I REMEMBER I REMEMBER
THE MELANCHOLY THAT WINTER GIVE
THE SOFT SNOWS OF NOVEMBER
AND SORROWS THAT CHOOSE TO LIVE
THE HARD MEN CUT TO DUST
AND YOUNG ONES DEAD IN IS PRIME
AND OLD EMPIRES GOING TO RUST
IN THIS ISLAMIC WINTER OF CRIME
Παρασκευή 27 Νοεμβρίου 2015
Κυριακή 15 Νοεμβρίου 2015
W'en you see a man in woe, Walk right up and say "hullo!" Say "hullo," an' "how d'ye do!" "How's the world a usin' you?" Slap the fellow on his back, Bring your han' down with a whack; Waltz right up, an' don't go slow, Grin an' shake an' say "hullo!" Is he clothed in rags? O sho! Walk right up an' say "hullo!" Rags is but a cotton roll Jest for wrappin' up a soul; An' a soul is worth a true Hale an' hearty "how d'ye do!" Don't wait for the crowd to go, Walk right up an' say "hullo!" W'en big vessels meet, they say, They saloot an' sail away. Jest the same are you an' me, Lonesome ships upon a sea; Each one sailing his own jog For a port beyond the fog. Let your speakin' trumpet blow, [Pg 1707]Lift your horn an' cry "hullo!" Say "hullo," an' "how d'ye do!" Other folks are good as you. W'en you leave your house of clay, Wanderin' in the Far-Away, W'en you travel through the strange Country t'other side the range, Then the souls you've cheered will know Who you be, an' say "hullo!"
A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT
BY JOHN G. SAXE
'Tis twenty years, and something more,
Since, all athirst for useful knowledge,
I took some draughts of classic lore,
Drawn very mild, at ——rd College;
Yet I remember all that one
Could wish to hold in recollection;
The boys, the joys, the noise, the fun;
But not a single Conic Section.
I recollect those harsh affairs,
The morning bells that gave us panics;
I recollect the formal prayers,
That seemed like lessons in Mechanics;
I recollect the drowsy way
In which the students listened to them,
As clearly, in my wig, to-day,
As when, a boy, I slumbered through them.
I recollect the tutors all
As freshly now, if I may say so,
As any chapter I recall
In Homer or Ovidius Naso.
I recollect, extremely well,
"Old Hugh," the mildest of fanatics;
I well remember Matthew Bell,[Pg 1704]But very faintly, Mathematics.
I recollect the prizes paid
For lessons fathomed to the bottom;
(Alas that pencil-marks should fade!)
I recollect the chaps who got 'em,—
The light equestrians who soared
O'er every passage reckoned stony;
And took the chalks,—but never scored
A single honor to the pony!
Ah me! what changes Time has wrought,
And how predictions have miscarried!
A few have reached the goal they sought,
And some are dead, and some are married!
And some in city journals war;
And some as politicians bicker;
And some are pleading at the bar—
For jury-verdicts, or for liquor!
And some on Trade and Commerce wait;
And some in schools with dunces battle;
And some the Gospel propagate;
And some the choicest breeds of cattle;
And some are living at their ease;
And some were wrecked in "the revulsion;"
Some served the State for handsome fees,
And one, I hear, upon compulsion!
Lamont, who, in his college days,
Thought e'en a cross a moral scandal,
Has left his Puritanic ways,
And worships now with bell and candle;
And Mann, who mourned the negro's fate,
And held the slave as most unlucky,
Now holds him, at the market rate,[Pg 1705]On a plantation in Kentucky!
Tom Knox—who swore in such a tone
It fairly might be doubted whether
It really was himself alone,
Or Knox and Erebus together—
Has grown a very altered man,
And, changing oaths for mild entreaty,
Now recommends the Christian plan
To savages in Otaheite!
Alas for young ambition's vow!
How envious Fate may overthrow it!—
Poor Harvey is in Congress now,
Who struggled long to be a poet;
Smith carves (quite well) memorial stones,
Who tried in vain to make the law go;
Hall deals in hides; and "Pious Jones"
Is dealing faro in Chicago!
And, sadder still, the brilliant Hays,
Once honest, manly, and ambitious,
Has taken latterly to ways
Extremely profligate and vicious;
By slow degrees—I can't tell how—
He's reached at last the very groundsel,
And in New York he figures now,
A member of the Common Council!
[Pg 1706]
Since, all athirst for useful knowledge,
I took some draughts of classic lore,
Drawn very mild, at ——rd College;
Yet I remember all that one
Could wish to hold in recollection;
The boys, the joys, the noise, the fun;
But not a single Conic Section.
I recollect those harsh affairs,
The morning bells that gave us panics;
I recollect the formal prayers,
That seemed like lessons in Mechanics;
I recollect the drowsy way
In which the students listened to them,
As clearly, in my wig, to-day,
As when, a boy, I slumbered through them.
I recollect the tutors all
As freshly now, if I may say so,
As any chapter I recall
In Homer or Ovidius Naso.
I recollect, extremely well,
"Old Hugh," the mildest of fanatics;
I well remember Matthew Bell,[Pg 1704]But very faintly, Mathematics.
I recollect the prizes paid
For lessons fathomed to the bottom;
(Alas that pencil-marks should fade!)
I recollect the chaps who got 'em,—
The light equestrians who soared
O'er every passage reckoned stony;
And took the chalks,—but never scored
A single honor to the pony!
Ah me! what changes Time has wrought,
And how predictions have miscarried!
A few have reached the goal they sought,
And some are dead, and some are married!
And some in city journals war;
And some as politicians bicker;
And some are pleading at the bar—
For jury-verdicts, or for liquor!
And some on Trade and Commerce wait;
And some in schools with dunces battle;
And some the Gospel propagate;
And some the choicest breeds of cattle;
And some are living at their ease;
And some were wrecked in "the revulsion;"
Some served the State for handsome fees,
And one, I hear, upon compulsion!
Lamont, who, in his college days,
Thought e'en a cross a moral scandal,
Has left his Puritanic ways,
And worships now with bell and candle;
And Mann, who mourned the negro's fate,
And held the slave as most unlucky,
Now holds him, at the market rate,[Pg 1705]On a plantation in Kentucky!
Tom Knox—who swore in such a tone
It fairly might be doubted whether
It really was himself alone,
Or Knox and Erebus together—
Has grown a very altered man,
And, changing oaths for mild entreaty,
Now recommends the Christian plan
To savages in Otaheite!
Alas for young ambition's vow!
How envious Fate may overthrow it!—
Poor Harvey is in Congress now,
Who struggled long to be a poet;
Smith carves (quite well) memorial stones,
Who tried in vain to make the law go;
Hall deals in hides; and "Pious Jones"
Is dealing faro in Chicago!
And, sadder still, the brilliant Hays,
Once honest, manly, and ambitious,
Has taken latterly to ways
Extremely profligate and vicious;
By slow degrees—I can't tell how—
He's reached at last the very groundsel,
And in New York he figures now,
A member of the Common Council!
[Pg 1706]
Σάββατο 10 Οκτωβρίου 2015
Unconscious plagiarism explained MANY GEORGE BUSH AND STALINIAN MANIAS...SINCE Zarathustra example Glossolalia Helen Smith's Martian language The names in Ivenes' mystic System show rudimentary glossolalia The Cryptomncsic picture may enter consciousness as an hallucination Or arrive at consciousness by motor automatism By automatisms regions formerly sealed are made accessible Hypermnesia Thought- reading a prototype for extraordinary intuitive knowledge of som- nambulists and some normal persons Association-concordance Possibility that concept and feeling are not always clearly separated SOARES UND COSTA MENTALITY must be regarded as extraordinary.Effect of parental POLITICAL discord on APRIL children SYNDROME Unconscious tendency to repetition of parental mistakes Case of pathological association-concordance between mother OF ALL SOCIALISMUS and daughter PARTIES Neurosis, a counter-argument against the personality with which the patient is most nearly concerned How to free the individual from unconscious attachments to the milieu
- large groups of intellectual and
emotional deficiency, there remain those deficiencies coloured
pre-eminently by hysteria or epilepsy (epileptoid) or neuras-
thenia, which are not notably deficiency of the intellect or of
feeling. It is pre-eminently in this region, insusceptible of
any absolute classification, that the above-named conditions
play their part. As is well known, they can appear as part
manifestations of a typical epilepsy or hysteria, or can exist
separately in the realm of psychopathic mental deficiency,
where their qualifications of epileptic or hysterical are often
due to the non-essential accessory features. It is thus the
rule to count somnambulism among hysterical diseases,
because it is occasionally a phenomenon of severe hysteria,
or because mild so-called hysterical symptoms may accompany it.
