowers are the best and should grow carelessly in corners indeed the ideal fortune is to find an old garden once very richly cared for since sunken to neglect and to tend not repair that neglect it will thus have a smack of nature and wildness which skillful dispositions cannot overtake the gardener should be an idler and have a gross partiality to the kitchen plots an eager or toilful gardener misbecomes the garden landscape a tasteful gardener will be ever meddling will keep the borders raw and take the bloom off nature close adjoining if you are in the south an olive yard if in the north a swarded apple orchard reaching to the stream completes your miniature domain but this is perhaps best entered through a door and the high fruit wall so that you close the door behind you on your sunny plots your hedges and evergreen jungle when you go down to watch the apples falling in the pool it is a golden maxim to cultivate the garden for the nose and the eyes will take care of themselves nor must the ear be forgotten without birds a garden is a prison yard there is a garden near marseille on a steep hillside walking by which upon a sunny morning your ear will suddenly be ravished with a burst of small and very cheerful singing some score of cages being set out there to sun their occupants this is a heavenly surprise to any passerby but the price paid to keep so many ardent and winged creatures from their liberty will make the luxury too dear for any thoughtful pleasure lover there is only one sort of bird that i can tolerate caged though even then i think it hard and that is what is called in france the bec d'argent i once had two of these pygmies in captivity and in the quiet higher house upon a silent street where i was then living their song which was not much louder than a bees but eerily musical kept me in a perpetual good humor i put the cage upon my table when i worked carried it with me when i went for meals and kept it by my head at night the first thing in the morning these my streeny would pipe up but these even if you can pardon their imprisonment are for the house in the garden the wild birds must plant a colony a chorus of the lesser warblers that should be almost deafening a blackbird in the lilacs a nightingale down the lane so that you must stroll to hear it and yet a little farther treetops populace with rooks your house should not command much outlook it should be set deep and green though upon rising ground or if possible crowning a knoll for the sake of drainage yet it must be open to the east or you will miss the sunrise sunset occurring so much later you can go up a few steps and look the other way a house of more than two stories is a mere barrack indeed the ideal is of one story raised upon sellers if the rooms are large the house may be small a single room lofty spacious and lightsome is more palatial than a castle full of cabinets and cupboards yet size in a house and some extent an intricacy of corridor is certainly delightful to the flesh the reception room should be if possible a place of many recesses which are petty retiring places for conference but it must have one long wall with a divan for a day spent upon a divan among a world of cushions is as full of diversion as to travel the eating room in the french mode should be ad hoc unfurnished but with a buffet the table necessary chairs one or two of cantalecto's etchings and a tile fireplace for the winter in neither of these public places should there be anything beyond a shelf or two of books but the passages may be one library from end to end and the stair if there be one lined with volumes and old leather very brightly carpeted and leading halfway up and by way of landing to a windowed recess with a fireplace this window almost alone in the house should command a handsome prospect husband and wife must each possess a studio on the woman's sanctuary i hesitate to dwell and turn to the man's the walls are shelved waist high for books and the top thus forms a continuous table running round the wall above our prints a large map of the neighborhood a carol and a club or two the room is very spacious and the five tables and two chairs are but as islands one table is for actual work one close by for references in use one very large for manuscripts or proofs that wait their turn one kept clear for an occasion and the fifth is the map table groaning under a collection of large-scale maps and charts of all books these are the least wearisome to read and the richest in matter the course of roads and rivers the contour lines and the forests and the maps the reef soundings anchor sailing marks and little pilot pictures in the charts and in both the bead roll of names make them of all printed matter the most fit to stimulate and satisfy the fancy the chair in which you write is very low and easy and backed into a corner at one elbow the fire twinkles close at the other if you are a little inhumane your cage of silver bills are twittering into song joined along by a passage you may reach the great sunny glass roofed and tiled gymnasium at the far end of which lined with bright marble is your plunge and swimming bath fitted with a capacious boiler the whole loft of the house from end to end makes one undivided chamber here are set forth tables on which to model imaginary or actual countries in putty or plaster with tools and hardy pigments a carpenter's bench and a spare corner for photography while at the far end a space is kept clear for playing soldiers two boxes contain the two armies of some 