- Donald Rael Strumpf IT'S MEXIOLÂNICA JUNGIANA
Τρίτη 1 Σεπτεμβρίου 2015
From a tumbledown coach house had issued an enormous wolf-hound which was now almost upon then, eyes flaming, fangs gleaming horribly. So unexpected was the attack that both men stood rooted in their tracks. The next moment the charging brute was upon them, and had bowled Handlon 356 off his equilibrium as if he were a child. The unfortunate photographer made a desperate attempt to prevent injury to his precious camera, which he had but a moment earlier succeeded in retrieving, and in doing so fell rather violently to the ground. Every moment he expected to feel the powerful jaws crunch his throat, and he made no effort to rise. For several seconds he remained thus, until he could endure the suspense no longer. He glanced around only to see Perry, staring open-mouthed at the animal which had so frightened them. Apparently it had forgotten the presence of the two men. Handlon regained his feet rather awkwardly, the while keeping a watchful eye on the beast, of whose uncertain temper he was by now fully aware. In an undertone he addressed his companion. “What do you make of it?” he wanted to know. “Did the critter bite you?” “No. That’s the queer part of it. Neither did he bite you, if you were to think it over a minute. Just put his nose down and rammed you, head on.” The photographer was flabbergasted. Involuntarily his gaze stole again in the direction of the offending brute. “What on earth––” he began. “Is he sharpening his teeth on a rock preparatory to another attack upon us? Or––What the deuce is he doing?” “If you ask me,” came astonishingly from the watchful Perry, “he’s eating grass, which is my idea of something damn foolish for a perfectly normal hound, genus lupo, to be––Look out!” The animal, as if suddenly remembering the presence of the men, suddenly charged at them again, head down, eyes blazing. As before, it made no effort to bite. Though both men were somewhat disconcerted by the great brute they held their ground, and when it presented the opportunity the older reporter planted a terrific kick to the flank which sent the animal whimpering back to its shed behind. “Score one,” breathed Handlon. “If we––” At a sudden grating sound overhead, he stopped. Both turned to face the threatening muzzle of an ancient blunderbuss. Behind it was an irate countenance, nearly covered by an unclipped beard of a dirty gray color. In the eyes now glaring at them malevolently through heavily concaved spectacles they read hate unutterable. The barrel of the blunderbuss swung slightly as it covered alternately one and the other. Both sensed that the finger even now tightening on the trigger would not hesitate unduly. Being more or less hardened to rebuffs of all kinds in the pursuance of their calling, the reporters did not hesitate in stating their purpose. “What?” yelled the old man. “You dare to invade my grounds and disturb me at my labors for such a reason? Reporters! My scientific research work is not for publicity, sirs; and futhermore I want it understood that I am not to be dragged from my laboratory again for the purpose of entertaining you or any others of your ilk. Get away!” Without further ado the window was slammed down, a shutter closed on the inside, and once more the silence of the dead descended upon the spot. The two men grinned ruefully at each other, Handlon finally breaking the stillness. “My idea of the world’s original one-sided conversation. We simply didn’t talk––and yet we’re supposed to be reporters. You’ve got to hand it to the Proff, Horace, for the beautiful rock-crusher he just handed us.” “You didn’t think we had anything easy, did you?” said Perry irritably. “He’ll change his tune presently, when––” Handlon’s jaw dropped. “You don’t mean you’re going to take any more chances! Would you rouse him again after the way he treated us 357 with that gun? Besides, the train....” Perry bent a scathing glance at his companion. “What on earth has the train to do with our getting the Professor’s confession of crime or whatever he has to offer? You evidently don’t know Bland––much. I deduce that a lot of my sweetness has been wasted on the desert air. Once more, let me assure you that if you propose to go back without the Proff’s mug on one of those plates you might as well mail your resignation from here. Get me?” The other wilted. “I wonder,” Perry ruminated as he stared in the direction of the shed wherein the canine monstrosity had disappeared. “Do you suppose that you can get a snap of the old boy’s mug if I can get him to the window again? If you can do that, just leave the rest to me. I’ve handled these crusty birds before. What say?” “Go as far as you like.” The photographer was once more grinning as he unslung his camera and carefully adjusted a plate in place. Everything at last to his satisfaction he gripped flash pan and bulb. “I’m going to make some racket now,” announced Perry grimly. “If Kell shows up, work fast. He may shoot at you, but don’t get excited. It’s almost dark, so his aim might be poor.” At this suggestion his companion showed signs of panic, but the other affected not to notice this. There came a deafening hullaballoo as Perry beat a terrific tattoo on the ancient door. Followed a deep silence, while Perry leaped back to stand in front of Skip and his camera. After perhaps a full minute’s wait he once more opened up his bombardment, to jump quickly back to the camera as before. This time he had better success. The window was again opened and the muzzle of the blunderbuss put in its appearance. Handlon stood close behind Perry as he silently swung the camera into a more favorable position for action. The face at the window was purple with wrath. “You damned pests! Leave my grounds at once or I shall call my hound and set him upon you. And when––” Crack! Flash! Click! Perry had made a sudden sidewise movement as Handlon went into action. “Much obliged, Professor,” said Perry politely. “Your pose with that old cannon is going to be very effective from the front page. The write-up will doubtless be interesting too. Probably the story won’t be quite so accurate as it would be had you told it to us yourself; but we shall get as many of the details from the natives hereabouts as we can. Good-day to you, sir!” Motioning to the other he turned on his heel and started down the driveway. It was an old trick, and for a long moment of suspense he almost feared that it would fail. Another moment–– “Wait!” The quavering voice of the irascible old villain had lost some of its malice. “Come back here a minute.” With simulated reluctance the two slowly retraced their steps. “Is there something else, sir?” “Perhaps....” The old man hesitated, as if pondering upon his words. “Perhaps if you care to step in I can be of assistance to you after all. It occurs to me that possibly I have been too abrupt with you.” “I am very glad that you have decided to cooperate with us, Professor Kell,” answered the reporter heartily, as they ascended the steps. The old man’s head disappeared from the window and shortly the sound of footsteps inside told of his approach. Finally the oaken door swung open, and they were silently ushered into the musty smelling hallway. Though outwardly accepting the Professor’s suddenly pacific attitude, Perry made up his mind to be on his guard. 358 As they entered what had evidently been the parlor in bygone days, an oppressive, heavy odor smote their nostrils, telling of age-old carpets and of draperies allowed to decay unnoticed. On the walls hung several antique prints, a poorly executed crayon portrait of a person doubtless an ancestor of the present Kell, and one or two paintings done in oil, now badly cracked and stained. Everything gave the impression of an era long since departed, and the two men felt vaguely out of place. Their host led them to a pair of dilapidated chairs, which they accepted gratefully. The ride to Keegan after a hard day’s work had not tended to improve their spirits. “Now to business.” Perry went straight to the point, desiring to get the interview over as soon as possible. “We have heard indirectly of various happenings in this vicinity which many think have some connection with your scientific experiments. Any statement you may care to make to us in regard to these happenings will be greatly appreciated by my paper. Inasmuch as what little has already been printed is probably of an erroneous nature, we believe it will be in your own best interest to give us as complete data as possible.” Here he became slightly histrionic. “Of course we do not allow ourselves to take the stories told by the local inhabitants too literally, as such persons are too liable to exaggerate, but we must assume that some of these stories have partial basis in fact. Any information relative to your scientific work, incidentally, will make good copy for us also.” Perry gazed steadily at the patriarch as he spoke. For a moment, a crafty expression passed over the old man’s face, but as suddenly it disappeared. Evidently he had arrived at a decision. “Come with me,” he wheezed. The two newspaper men exchanged swift glances, the same thought in the mind of each. Were they about to be led into a trap? If the old man’s shady reputation was at all deserved they would do well to be wary. Perry thought swiftly of the clippings he had read and of what gossip he had heard, then glanced once more in the direction of Handlon. That worthy was smiling meaningly and had already arisen to follow the Professor. Reluctantly Perry got to his feet and the three proceeded to climb a rickety stairway to the third floor. The guide turned at the head of the stairs and entered a long dark corridor. Here the floor was covered with a thick carpet which, as they trod upon it, gave forth not the slightest sound. The hall gave upon several rooms, all dark and gloomy and giving the same dismal impression of long disuse. How could the savant endure such a depressing abode! The accumulation of dust and cobwebs in these long forgotten chambers, the general evidence of decay––all told of possible horrors ahead. They became wary. But they were not wary enough! The uncouth figure ahead of them had stopped and was fumbling with the lock of an ancient door. Instinctively Perry noted that it was of great thickness and of heavy oak. Now the Professor had it open and was motioning for them to enter. Handlon started forward eagerly, but hurriedly drew back as he felt the grip of the other reporter’s hand on his arm. “Get back, you fool!” The words were hissed into the ear of the incautious one. Then, to the Professor, Perry observed: “If you have no objection we would prefer that you precede us.” A look of insane fury leaped to the face of the old man, lingered but an instant and was gone. Though the expression was but momentary, both men had seen, and seeing had realized their danger. They followed him into the chamber, which was soon illumined fitfully by a smoky kerosene lamp. Both 359 took a rapid survey of the place. Conceivably it might have been the scene of scientific experiments, but its aspect surely belied such a supposition. The average imagination would instantly pronounce it the abode of a maniac, or the lair of an alchemist. Again, that it might be the laboratory of an extremely slovenly veterinary was suggested by the several filthy cages to be seen resting against the wall. All of these were unoccupied except one in a dark corner, from which issued a sound of contented purring, evidently telling of some well-satisfied cat. The air was close and foul, being heavy with the odor of musty, decaying drugs. In every possible niche and cranny the omnipresent dust had settled in a uniform sheen of gray which showed but few signs of recent disturbance. “Here, gentlemen,” their host was saying, “is where I carry on my work. It is rather gloomy here after dark, but then I do not spend much time here during the night. I have decided to acquaint you with some of the details of one or two of my experiments. Doubtless you will find them interesting.” While speaking he had, mechanically it seemed, reached for a glass humidor in which were perhaps a dozen cigars. Silently he selected one and extended the rest to the two visitors. After all three had puffed for a moment at the weeds, the old man began to talk, rapidly it seemed to them. Perry from time to time took notes, as the old man proceeded, an expression of utter amazement gradually overspreading his face. Handlon pulled away contentedly at his cigar, and on his features there grew an almost ludicrous expression of well-being. Was the simple photographer so completely at ease that he had at length forsaken all thought of possible danger? As Professor Kell talked on he seemed to warm to his subject. At the end of five minutes he began uncovering a peculiar apparatus which had rested beneath the massive old table before which they were sitting. The two men caught the flash of light on glass, and a jumble of coiled wires became visible. Was the air in the laboratory getting unbearably close? Or was the queer leaden feeling that had taken possession of Perry’s lungs but an indication of his overpowering weariness? He felt a steadily increasing irritation, as if for some strange reason he suddenly resented the words of their host, which seemed to be pouring out in an endless stream. The cigar had, paradoxically, an oddly soothing quality, and he puffed away in silence. Why had the room suddenly taken on so hazy an aspect? Why did Handlon grin in that idiotic manner? And the Professor ... he was getting farther and farther away ... that perfecto ... or was it an El Cabbajo? What was the old archfiend doing to him anyhow?... Why was he laughing and leering at them so horribly?... Confound it all ... that cigar ... where was it?... Just one more puff.... Blindly he groped for the missing weed, becoming aware of a cackle of amusement nearby. Professor Kell was standing near the spot where he had fallen and now began prodding him contemptuously with his toe. “Fools!” he was saying. “You thought to interfere with my program. But you are in my power and you have no hope of escape. I am unexpectedly provided with more subjects for my experiments. You will....” His words became hazy and unintelligible, for the hapless reporter was drifting off into a numb oblivion. He had long since lost the power to move a muscle. Out of the corner of an eye, just before he lost consciousness altogether, he perceived Handlon lying upon the floor still puffing at the fateful drugged cigar. 360 Eons passed. To the reporter came a vision of a throbbing, glaring inferno, wherein he was shaken and tossed by terrific forces. His very vital essence seemed to respond to a mighty vibration. Now he was but a part of some terrific chaos. Dimly he became aware of another being with whom he must contend. Now he was in a death struggle, and to his horror he found himself being slowly but surely overpowered. A demoniac grin played upon the features of the other as he forced the reporter to his knees. It was Handlon.... Once more he was sinking into soft oblivion, the while a horrid miasma assailed his nostrils. He was nothing.... Slowly, and with infinite effort, Perry felt himself returning to consciousness, though he had no clear conception of his surroundings. His brain was as yet but a whirling vortex of confused sounds, colors and––yes, odors. A temporary rift came in the mental cloud which fettered his faculties, and things began to take definite shape. He became aware that he was lying upon his back at some elevation from the floor. Again the cloudy incubus closed in and he knew no more. When he finally recovered the use of his faculties it was to discover himself the possessor of a violent headache. The pain came in such fearsome throbs that it was well nigh unendurable. The lamp still sputtered dimly where the professor had left it. At the moment it was on the point of going out altogether. The reporter noticed this, and over him stole a sense of panic. What if the light should fail altogether, leaving him lying in the dark in this frightful place! Still dizzy and sick, he managed to rise upon his elbows enough to complete a survey of the room. He was still in the laboratory of Professor Kell, but that worthy had disappeared. Of Handlon there was no sign. The mysterious apparatus, of which he now had but a vague remembrance, also had vanished. His thoughts became confused again, and wearily he passed a hand over his brow in the effort to collect all of his faculties. The lamp began to sputter, arousing him to action. Desperately he fought against the benumbing sensation that was even again stealing over him. Gradually he gained the ascendancy. He struggled dizzily to his feet and took a few tentative steps. Where was Handlon? He decided his friend had probably recovered from the drug first and was gone, possibly to get a doctor for him, Perry. However, he must make some search to determine if Skip had really left the premises. As he walked through the open door the lamp in his hand gave a last despairing flicker and went out. From there he was forced to grope his way down the dark hall to the stairs. Just how he reached the lower floor he was never able to remember, for as yet all the effect of the powerful drug had not worn off. He had a dim recollection of being thankful to the ancestor of Kell who had provided such thick carpets in these halls. Thanks to them his footsteps had been noiseless, at any rate. What was Kell’s real object in giving them those drugged cigars? he wondered. How long had they been under the influence of the lethal stuff? Surely several hours. Upon glancing through a hall window he found that outside was the blackness of midnight. Cautiously he explored the desolate chambers on the ground floor: the kitchen––where it could be plainly seen that cooking of a sort had been done––the barn, and woodshed. Not a living thing could he find, not even the huge wolf-hound which had attacked them in so strange a manner that afternoon. By now he was quite frankly worried on Handlon’s account. At that moment, could he have known the actual fate that had overtaken his companion, it is quite probable he would 361 have gone mad. He stumbled back and into the dark front hall, shouting his friend’s name. The response was a hollow echo, and once or twice he thought he heard the ghost of a mocking chuckle. At length he gave up the search and started for the door, intent now only upon flight from the accursed place. He would report the whole thing to the office and let Bland do what he pleased about it. Doubtless Handlon had already left. Then he stumbled over Handlon’s camera. Evidently the Professor had neglected to take possession of it. That must be rescued, at all costs. He picked it up and felt the exposed plate still inside. He started again for the door. What little light there was faded out and he felt stealing over him a horrid