500 horse and foot two others the ammunition of each side and a fifth the foot rules and the three colors of chalk with which you lay down or after a day's play refresh the outlines of the country red or white for the two kinds of road according as they are suitable or not for the passage of ordinance and blue for the course of the obstructing rivers here i foresee that you may pass much happy time against the good adversary a game may well continue for a month for with armies so considerable three moves will occupy an hour it will be found to set an excellent edge on this diversion if one of the players shall every day or so write a report of the operations and the character of army correspondent i have left to the last the little room for winter evenings this should be furnished in warm positive colors and sofas and floor thick with rich furs the hearth where you burn wood of aromatic quality on silver dogs tiled roundabout with bible pictures the seats deep and easy a single tissue in a gold frame white bust or so upon a bracket a rack for the journals of the week a table for the books of the year and close in a corner the three shelves full of eternal books that never weary shakespeare mollier montane lam stern de mousse's comedies the one volume open at carmesine and the other at fantasio the arabian knights and kindred stories and webers solemn volumes borrows bible in spain the pilgrim's progress guy manoring and rob roe monocristo and the vikant de brajalin immortal boswell soul among biographers chaucer herrick and the state trials the bedrooms are large airy with almost no furniture floors of varnished wood and at the bedhead in case of insomnia one shelf of books of a particular and dippable order such as peeps the past and letters birch letters from the highlands or the newgate calendar end of the ideal house by robert louis stevensson read by paul fleishman chapter 17 of incaland explorations in the highlands of peru by haran bingen this is a liberbox recording all liberbox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liberbox.org chapter 17 machu picchu it was in july 1911 that we first entered that marvellous canyon of the urbamba where the river escapes from the cold regions near cusco by tearing its way through gigantic mountains of granite from torontoi to colpani the road runs through a land of matchless charm it has the majestic grandeur of the canadian ruckus as well as the startling beauty of the nuanupali near honolulu and the enchanting vistas of the kolaude trail on maul in the variety of its charms and the power of its spell i know of no place in the world which can compare with it not only has it great snow peaks looming above the clouds more than two miles overhead gigantic precipices of many colored granite rising sheer for thousands of feet above the foaming listening roaring rapids it has also in a striking contrast orchids and tree ferns the delectable beauty of luxurious vegetation and the mysterious witchery of the jungle one is drawn irresistibly onward by ever-recording surprises through a deep winding gorge turning and twisting past overhanging cliffs of incredible height above all there is the fascination of finding here and there under the swaying vines or perches on top of a beatling crag the rugged masonry of a bygone race and of trying to understand the bewildering romance of the ancient builders who ages ago sought refuge in a region which appears to have been expressly designed by nature as a sanctuary for the oppressed a place where they might fearlessly and patiently give expression to their passion for walls of enduring beauty space forbids any attempt to describe in detail the constantly changing panorama the rank tropical foliage the countless terraces the towering cliffs the glaciers peeping out between the clouds we had camped at a place near the river called mandor pampa melchor arteaga propitor of the neighboring farm had told us of ruins at machu picchu as was related in chapter 10 the morning of july 24 dawned in a cold drizzle arteaga shivered and seemed inclined to stay in his hut i offered to pay him well if he would show me the ruins he demurred and said it was too hard to climb for such a wet day when he found that we were willing to pay him a soul three or four times the ordinary daily wage in this vicinity he finally agreed to guide us to the ruins no one supposed that they would be particularly interesting accompanied by sergeant carrasco i left camp at 10 o'clock and went some distance upstream on the road we passed a venomous snake which recently had been killed this region has an unpleasant authority for being the favorite hunt of vipers the lanceheaded or jello viper commonly known as the fur the lance a very venomous serpent capable of making considerable springs when in pursuit of its prey is common hereabouts later two of our meals died from the snake bite after a walk of three quarters of an hour the guide left the main road and plunged down through the jungle to the bank of the river here there was a primitive bridge which crossed the roaring rapids at its narrowest part where the stream was forced to flow between two great boulders the bridge was made of half a dozen very slender locks some of which were not long enough to span the distance between the boulders they had been spliced and lashed together with vines artela and carrasco took off their shoes and crept gingerly across using their somewhat prehensile toes to keep from sleeping it was obvious that no one could have lived for