sensation of weakness. Again came a period of agony during which he felt the grip of unseen forces. Once more it seemed that he was engaged in mortal strife with Skip Handlon. Malevolently Handlon glared at him as he endeavored with all his strength to overcome Perry. This time, however, the latter seemed to have more strength and resisted the attack for what must have been hours. Finally the other drew away baffled. At this the mental incubus surrounding Perry’s faculties broke. Dimly he became aware of a grinding noise nearby and a constant lurching of his body. At length his vision cleared sufficiently to enable him to discover the cause of the peculiar sensations. He was in a railroad coach! He took a rapid glance around and noted a drummer sitting in the seat across the aisle, staring curiously at him. With an effort Perry assumed an inscrutable expression and determined to stare the other out of countenance. Reluctantly the man glanced away, and after a moment, under Perry’s stony gaze, he suddenly arose and chose a new seat in front of the car. Perry took to the solace of a cigarette and stared out at the flying telegraph poles. From time to time he noted familiar landmarks. The train had evidently left Keegan far behind and was already nearly into the home town. For the balance of the ride the reporter experienced pure nightmare. The peculiar sensations of dizziness, accompanied by frightful periods of insensibility, kept recurring, now, however, not lasting more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time. At such times as he was conscious he found opportunity to wonder in an abstracted sort of way how he had ever managed to get on the train and pay his fare, which must have been a cash one, without arousing the conductor’s suspicions. Discovery of a rebate in his pocket proved that he must have done so, however. The business of leaving the train and getting to the office has always been an unknown chapter in Perry’s life. He came out of one of his mental fogs to find himself seated in the private editorial sanctum of the Journal. Evidently he had just arrived. Bland, a thick-set man with the jaw of a bulldog, was eyeing him intently. “Well! Any report to make?” The question was crisp. The reporter passed a hand across his perspiring forehead. “Yes, I guess so. I––er––that is––you see––” “Where’s Handlon? What happened to you? You act as if you were drunk.” Bland was not in an amiable mood. “Search me,” Perry managed to respond. “If Skip isn’t here old man Kell must have done for him. I came back alone.” “You wha-a-t?” the irate editor fairly roared, half rising from his chair. “Tell me exactly what happened and get ready to go back there on the next train. Or––no, on second thoughts you’d better go to bed. You look all used up. Handlon may be dead or dying at this minute. That Kell could do anything.” He pressed the button on his desk. “Johnny,” he said to the office boy, 362 “get O’Hara in here on the double quick and tell him to bring along his hat and coat.”
The heavy rain had of course
effectually obliterated all wheel tracks.
Another clipping was fairly lengthy, but Perry glanced only at the headlines:
It must be said that for once the star reporter was not overly enthusiastic with the assignment. Certain rumors aside from the clippings in his hand had produced in his mind a feeling of uneasiness. So far as his personal preference was concerned he would have been well satisfied if some cub reporter had been given the job. Try as he would, however, he could offer no tangible reason for the sudden wariness.
He was aroused from his absorption by his companion.
“Thought I smelled smoke a while 354 back, and I was right. That’s the house up in the edge of the pines. Deep grounds in front and all gone to seed; fits the description exactly. Thank Heaven we struck off from the station in the right direction. This stroll has been long enough. Come out of it and let’s get this job finished.”
Suiting the action to the words Handlon started off at a brisk pace down the hill, followed at a more moderate rate by Perry. At length they came within full sight of the grounds. Extending for a considerable distance before them and enclosing a large tract of land now well covered with lush grass, was a formidable looking wall. In former days a glorious mantle of ivy had covered the rough stones; but now there was little left, and what there was looked pitifully decrepit. They continued their progress along this barrier, finally coming upon a huge iron gate now much the worse for rust. It stood wide open
To the westward could be perceived a dull, red glow, which, even as they watched with fascinated eyes, developed into an intense glare. Gradually the fading stars became eclipsed in the greater glory.
Three cars, motors throbbing as if eager to be gone, stood a space apart on the main road. The car behind O’Hara’s was the Manion machine, now occupied by Bland and Riley. The remaining one was a touring car and contained the balance of the party. Perry was at the wheel, and beside him sat the Handlon-Kell-Saunders combination.
“Thus passes a den of horror,” whispered Jimmie to his companion.
“It is the funeral pyre of my father,” the girl answered simply. She had long since recovered from her initial outburst of grief at her loss, and now watched the progress of the conflagration dry-eyed. At length Jimmie slipped an arm protectingly about the trembling shoulders.
“You have seen enough,” he said. As the three cars raced from the scene of the holocaust, faint streamers in the east told of the rising orb of day.
“Good-by, Keegan, forever,” murmured Norma.
“Amen,” O’Hara devoutedly agreed.
.
Another clipping was fairly lengthy, but Perry glanced only at the headlines:
Still another appeared to be an excerpt from an article in an agricultural paper. It read:KELL STILL CARRYING ON HIS STRANGE EXPERIMENTSHas Long Been Known to Have Fantastic Theories. Refuses to Divulge Exact Methods Employed, or Nature of Results
A prize bull belonging to Alton Shepard, a Keegan cattle breeder, has created considerable sensation by running amuck in a most peculiar manner. While seemingly more intelligent than heretofore, it has developed characteristics known to be utterly alien to this type of animal.The last one read in part:
Perhaps the most noteworthy feature of the case is the refusal of the animal to eat its accustomed food. Instead it now consumes enormous quantities of meat. The terrific bellow of the animal’s voice has also undergone a marked change, now resembling nothing earthly, although some have remarked that it could be likened to the bay of an enormous hound. Some of its later actions have seemingly added further canine attributes, which make the matter all the more mystifying. Veterinaries are asking why this animal should chase automobiles, and why it should carry bones in its mouth and try to bury them!
Professor Kell has been questioned by authorities at Keegan relative to the disappearance there last Tuesday of Robert Manion and his daughter. Kell seemed unable to furnish clues of any value, but officials are not entirely satisfied with the man’s attitude toward the questions.Somewhat bewildered by these apparently unrelated items, the reporter remained lost in thought for quite a space, the while he endeavored to map out his course of action when he should meet the redoubtable Professor. That many of the weird occurrences could be traced in some way to the latter’s door had evidently occurred to Bland. Furthermore, the Old Man relied implicitly upon Perry to get results.
It must be said that for once the star reporter was not overly enthusiastic with the assignment. Certain rumors aside from the clippings in his hand had produced in his mind a feeling of uneasiness. So far as his personal preference was concerned he would have been well satisfied if some cub reporter had been given the job. Try as he would, however, he could offer no tangible reason for the sudden wariness.
He was aroused from his absorption by his companion.
“Thought I smelled smoke a while 354 back, and I was right. That’s the house up in the edge of the pines. Deep grounds in front and all gone to seed; fits the description exactly. Thank Heaven we struck off from the station in the right direction. This stroll has been long enough. Come out of it and let’s get this job finished.”
Suiting the action to the words Handlon started off at a brisk pace down the hill, followed at a more moderate rate by Perry. At length they came within full sight of the grounds. Extending for a considerable distance before them and enclosing a large tract of land now well covered with lush grass, was a formidable looking wall. In former days a glorious mantle of ivy had covered the rough stones; but now there was little left, and what there was looked pitifully decrepit. They continued their progress along this barrier, finally coming upon a huge iron gate now much the worse for rust. It stood wide open
To the westward could be perceived a dull, red glow, which, even as they watched with fascinated eyes, developed into an intense glare. Gradually the fading stars became eclipsed in the greater glory.
Three cars, motors throbbing as if eager to be gone, stood a space apart on the main road. The car behind O’Hara’s was the Manion machine, now occupied by Bland and Riley. The remaining one was a touring car and contained the balance of the party. Perry was at the wheel, and beside him sat the Handlon-Kell-Saunders combination.
“Thus passes a den of horror,” whispered Jimmie to his companion.
“It is the funeral pyre of my father,” the girl answered simply. She had long since recovered from her initial outburst of grief at her loss, and now watched the progress of the conflagration dry-eyed. At length Jimmie slipped an arm protectingly about the trembling shoulders.
“You have seen enough,” he said. As the three cars raced from the scene of the holocaust, faint streamers in the east told of the rising orb of day.
“Good-by, Keegan, forever,” murmured Norma.
“Amen,” O’Hara devoutedly agreed.
.
Πέμπτη 2 Ιουλίου 2015
As the road struck into the sierra we branched off to the right and Barbastro, though a long way from the front line, looked bleak
Barbastro, though a long way from the front line,
looked bleak and chipped.
Swarms of militiamen in shabby uniforms wandered up and down the streets, trying to keep warm.
On a ruinous wall I came upon a poster dating from the previous year and announcing that 'six handsome bulls' would be killed in the arena
As the road struck into the sierra we branched off
to the right and
climbed a narrow mule-track that wound round the mountain-side. The
hills in that part of Spain are of a queer formation, horseshoe-shaped
with flattish tops and very steep sides running down into immense
ravines. On the higher slopes nothing grows except stunted shrubs and
heath, with the white bones of the limestone sticking out everywhere. The
front line here was not a continuous line of trenches, which would have
been impossible in such mountainous country; it was simply a chain of
fortified posts, always known as 'positions', perched on each hill-top.
In the distance you could see our 'position' at the crown of the
horseshoe; a ragged barricade of sand-bags, a red flag fluttering, the
smoke of dug-out fires. A little nearer, and you could smell a sickening
sweetish stink that lived in my nostrils for weeks afterwards. Into the
cleft immediately behind the position all the refuse of months had been
tipped--a deep festering bed of breadcrusts, excrement, and rusty tins.
The company we were relieving were getting their kits together. They had
been three months in the line; their uniforms were caked with mud, their
boots falling to pieces, their faces mostly bearded. The captain
commanding the position, Levinski by name, but known to everyone as
Benjamin, and by birth a Polish Jew, but speaking French as his native
language, crawled out of his dug-out and greeted us. He was a short
youth of about twenty-five, with stiff black hair and a pale eager face
which at this period of the war was always very dirty. A few stray
bullets were cracking high overhead. The position was a semi-circular
enclosure about fifty yards across, with a parapet that was partly
sand-bags and partly lumps of limestone. There were thirty or forty
dug-outs running into the ground like rat-holes. Williams, myself, and
Williams's Spanish brother-in-law made a swift dive for the nearest
unoccupied dug-out that looked habitable. Somewhere in front an
occasional rifle banged, making queer rolling echoes among the stony
hills. We had just dumped our kits and were crawling out of the dug-out
when there was another bang and one of the children of our company
rushed back from the parapet with his face pouring blood. He had fired
his rifle and had somehow managed to blow out the bolt; his scalp was
torn to ribbons by the splinters of the burst cartridge-case. It was our
first casualty, and, characteristically, self-inflicted.
In the afternoon we did our first guard and Benjamin showed us round the
position. In front of the parapet there ran a system of narrow trenches
hewn out of the rock, with extremely primitive loopholes made of piles
of limestone. There were twelve sentries, placed at various points in
the trench and behind the inner parapet. In front of the trench was the
barbed wire, and then the hillside slid down into a seemingly bottomless
ravine; opposite were naked hills, in places mere cliffs of rock, all
grey and wintry, with no life anywhere, not even a bird. I peered
cautiously through a loophole, trying to find the Fascist trench.
'Where are the enemy?'
Benjamin waved his hand expansively. 'Over zere.' (Benjamin spoke
English--terrible English.)
'But _where?_'
According to my ideas of trench warfare the Fascists would be fifty or a
hundred yards away. I could see nothing--seemingly their trenches were
very well concealed. Then with a shock of dismay I saw where Benjamin
was pointing; on the opposite hill-top, beyond the ravine, seven hundred
metres away at the very least, the tiny outline of a parapet and a
red-and-yellow flag--the Fascist position. I was indescribably
disappointed. We were nowhere near them! At that range our rifles were
completely useless. But at this moment there was a shout of excitement.
Two Fascists, greyish figurines in the distance, were scrambling up the
naked hill-side opposite. Benjamin grabbed the nearest man's rifle, took
aim, and pulled the trigger. Click! A dud cartridge; I thought it a bad
omen.
The new sentries were no sooner in the trench than they began firing a
terrific fusillade at nothing in particular. I could see the Fascists,
tiny as ants, dodging to and fro behind their parapet, and sometimes a
black dot which was a head would pause for a moment, impudently exposed.
It was obviously no use firing. But presently the sentry on my left,
leaving his post in the typical Spanish fashion, sidled up to me and
began urging me to fire. I tried to explain that at that range and with
these rifles you could not hit a man except by accident. But he was only
a child, and he kept motioning with his rifle towards one of the dots,
grinning as eagerly as a dog that expects a pebble to be thrown. Finally
I put my sights up to seven hundred and let fly. The dot disappeared.
I hope it went near enough to make him jump. It was the first time in
my life that I had fired a gun at a human being.
Now that I had seen the front I was profoundly disgusted. They called
this war! And we were hardly even in touch with the enemy! I made no
attempt to keep my head below the level of the trench. A little while
later, however, a bullet shot past my ear with a vicious crack and
banged into the parados behind. Alas! I ducked. All my life I had sworn
that I would not duck the first time a bullet passed over me; but the
movement appears to be instinctive, and almost everybody does it at
least once.
Chapter 3
In trench warfare five things are important: firewood, food, tobacco,
candles, and the enemy. In winter on the Zaragoza front they were
important in that order, with the enemy a bad last. Except at night,
when a surprise-attack was always conceivable, nobody bothered about the
enemy. They were simply remote black insects whom one occasionally saw
hopping to and fro. The real preoccupation of both armies was trying to
keep warm.
I ought to say in passing that all the time I was in Spain I saw very
little fighting. I was on the Aragón front from January to May, and
between January and late March little or nothing happened on that front,
except at Teruel. In March there was heavy fighting round Huesca, but I
personally played only a minor part in it. Later, in June, there was the
disastrous attack on Huesca in which several thousand men were killed in
a single day, but I had been wounded and disabled before that happened.
The things that one normally thinks of as the horrors of war seldom
happened to me. No aeroplane ever dropped a bomb anywhere near me, I do
not think a shell ever exploded within fifty yards of me, and I was only
in hand-to-hand fighting once (once is once too often, I may say). Of
course I was often under heavy machine-gun fire, but usually at longish
ranges. Even at Huesca you were generally safe enough if you took
reasonable precautions.
Up here, in the hills round Zaragoza, it was simply the mingled boredom
and discomfort of stationary warfare. A life as uneventful as a city
clerk's, and almost as regular. Sentry-go, patrols, digging; digging,
patrols, sentry-go. On every hill-top, Fascist or Loyalist, a knot of
ragged, dirty men shivering round their flag and trying to keep warm.
And all day and night the meaningless bullets wandering across the empty
valleys and only by some rare improbable chance getting home on a human
body.
Often I used to gaze round the wintry landscape and marvel at the
futility of it all. The inconclusiveness of such a kind of war! Earlier,
about October, there had been savage fighting for all these hills; then,
because the lack of men and arms, especially artillery, made any
large-scale operation impossible, each army had dug itself in and
settled down on the hill-tops it had won. Over to our right there was a
small outpost, also P.O.U.M., and on the spur to our left, at seven
o'clock of us, a P.S.U.C. position faced a taller spur with several
small Fascist posts dotted on its peaks. The so-called line zigzagged to
and fro in a pattern that would have been quite unintelligible if every
position had not flown a flag. The P.O.U.M. and P.S.U.C. flags were red,
those of the Anarchists red and black; the Fascists generally flew the
monarchist flag (red-yellow-red), but occasionally they flew the flag
of the Republic (red-yellow-purple).* The scenery was stupendous,
if you could forget that every mountain-top was occupied by troops and
was therefore littered with tin cans and crusted with dung. To the right
of us the sierra bent south-eastwards and made way for the wide, veined
valley that stretched across to Huesca. In the middle of the plain a few
tiny cubes sprawled like a throw of dice; this was the town of Robres,
which was in Loyalist possession. Often in the mornings the valley was
hidden under seas of cloud, out of which the hills rose flat and blue,
giving the landscape a strange resemblance to a photographic negative.