an instance in the rapids but would immediately have been dashed to pieces against the granite boulders i am frank to confess that i got down on hands and knees and crawled across six inches at a time even after we'd reached the other side i could not help wondering what would happen to the bridge if a particularly heavy shower should fall in the valley above a light rain had fallen during the night the river had risen so that the bridge was already threatened by the foam in rapids it would not take much more rain to wash away the bridge entirely if this should happen during the day it might be very awkward as a matter of fact it did happen a few days later and the next explorers who attempt to cross the river at this point found only one slender lock remaining leaving the stream we struggled up the bank through a dense jungle and in a few minutes reached the bottom of a precipitous slope for an hour and 20 minutes we had a hard climb a good part of the distance we went on all fours sometimes hanging on the tips of our fingers here and there a primitive ladder made from the roughly hung trunk of a small tree was placed in such a way as to help one over what might otherwise have proven to be an impassable cliff in another place the slope was covered with slippery grass where it was hard to find either handholds or footholds the guide said that there were lots of snakes here the humidity was great the heat was excessive and we were not in training shortly afternoon we reached a little grass cover hut where several good nature Indians pleasantly surprised that our unexpected arrival welcomed us with dripping gourds full of cool delicious water then they said before us a few cooked sweet potatoes called here kumara a kitsch award identical with the Polynesian kumala as has been pointed out by mr cook apart from the wonderful view of the canyon all we could see from our cool shelter was a couple of small grass huts and a few ancient stone-faced terraces two pleasant indian farmers richarte and alvarez had chosen this eagle's nest for their home they said they had found plenty of terraces here on which to grow their crops and they were usually free from undesirable visitors they did not speak Spanish but through sargent carrasco i learned that there were more ruins a little further along in this country one can never tell whether such a report is worthy of credence he may have been lying is a good footnote to affix to all hearsay evidence accordingly i was not unduly excited nor in a great hurry to move the heat was still great the water from the indian spring was cool and delicious and the rustic wooden bench hospitably covered immediately after my arrival with soft wool and poncho seemed most comfortable furthermore the view was simply enchanting tremendous green precipices fell away to the white rapids of the urubamba below immediately in front on the north side of the valley was a great granite cliff rising 2000 feet shear to the left was the solitary peak of huaynapichu surrounded by seemingly inaccessible precipices on all sides were rocky cliffs beyond them cloud capped mountains rose thousands of feet above us the indians said there were two paths to the outside world of one we had already had a taste the other they said was more difficult a perilous path down the face of a rocky precipice on the other side of the ridge it was their only means of egress in the wet season when the bridge over which we had come could not be maintained i was not surprised to learn that they went away from home only about once a month richarty told us that they had been living here four years it seems probable that owing to its inaccessibility the canyon had been unoccupied for several centuries but with the completion of the new government road settlers began once more to occupy this region in time somebody clambered up the precipices unfound on the slopes of machu picchu at an elevation of 9 000 feet above the sea an abundance of rich soil conveniently situated on artificial terraces in a fine climate here the indians had finally cleared off some ruins burned over a few terraces and planted crops of maize sweet and white potatoes sugarcane beans peppers tree tomatoes and gooseberries at first they appropriated some of the ancient houses and replaced the roofs of wood and touch they found however that there were neither springs nor wells near the ancient buildings an ancient aqueduct which had once brought a tiny stream to the citadel had long since disappeared beneath the forest filled with earth washed from the upper terraces so abandoning the shoulder of the ruins the indians were now enjoying the convenience of living near some springs in the roughly built touched huts of their own design without the slightest expectation of finding anything more interesting than the stone-faced terraces of which already had a glimpse and the ruins of two or three stone houses such as we had encountered at various places on the road between Oyantaytambo and Torontoy I finally left the cool shade of the pleasant little hut and climbed farther up the ridge and around a slight promontory Arteaga had been here once before and decided to rest and gossip with Richarte and Álvarez in the hut they sent a small boy with me as a guide hardly had we rounded the promontory when the character of the stone work began to improve a flight of beautifully constructed terraces each 200 yards long and 10 feet high had then recently rescued from the jungle by the indians a forest of large trees had been chopped