Beyond Huesca there were more hills of the same formation as our own,
streaked with a pattern of snow which altered day by day. In the far
distance the monstrous peaks of the Pyrenees, where the snow never
melts, seemed to float upon nothing. Even down in the plain everything
looked dead and bare. The hills opposite us were grey and wrinkled like
the skins of elephants. Almost always the sky was empty of birds. I do
not think I have ever seen a country where there were so few birds. The
only birds one saw at any time were a kind of magpie, and the coveys of
partridges that startled one at night with their sudden whirring, and,
very rarely, the flights of eagles that drifted slowly over, generally
followed by rifle-shots which they did not deign to notice.
[* Footnote: An errata note found in Orwell's papers after his death:
"Am not now completely certain that I ever saw Fascists flying the
republican flag, though I _think_ they sometimes flew it with a small
imposed swastika."]
At night and in misty weather, patrols were sent out in the valley
between ourselves and the Fascists. The job was not popular, it was too
cold and too easy to get lost, and I soon found that I could get leave
to go out on patrol as often as I wished. In the huge jagged ravines
there were no paths or tracks of any kind; you could only find your way
about by making successive journeys and noting fresh landmarks each
time. As the bullet flies the nearest Fascist post was seven hundred
metres from our own, but it was a mile and a half by the only
practicable route. It was rather fun wandering about the dark valleys
with the stray bullets flying high overhead like redshanks whistling.
Better than night-time were the heavy mists, which often lasted all day
and which had a habit of clinging round the hill-tops and leaving the
valleys clear. When you were anywhere near the Fascist lines you had to
creep at a snail's pace; it was very difficult to move quietly on those
hill-sides, among the crackling shrubs and tinkling limestones. It was
only at the third or fourth attempt that I managed to find my way to the
Fascist lines. The mist was very thick, and I crept up to the barbed
wire to listen. I could hear the Fascists talking and singing inside.
Then to my alarm I heard several of them coming down the hill towards
me. I cowered behind a bush that suddenly seemed very small, and tried
to cock my rifle without noise. However, they branched off and did not
come within sight of me. Behind the bush where I was hiding I came upon
various relics of the earlier fighting--a pile of empty cartridge-cases,
a leather cap with a bullet-hole in it, and a red flag, obviously one of
our own. I took it back to the position, where it was unsentimentally
torn up for cleaning-rags.
I had been made a corporal, or _cabo_, as it was called, as soon as we
reached the front, and was in command of a guard of twelve men. It was
no sinecure, especially at first. The _centuria_ was an untrained mob
composed mostly of boys in their teens. Here and there in the militia
you came across children as young as eleven or twelve, usually refugees
from Fascist territory who had been enlisted as militiamen as the
easiest way of providing for them. As a rule they were employed on light
work in the rear, but sometimes they managed to worm their way to the
front line, where they were a public menace. I remember one little brute
throwing a hand-grenade into the dug-out fire 'for a joke'. At Monte
Pocero I do not think there was anyone younger than fifteen, but the
average age must have been well under twenty. Boys of this age ought
never to be used in the front line, because they cannot stand the lack
of sleep which is inseparable from trench warfare. At the beginning it
was almost impossible to keep our position properly guarded at night.
The wretched children of my section could only be roused by dragging
them out of their dug-outs feet foremost, and as soon as your back was
turned they left their posts and slipped into shelter; or they would
even, in spite of the frightful cold, lean up against the wall of the
trench and fall fast asleep. Luckily the enemy were very unenterprising.
There were nights when it seemed to me that our position could be
stormed by twenty Boy Scouts armed with airguns, or twenty Girl Guides
armed with battledores, for that matter.
At this time and until much later the Catalan militias were still on the
same basis as they had been at the beginning of the war. In the early
days of Franco's revolt the militias had been hurriedly raised by the
various trade unions and political parties; each was essentially a
political organization, owing allegiance to its party as much as to the
central Government. When the Popular Army, which was a 'non-political'
army organized on more or less ordinary lines, was raised at the
beginning of 1937, the party militias were theoretically incorporated in
it. But for a long time the only changes that occurred were on paper;
the new Popular Army troops did not reach the Aragón front in any
numbers till June, and until that time the militia-system remained
unchanged. The essential point of the system was social equality between
officers and men. Everyone from general to private drew the same pay,
ate the same food, wore the same clothes, and mingled on terms of
complete equality. If you wanted to slap the general commanding the
division on the back and ask him for a cigarette, you could do so, and
no one thought it curious. In theory at any rate each militia was a
democracy and not a hierarchy. It was understood that orders had to be
obeyed, but it was also understood that when you gave an order you gave
it as comrade to comrade and not as superior to inferior. There were
officers and N.C.O.s but there was no military rank in the ordinary
sense; no titles, no badges, no heel-clicking and saluting. They had
attempted to produce within the militias a sort of temporary working
model of the classless society. Of course there was no perfect equality,
but there was a nearer approach to it than I had ever seen or than I
would have thought conceivable in time of war.
But I admit that at first sight the state of affairs at the front
horrified me. How on earth could the war be won by an army of this type?
It was what everyone was saying at the time, and though it was true it
was also unreasonable. For in the circumstances the militias could not
have been much better than they were. A modern mechanized army does not
spring up out of the ground, and if the Government had waited until it
had trained troops at its disposal, Franco would never have been
resisted. Later it became the fashion to decry the militias, and
therefore to pretend that the faults which were due to lack of training
and weapons were the result of the equalitarian system. Actually, a newly
raised draft of militia was an undisciplined mob not because the
officers called the private 'Comrade' but because raw troops are
_always_ an undisciplined mob. In practice the democratic
'revolutionary' type of discipline is more reliable than might be
expected. In a workers' army discipline is theoretically voluntary. It
is based on class-loyalty, whereas the discipline of a bourgeois
conscript army is based ultimately on fear. (The Popular Army that
replaced the militias was midway between the two types.) In the militias
the bullying and abuse that go on in an ordinary army would never have
been tolerated for a moment. The normal military punishments existed,
but they were only invoked for very serious offences. When a man refused
to obey an order you did not immediately get him punished; you first
appealed to him in the name of comradeship. Cynical people with no
experience of handling men will say instantly that this would never
'work', but as a matter of fact it does 'work' in the long run. The
discipline of even the worst drafts of militia visibly improved as time
went on. In January the job of keeping a dozen raw recruits up to the
mark almost turned my hair grey. In May for a short while I was
acting-lieutenant in command of about thirty men, English and Spanish.
We had all been under fire for months, and I never had the slightest
difficulty in getting an order obeyed or in getting men to volunteer for
a dangerous job. 'Revolutionary' discipline depends on political
consciousness--on an understanding of _why_ orders must be obeyed; it
takes time to diffuse this, but it also takes time to drill a man into
an automaton on the barrack-square. The journalists who sneered at the
militia-system seldom remembered that the militias had to hold the line
while the Popular Army was training in the rear. And it is a tribute to
the strength of 'revolutionary' discipline that the militias stayed in
the field at all. For until about June 1937 there was nothing to keep
them there, except class loyalty. Individual deserters could be
shot--were shot, occasionally--but if a thousand men had decided to walk
out of the line together there was no force to stop them. A conscript
army in the same circumstances--with its battle-police removed--would
have melted away. Yet the militias held the line, though God knows they
won very few victories, and even individual desertions were not common.