down and burned over to make a clearing for agricultural purposes crossing these terraces I entered the untouched forest beyond and suddenly found myself in a maze of beautiful granite houses they were covered with trees and moss and the growth of centuries but in the dense shadow hiding in bamboo thickets and tangled vines could be seen here and there walls of white granite ash lars most carefully cut and exquisitely fitted together buildings with windows were frequent here at least was a place far from town and conspicuous for its windows under a carved rock the little boy showed me a cave beautifully lined with a finest cut stone it was evidently intended to be a royal mausoleum on top of this particular boulder a semicircular building had been constructed the wall followed the natural curvature of the rock and was keyed to it by one of the finest example of masonry I have ever seen this beautiful wall made of carefully matched ash lars of pure white granite especially selected for its fine grain was the work of a master artist the interior surface of the wall was broken by niches and square stone pegs the exterior surface was perfectly simple and unadorned the lower courses of particularly large ash lars gave it a look of solidity the upper courses diminishing in size towards the top lend grace and the legacy to the structure the flowing lines the symmetrical arrangement of the ash lars and the gradual gradation of the courses combined to produce a wonderful effect softer and more pleasing than that of the marble temples of the old world owing to the absence of mortar there are no ugly spaces between the rocks they might have grown together the elusive beauty of this cast and decorated surface seems to me to be due to the fact that the wall was built under the eye of a master mason who knew not of the straight edge the plumb rule or the square he had no instruments of precision so he had to depend on his eye he had a good eye an artistic eye an eye for symmetry and beauty of form his product received none of the harshness of mechanical and mathematical accuracy the apparently rectangular blocks are not really rectangular the apparently straight lines of the courses are not actually straight in the exact sense of that term to my astonishment i saw that this wall and its adjoining semicircular temple over the cave were as fine as the finest stonework in the far-famed temple of the sun in cusco surprise followed surprise in bewildering succession i climbed a marbleous great stairway of large granite blocks walked along a pampa where the indians had a small vegetable garden and came into a little clearing here were the ruins of two of the finest structures i have ever seen in Peru not only were they made of selected blocks of beautifully grained white granite their walls contain ashlars of cyclopean size 10 feet in length and higher than a man the site held me spellbound each building had only three walls and was entirely open on the side toward the clearing the principal temple was lined with exquisitely made niches five high up a decent and seven on the back wall there were seven courses of ashlars in the end walls under the seven rear niches was a rectangular block 14 feet long probably a sacrificial altar the building did not look as though it had ever had a roof the top course of beautifully smooth ashlars was not intended to be covered the other temple is on the east side of the pampa i called it the temple of the three windows like its neighbor it is unique among inca ruins its eastern wall overlooking the citadel is a massive stone framework for three compicously large windows obviously too large to serve any useful purpose yet most beautifully made with the greatest care and solidity this was clearly a ceremonial edifice of peculiar significance nowhere else in Peru so far as i know is there a similar structure on spicius as a masonry wall with three windows these ruins have no other name than that of the mountain of the slopes of which they are located had this place been occupied uninterruptedly like cusco and ojandaitambo much picture would have retained its ancient name but during the centuries when it was abandoned its name was lost examinations show that it was essentially a fortified place a remote fastness protected by natural bulwarks of which men took advantage to create the most impregnable stronghold in the andes our subsequent excavations and a clearing made in 1912 to be described in a subsequent volume has shown this was the chief place in huilca pampa it did not take an expert to realize from the glimpse of machu picchu on that rainy day in july 1911 when sergeant carrasco and i first saw it that here were the most extraordinary and interesting ruins although the rich had been partly cleared by the indians for their fields of mace so much of it was still underneath a thick jungle growth some walls were actually supporting trees 10 and 12 inches in diameter that it was impossible to determine just what would be found here as soon as i could get a hold of mr tucker who was assistant mr henrickson and mr lenius who had gone down the urubamba with dr bowman i asked them to make a map of the ruins i knew it would be a difficult undertaking and that it was essential for mr tucker to join me in a rikipa not later than the first of october for the ascent of koropuna with a hearty aid of richard and alvarez the surveyors did better than i expected in the 10 days while they were at the ruins they were able to secure data from which mr tucker afterwards prepared a map which stole better than could any words of mine the importance of this site and a necessity for further investigation with the possible exception of one mining prospector no one in kusco had seen the ruins of machu picchu or appreciated their importance no one had any realization of what an extraordinary place lay on top of the rich it had never been visited by any of the planters of the lower urubamba valley who annually passed over the road which winds through the canyon 2 000 feet below it seems incredible that this citadel less than three days journey from kusco should have remained so long and described by travelers and comparatively unknown even to the peruvians themselves if the conquistadores ever saw this wonderful place some reference to it surely would have been made yet nothing can be found which clearly refers to the ruins of machu picchu just when it was first seen by a spanish-speaking person is uncertain when the account de sartiges was at watkinia in 1834 he was looking for ruins yet although so near he heard of none here from a crude scroll on the walls of one of the finest buildings we learned that the ruins were visited in 1902 by lisa raga lessee of the hands immediately below the bridge of san miguel this is the earliest local record yet someone must have visited machu picchu long before that because in 1875 as has been said the french explorer charles winner heard in ojantay tambo of there being ruins at wainapicchu or machu picchu he tried to find them that he failed was due to there being no road through the canyon of torontoi and the necessity of making a wide detour through the pass of panticaia and the lucumayo valley a route which brought him to the urubamba river at the bridge of kuchichaka 25 miles below machu picchu it was not until 1890 that the peruvian government recognizing the needs of the enterprise implanters who were opening up the lower valley of the urubamba decided to construct a mule trail along the banks of the river through the grand canyon to enable the much desired coca and a guardiente to be shipped from watkiña maranura and santa an to cusco more quickly and cheaply than formerly this road avoids the necessity of carrying the precious cargos over the dangerous snowy passes of mount baronica and mount salcantay so vividly described by raymondi the sartiches and others the road however was very expensive took years to build and still requires frequent repair in fact even today travel over it is often suspended for several days or weeks at a time following some tremendous avalanche yet it was this new road which had led melchor arteaga to build his hut near the arable land at mandorpampa where he could raise food for his family and offer rough shoulder to passing travelers it was this new road which brought richarte alvarez under enterprise in france into this little no region gave them the opportunity of occupying the ancient terraces of machu picchu which had lain fallow for centuries encouraged them to keep open a passable trail over the precipices and made it feasible for us to reach the ruins it was this new road which offered us in 1911 a virgin field between oyantay tambo and watkiña and enabled us to learn that the incas or their predecessors had once lived here in the remote fastness of the andes and had left stone witnesses of the magnificence and beauty of the ancient civilization more interesting and extensive than any which have been found since the days of the spanish conquest of peru end of chapter 17 of incaland explorations in the highlands of peru by hayran bingen read by ernanivar john gallsworthy a notable englishman by frank harris this is a liprevox recording all liprevox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liprevox.org recording by avahi in march 2020 john gallsworthy a notable englishman john gallsworthy began his literary work at about 30 by writing a novel in the next 10 years he had produced three or four i looked through one of them but didn't think much of it the feeling in it was not profound and a style meager tame in 1906 when he was 40 the man of property appeared and about the same time a play of his the silver box made a sort of hit i read the man of property but it did not change my opinion materially though it showed development gallsworthy had taken the next step and now used an economy of means that be token to mastery of his instrument there was a good deal of talk about him at this time and i gathered that he was a devon man belonged to the so-called upper middle class and was fairly well to do suddenly in 1910 i think it was his play justice struck the nerves and drew the town the piece was well constructed that we had expected and at the same time the morality of our justice was put on trial and our legal punishment shown to be tragic with justice gallsworthy came into the first rank of contemporaries was now someone to know and watch i was not much in london at the time and we didn't meet the other day i heard that he was to lecture in the afternoon at the aeolian hall new york and i went the hall was more than half full an excellent audience gallsworthy came to the platform in ordinary walking clothes went over to the reading desk smoothed out his manuscript and began half to recite half to read his lecture he is about medium height spare of habit and vigorous his head long well shaped his features fairly regular a straight nose high forehead he's almost completely bald and wears glasses his voice is very pleasant clear and strong enough