In four or five months in the P.O.U.M. militia I only heard of four men
deserting, and two of those were fairly certainly spies who had enlisted
to obtain information. At the beginning the apparent chaos, the general
lack of training, the fact that you often had to argue for five minutes
before you could get an order obeyed, appalled and infuriated me. I had
British Army ideas, and certainly the Spanish militias were very unlike
the British Army. But considering the circumstances they were better
troops than one had any right to expect.
Meanwhile, firewood--always firewood. Throughout that period there is
probably no entry in my diary that does not mention firewood, or rather
the lack of it. We were between two and three thousand feet above
sea-level, it was mid winter and the cold was unspeakable. The
temperature was not exceptionally low, on many nights it did not even
freeze, and the wintry sun often shone for an hour in the middle of the
day; but even if it was not really cold, I assure you that it seemed so.
Sometimes there were shrieking winds that tore your cap off and twisted
your hair in all directions, sometimes there were mists that poured into
the trench like a liquid and seemed to penetrate your bones; frequently
it rained, and even a quarter of an hour's rain was enough to make
conditions intolerable. The thin skin of earth over the limestone turned
promptly into a slippery grease, and as you were always walking on a
slope it was impossible to keep your footing. On dark nights I have
often fallen half a dozen times in twenty yards; and this was dangerous,
because it meant that the lock of one's rifle became jammed with mud.
For days together clothes, boots, blankets, and rifles were more or less
coated with mud. I had brought as many thick clothes as I could carry,
but many of the men were terribly underclad. For the whole garrison,
about a hundred men, there were only twelve great-coats, which had to be
handed from sentry to sentry, and most of the men had only one blanket.
One icy night I made a list in my diary of the clothes I was wearing. It
is of some interest as showing the amount of clothes the human body can
carry. I was wearing a thick vest and pants, a flannel shirt, two
pull-overs, a woollen jacket, a pigskin jacket, corduroy breeches,
puttees, thick socks, boots, a stout trench-coat, a muffler, lined
leather gloves, and a woollen cap. Nevertheless I was shivering like a
jelly. But I admit I am unusually sensitive to cold.
Firewood was the one thing that really mattered. The point about the
firewood was that there was practically no firewood to be had. Our
miserable mountain had not even at its best much vegetation, and for
months it had been ranged over by freezing militiamen, with the result
that everything thicker than one's finger had long since been burnt.
When we were not eating, sleeping, on guard, or on fatigue-duty we were
in the valley behind the position, scrounging for fuel. All my memories
of that time are memories of scrambling up and down the almost
perpendicular slopes, over the jagged limestone that knocked one's boots
to pieces, pouncing eagerly on tiny twigs of wood. Three people
searching for a couple of hours could collect enough fuel to keep the
dug-out fire alight for about an hour. The eagerness of our search for
firewood turned us all into botanists. We classified according to their
burning qualities every plant that grew on the mountainside; the various
heaths and grasses that were good to start a fire with but burnt out in
a few minutes, the wild rosemary and the tiny whin bushes that would
burn when the fire was well alight, the stunted oak tree, smaller than a
gooseberry bush, that was practically unburnable. There was a kind of
dried-up reed that was very good for starting fires with, but these grew
only on the hill-top to the left of the position, and you had to go
under fire to get them. If the Fascist machine-gunners saw you they gave
you a drum of ammunition all to yourself. Generally their aim was high
and the bullets sang overhead like birds, but sometime they crackled and
chipped the limestone uncomfortably close, whereupon you flung yourself
on your face. You went on gathering reeds, however; nothing mattered in
comparison with firewood.
Beside the cold the other discomforts seemed petty. Of course all of us
were permanently dirty. Our water, like our food, came on mule-back from
Alcubierre, and each man's share worked out at about a quart a day. It
was beastly water, hardly more transparent than milk. Theoretically it
was for drinking only, but I always stole a pannikinful for washing in
the mornings. I used to wash one day and shave the next; there was never
enough water for both. The position stank abominably, and outside the
little enclosure of the barricade there was excrement everywhere. Some
of the militiamen habitually defecated in the trench, a disgusting thing
when one had to walk round it in the darkness. But the dirt never
worried me. Dirt is a thing people make too much fuss about.
It is astonishing how quickly you get used to doing without a
handkerchief and to eating out of the tin pannikin in which you also
wash. Nor was sleeping in one's clothes any hardship after a day or two.
It was of course impossible to take one's clothes and especially one's
boots off at night; one had to be ready to turn out instantly in case of
an attack. In eighty nights I only took my clothes off three times,
though I did occasionally manage to get them off in the daytime. It was
too cold for lice as yet, but rats and mice abounded. It is often said
that you don't find rats and mice in the same place, but you do when
there is enough food for them.
In other ways we were not badly off. The food was good enough and there
was plenty of wine. Cigarettes were still being issued at the rate of a
packet a day, matches were issued every other day, and there was even an
issue of candles. They were very thin candles, like those on a Christmas
cake, and were popularly supposed to have been looted from churches.
Every dug-out was issued daily with three inches of candle, which would
bum for about twenty minutes. At that time it was still possible to buy
candles, and I had brought several pounds of them with me. Later on the
famine of matches and candles made life a misery. You do not realize the
importance of these things until you lack them. In a night-alarm, for
instance, when everyone in the dug-out is scrambling for his rifle and
treading on everybody else's face, being able to strike a light may make
the difference between life and death. Every militiaman possessed a
tinder-lighter and several yards of yellow wick. Next to his rifle it
was his most important possession. The tinder-lighters had the great
advantage that they could be struck in a wind, but they would only
smoulder, so that they were no use for lighting a fire. When the match
famine was at its worst our only way of producing a flame was to pull
the bullet out of a cartridge and touch the cordite off with a
tinder-lighter.
It was an extraordinary life that we were living--an extraordinary way
to be at war, if you could call it war. The whole militia chafed against
the inaction and clamoured constantly to know why we were not allowed to
attack. But it was perfectly obvious that there would be no battle for a
long while yet, unless the enemy started it. Georges Kopp, on his
periodical tours of inspection, was quite frank with us. 'This is not a
war,' he used to say, 'it is a comic opera with an occasional death.' As
a matter of fact the stagnation on the Aragón front had political causes
of which I knew nothing at that time; but the purely military
difficulties--quite apart from the lack of reserves of men--were obvious
to anybody.
Παρασκευή 19 Ιουνίου 2015
DAS TRADUÇÕES E DO INTERESSE NOS ACTOS HUMANOS NÃO PARA NOS RIR-MOS DELES POIS SÃO TODOS RISÍVEIS NEM PARA OS DEPLORAR OU MESMO DEFLORAR OU DETESTAR OU MESMO CONTESTAR MAS SIMPLESMENTE PARA TENTAR COMPREENDER TAIS ACTOS E COMPREENDEDO-OS COMPREENDER OS MEUS ...Sedulo curavi humanas actiones non ridere, non lugere, neque detestari, sed intelligere.” — Ho assiduamente cercato di imparare a non ridere delle azioni degli uomini, a non piangerne, a non odiarle, ma a comprenderle.um corpo é capaz, em comparação com outros, de agir simultaneamente sobre um número maior de coisas, ou de padecer simultaneamente de um número maior de coisas, tanto mais sua mente é capaz, em comparação com outras, de perceber, simultaneamente, um número maior de coisas. E quanto mais as ações de um corpo dependem apenas dele próprio, e quan- to menos outros corpos cooperam com ele no agir, tanto mais sua mente é capaz de compreender distintamente. E por esses critérios que podemos reconhecer a superioridade de uma mente sobre as outras, bem como compreender por que não temos de nosso corpo senão um conhecimento muito confuso, além de muitas outras coisas, as quais deduzirei, a seguir, do que acabo de expor. Pensei, por isso, que valeria a pena explicar e de- monstrar cuidadosamente essas coisas e, para isso, é necessário estabelecer algumas premissas sobre a natureza dos corpos. Axioma 1. Todos os corpos estão ou em movimento ou em repouso. Axioma 2. Todo corpo se move ora mais lentamente, ora mais velozmente.