he uses it without much modulation gets his effects rather by pauses than by emphasis has every peculiarity of the writer and not the speaker his essay dealt with the various elements of formative force in our civilization it was interspersed cleverly with stories not invented by the speaker and i caught myself saying again again half in approval how english he is and how pleasant then it struck me that if i could give americans this mental piece of gallsworthy as an englishman of the best class and an excellent specimen to boot it might be interesting do some good at any rate the portrait would be worth doing accordingly at the end of the first hour i began to note what he said or was it that about this time he began to say things that interested me he spoke of bolshevism at some length and very sensibly with infinitely more understanding of course then senators overman walcott and company though without sympathy in the evolution of human society he said a revolt and much more a revolution was in itself a proof of injustice of wrong done probably to the lowest classes and of suffering brought upon the workmen and their families unjustly clearly the lessons taught by carlyle have at length sunk into the english consciousness and tinged all thought not a word that gallsworthy say about outrages of which we have heard so much from our lawmakers who are far too busy to restrain lynchings but a caution against accepting glib statements of the press that were manifestly inaccurate the press mr. gallsworthy insisted should be very careful to tell the truth and the whole truth or its influence might be evil rather than good did he mean to hint that our american papers were more careless of truth than even english papers i think he did and as far as the kept press goes i believe he would have been justified in speaking his mind plainly but now to return to bolshevism it never seemed to occur to mr. gallsworthy that the motive power of revolution might not be so much an uprising against injustice and the resistance of wrong as an attempt to realize a great hope a resolve to shatter the framework of society to bits in order to remold it nearer to the heart's desire but if he had known lenin or trotsky or indeed any of the english labor leaders such as clines or thomas or landsbury he would have known that there is a new ideal abroad in the world and the hearts of men are thrilling with a glorious hope of ending or at least of mending this dreadful competitive society all organized by and for individual greed where the many sheep are the prey of the few wolves and injustice is built up to insane lengths by the principle of inheritance but your well-bred englishman is always an upholder of the established fact always prone to find virtue in whatever exists he would make some man of property some educated sancho panza his hero and the american it now appears would go even further and turn don quixote's idealism into comic relief or even confined a noble don himself in some lunatic asylum or jail gallsworthy went on to speak of the league of nations as another influence for good in our civilization and here i confess anglicism surprised me he declared very contemptuously that the league of nations in his opinion was a lost dog safe in so far as it was founded on anglo-american unity i simply gasped at this way of ensuring a world peace and his english conception of democracy was just a little one-sided a democracy he said like every other system of government is there to pick out the best men and give them the greatest amount of power in fact a democracy is there simply to affirm the true spirit of aristocracy it was plain that in spite of clear-cut phrases and the epigrammatic endings of not a few of his paragraphs mr. gallsworthy was steadily losing his hold of his audience the most english-loving americans would hardly agree with this definition of democracy and perhaps mr. gallsworthy felt this for his peroration was evidently designed as a sob to american feeling with much earnestness and mr. gallsworthy is able to convey a great sense of seriousness and sincerity in his quiet way he declared that the most perfect man the greatest civilizing influence in four centuries was george washington not owen or furie or marx not goatee or linkel or carlyle no washington and that was the end a day or two afterwards i had a talk with gallsworthy in his hotel seen close to his face becomes more interesting the serious blue eyes can laugh the lips are large and well cut promising a good deal of feeling but the characteristic expression of the face is seriousness and sincerity i began by praising his insistence that a democracy as a method of government must be judged by its success in producing the best men still that is not all the truth is it i queried surely the sense that the race is an open one and that we all have had a chance in it makes defeat easier to bear than when some person is put above us simply because he is the son of his father mr. gallsworthy shrugged his shoulders it seemed immaterial to him don't you feel i went on that while there is a little greater love of freedom perhaps in england than in america there is a certain sense of equality here that is unknown and unappreciated in great britain he looked at me as if he hardly understood i merely mean i went on that the ordinary man in america is able if he gets an opportunity to speak to a governor or senator or the president and shake hands with him on an equal footing whereas in england he would find that