Comunista & Pastafariano.
Per fortuna o purtroppo terrone.
Occasionalmente posto porno.
"Io penso che il divertimento sia una cosa seria."
- Italo Calvino
" Quanno se scherza bisogna esse' seri!"
- Onofrio del Grillo
"Scherzando si può dire tutto, anche la verità."
- Sigmund Freud
"L'umorismo è un fenomeno di sdoppiamento nell'atto della concezione; è come un'erma bifronte, che ride per una faccia del pianto della faccia opposta."
- Luigi Pirandello
"Le persone veramente serie non sono mai serie."
- Luca Quadri
"Chi non sa ridere non è una persona seria."
- Fryderyk Chopin
Per fortuna o purtroppo terrone.
Occasionalmente posto porno.
"Io penso che il divertimento sia una cosa seria."
- Italo Calvino
" Quanno se scherza bisogna esse' seri!"
- Onofrio del Grillo
"Scherzando si può dire tutto, anche la verità."
- Sigmund Freud
"L'umorismo è un fenomeno di sdoppiamento nell'atto della concezione; è come un'erma bifronte, che ride per una faccia del pianto della faccia opposta."
- Luigi Pirandello
"Le persone veramente serie non sono mai serie."
- Luca Quadri
"Chi non sa ridere non è una persona seria."
- Fryderyk Chopin
Κυριακή 24 Μαΐου 2015
schlutt ? is a popular element ...is a rock star not a elemental whore..Schlutt OLD saxon schlutt....reverted to anglo in 1385 ....the welch and english archers call sluts to the wenches that follow the english army in the wars in europe ---- the archers are in good need long bow you know CARBON ARE MONEY FORMS ...IN DOLLAR YOU TRUST.......DIAMONDS ARE C.....TOO....NO NO A BAD ELEMENT IS LIKE ISIS YOU SHOULD PUT IN ARE INTO IT ...LIKE THESE...So profitable was the business that the early dividends were at the ' rate of 12 to 16 per cent, per annum. Upon an allegation that the bank had produced evil effects, its charter was repealed in Sept. 1785, by the state government of Pennsylvania ; but it continued its business, claiming the right to do so under the act of Congress. In 1787, the bank was re-incorporated, and has been continued to the present day. Its operations are confined however to the state of Pennsylvania. BAD ELEMENTS ONLY IN WALL STREET
- sulfer will bond with six at once. This guy don't know what he is talking aboutSULFER SUFFER FROM SULFURIC INFLUENCES
- sulfer will bond with six at once. This guy don't know what he is talking about
The following is a list of all theState Banks in operation on the 1st of January, 1830.— (From Mr. Galatin.) MASSACHUSETTS. Capital. Massachusetts - - 800,000 Union - 800,000 Phoenix . 200,000 Gloucester - 120,000 Newburyport - 210,000 Beverly - 100,000 Boston - 900,000 Salem - 250,000 Plymouth - - 100,000 Worcester - 200,000 Marblehead - 120,000 Pacific - 200,000 State - 1,800,000 Mechanics - - 200,000 Merchants, (Salem) - 400,000 Taunton - - 175,000 New-England - . 1,000,000 Hampshire - 100,000 Dedham - - 100,000 Manuf.&Mech's.(Boston) 750,000 Springfield - 250,000 Lynn Mechanics - 100,000 Merrimack - 150,000 Pawtucket - 100,000 Suffolk - . - 750,000 Commercial, Salem - 300,000 Bedford Commercial - 250,000 Agricultural - 1 00,000 American - - 750,000 Andover - - 100,000 Asiatic - 350,000 Atlantic - - 500,000 Barnstable - 100,000 Blackstone - 100,000 Brighton - - 150,000 Bunker HiU - - 150,000 Cambridge - 150,000 Central - 50,000 City - 1,000,000 Columbian - 500,000 Commonwealth - - 500,000 Danvers - - 120,000 Eagle - 500,000 Exchange - - 300,000 Fall River - - 200,000 Capital Falmouth - - - 100,000 Farmers - - - 100,000 Franklin, (Boston) - 100,000 Franklin, (Greenfield)- 100,000 Globe Hampden - Hampshire Man. Housatonic Leicester - - - Lowell - - - Man. & Mech.'s (Nan- tucket) - - - Mendon - - - Mercantile Mercht. (New-Bedford) 250,000 Millbury - - - 100,000 Norfolk - North Bank 66 Banks 20,420,000
and which should not be equivalent to specie at the place where offered, and convertible upon the spot into gold and silver, at the will of the holder, and without loss or delay to him. Nor have the states lagged behind in their efforts to improve the currency by infusing into it a greater proportion of the precious metals. ^ Already are the issuing of bills under the denomination of five dollars pro- hibited by the states of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee, Louisiana, North Carolina, Indiana, Kentucky, Maine, New York, New Jersey, and Alabama, and of one and two dollars by Connecticut. That this policy will become general, and gradually extended, cannot be doubted. To what precise extent it may be carried with advantage to the country, will be decided by time, experience, and judicious observation. Evasions of it may for a season take place, and some slight inconveniences arise from the change, but they will both be temporary. The union committee of the city of New York, confesseAy combining some of the best business talents of our great conunercial emporium, regarded it as an improvement of the currency of great importance to all classes of the people. Legislative bodies have shewn great uflanimity in its &vour. It is approved by the people, and must prevail. " Sincerely believing, for the reasons which have just been stated, that the public funds may be as safely and conveniently transmitted from one portion of the Union to another, that domestic exchange can be as successfully and as cheaply effected, and the currency be rendered at least as sound under the existing system, as those objects could be accomplished by means of a national bank, I would not seek a remedy for the evils to which you allude, should they unfortunately occur, through such a medium, even if the constitutional objection were not in the way." By a report recently made by the auditor-general to the Pennsylvanian legislature, the following are the principal items in the condition of the new bank of the United States. Dollars. Capital 35,000,000 Notes in circulation 36,620,420 Deposits 2,194,231 Notes of other banks 19,078,796 Specie 5,079,460 Debts owng by other banks 31,553,035 Bills discounted 56,389,253 Unclaimed dividends 241,900 Contingent Fund 1,695,105 Real Estate 315,214 Due toother banks 30,755,561 42 THE HISTORY OF SECTION III. THE STATE BANKS. The Bank of the United Stateswas founded by Congress,but all the other banks derived their char- ter Irom the government of the states in which they are established. They are all joint-stock companies, as no private banking is allowed. The chartered banks are subject to various restrictions, according to the enactments of the different states ; and their re- strictions are often such as are unknown in this coun- try. Generally no shareholder is answerable for the debts of the bank beyond the proportionate amount of his shares. In some cases the government retains the option of subscribing an additional number of shares, and of appointing a corresponding number of directors. And in others, the banks are under obligation to advance a certain sum to the govern- ment whenever required. Some states have laid a tax of ten per cent, on the dividends paid on the stock of each bank. The banks are sometimes re- stricted not to incur debts beyond a certain proportion to their capital ; and in all the states the banks are now required to make periodical returns to the government. I. The business of the States Banks. *' Tlie business of all those banks consists, in receiving money on deposit, in issuing bank notes, and in discounting notes of band or bills of exchange. A portion of the capital is sometimes vested in public stocks, but this is not obligatory, and in this they differ essentially from the Bank of England. " Whenever therefore an American bank is in full operation, its debts generally consist, 1st. to the stockholders of the capital; 2nd. to the community, of the notes in circulation, and of the credits in account current, commonly called deposits ; and its credits, Ist. of dis- counted notes or bills of exchange, and occasionally of public stocks. 2. Of the specie in its vaults, and of the notes of, and balances due by, other banks. 3. Of its real estate, either used for banking purposes or taken in payment of debts. Some other incidental items may some- times be introduced ; a part of the capital is occasionally invested in road, canal, and bridge stocks, and the debts secured on judgments, or bonds and mortgages, are generally distinguished in the official returns of the banks." — Gallatin . BANKING IN AMERICA.
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