impossible with any person in authority in fact even the distance of mr. Lloyd george let us say to lord landstown is a very long one indeed well perhaps said gallsworthy designers of being fair-minded but unpersuaded i broke no ground your praise of george washington absolutely took our breath away a good many americans think lincoln a far greater man and i am afraid i share that view how on earth did you get the idea of george washington's greatness he did such great things said gallsworthy and he remained so eminently well balanced so sane i could not help smiling the english ideal of balance and sanity to be the measuring stick of humanity i'm just reading of tom pain i said i cannot help thinking him a far bigger man than washington perhaps it would do me good to write a eulogy of washington and you a panageric of pain and we laughed the talk wandered off to ireland and egypt and mesopotamia gallsworthy said that an american had told him that the poor people had never been so well off in mesopotamia as since the english had come there he thought that the falakheen in egypt had never been so prosperous as under british rule but he was too fair-minded and truth-loving to delude himself with the same argument in regard to ireland he evidently believed that the failure of british rule in ireland was an economic failure he did not attempt to shut his eyes to the fact that the population of ireland under british rule has shrunk from over eight millions to under four in less than a century still an ireish republic seemed to him extravagant almost absurd he wanted to know why the ireish demands have increased why the ireish wanted home rule 30 years ago while today they want an ireish republic i laughed i might say that it was a result of further experience of british rule i replied but i do not think that i think the difficulty is a little the egyptian difficulty 40 or 50 years ago the priests of ireland used to be educated on the continent at saint omer in france now they are all educated at manus and are merely educated ireish peasants formally they had a cosmopolitan training which inclined them to tolerance of english ways of thought and feeling now it is different they are pure ireish again mr. goldsworthy's serious eyes brooded i wonder why you don't agree with my view of a league of nations he said it seems to me so plain that the peace of the world can only be kept by an anglo-american alliance what heresy i cried i think that such a league would sooner or later provoke a counter league of russia and germany and perhaps japan and result in another world war i don't believe that russia japan and germany will ever accept british supremacy of the seas now that they have found out how vital it is to success in war do you think that russia with 180 million of people a country three times the size of the united states and with almost double the population will sit down for say a century to come in a position of absolute inferiority to england and america and accept their alien domination the whole idea to me is insane like a great many others i dreamed of another league of nations i believed that mr wilson would call the representatives of germany and russia to the peace table and that he would begin by saying that here there was no conquered and no conqueror that now the germans and russians had got rid of their autocratic governments the time had come to treat them as friends and equals and settle everything equally and justly generously even linkeln would have done this now austria is dismembered and starving germany maimed and mutilated russia attacked north south east and west by her own allies while the conquerors squabble and fight over the spoils the light died out of gold's worthies eyes we must agree to defer he said dryly the talk drifted to books and writers and quite honestly i praised his justice confessing that i preferred it to the man of property which seemed to surprise him there is infinitely more feeling in it i said a passionate appeal to a higher justice than is to be found in english law what a rebel you are he exclaimed what are you now going to tell us about america i know so little he replied i have been here only three months and i was here before in 1912 it is so hard to learn anything about it it seems to be without marked features how can an artist picture it yet oh henry did i said yes he admitted at once yes very interesting work his very vital and david graham philips i went on have you read him no he replied no i think i have read one book of his it didn't make much impression on me yet he is almost of balzac's class i ventured really he cried in wonder really you surprise me i must read him what are his best books i'll send some to you i replied that would be kind of you he said and then what do you think of mace field i admire some of his work so much i think him overrated i replied just as i think the war poets altogether overestimated did you like nan he insisted not particularly i replied did you meet mace field when he was in new york no i had no wish to meet him you know if you hadn't written just this i probably shouldn't be here today i look on just this as a great play i put it with haupmann's divaiba i am grateful to you for it go on in that vein what are you doing now another novel he said ah i said i have always thought a new novel meant a new love affair a new passion oh no he replied surely one love can furnish forth a good many books and so we parted almost without meeting to gallsworthy democracy is a mere word and the league of nations nothing more than an anglo-american alliance and russian bolshevism the symptomatic rash of a social disease to some of us on the other hand the peace conference has been a heartbreaking disappointment democracy has in it the sacred kernel of the brotherhood of man and the bolshevik republic is the greatest and most unselfish attempt ever made to bring justice into life gallsworthy's anglicism must not be taken to be the best even in england he is handicapped by his social advantages the other day i read a speech of robert smiley the labor leader of the english miners who has reached a higher height than any of the so-called educated english at a recent meeting he said the german and austrian people are not to be blamed for the war all children are our children whether they live in england france or germany if it was wrong for the germans to come over here to kill men women and little babies with their hellish machines of war was it not also wrong that we should use the power we have to starve the german women and children the heart of england is not in the educated classes but gallsworthy is still growing his new book five tales scribner's forces me to amend the above judgment which i do gladly as i have said already i am not an admirer of his stories and at first this book struck me like the rest the first story in it called the first and the last seemed to me a failure none of the personages in it except the lawyer brother was realized at all and he not realized deeply 75 pages that you forget at once the next story a stoic a sort of tale of the city and company promotion and the inherent thefts of the strong man from the week is better done the atmosphere and surroundings are perfectly caught the ability of the old commercial buccaneer excellently rendered the man's love of power and riches his love too of a good dinner and a good drink all splendidly realized but the whole thing soared it grimy not lifting to the sunlight by any passion or any hope 200 pages of stuff for the intelligence very little for the heart nothing for the soul almost daunted i began the next story the apple tree and very soon i became enchanted lost in a real love story a love story most beautifully told the atmosphere and surroundings perfectly rendered a great landscape the english country in spring magically represented spring was a revelation to him this year in a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink white buds of some backward peach tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the deep blue sky or the trunks and limbs of the few scotch furs tawny in violet light or again on the moor the gale bent larches in their young green above the rusty black underbows or he would lie on the banks gazing at the clusters of dog violets or up in the dead bracken fingering the pink transparent buds of the dewberry while the cuckoo's cold and yapples laughed or a lark from very high dripped its beads of song it was certainly different from any spring he had ever known for spring was within him not without how fine that is the lark dripped its beads of song and the love story itself the passion of it and the abandonment more perfectly rendered still i do not think there are many pages in english of finer quality than this i am going to quote the only one i remember is in richard feverell and this is worthy to be remembered beside that most magnificent love ideal he caught hold of her hands but she shrank back till her passionate little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of the apple blossom assurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put his lips to it he felt how chivalrous he was and superior to that claude joe just brushing that small rough hand with his mouth her shrinking ceased suddenly she seemed to tremble towards him a sweet warmth overtook assurst from top to toe this slim maiden so simple and fine and pretty was pleased then at the touch of his lips and yielding to a swift impulse he put his arms round her pressed her to him and kissed her forehead then he was frightened she went so pale closing her eyes so that the long dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks her hands too lay inert at her sides the touch of her breast sent a quiver through him megan he sighed out and let her go in the utter silence a blackbird shouted then the girl seized his hand put it to her cheek her heart her lips kissed it passionately and fled away among the mossy trunks of the apple trees till they hid her from him the dreadful tragedy of preferring a commonplace girl to a lyric love is brought out it is true but not realized so successfully megan the little welsh girl who died of love with beauty printed on her is simply unforgettable just the last words of the story are shocking it ought to have ended with asshursts repeating his wife's something's wanting by yes something's wanting but the putting his lips solemnly to his wife's forehead should be cut out in another edition we are not interested in the wife there are other stories in the book i do not remember them i have read this one half a dozen times already and it lives with me as part of the furniture of my mind so long as this machine shall last it is better than justice it is one of the short stories of the world having written this goldsworthy may do anything may yet write a masterpiece will write one i'd say were he not an englishman in the realm of the spirit that today is a heavy handicap end of don goldsworthy a notable englishman by frank harris