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diff --git a/17504-h/17504-h.htm b/17504-h/17504-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e95b33 --- /dev/null +++ b/17504-h/17504-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3445 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + + <title>The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage by Elbert Hubbard</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + p {text-align: justify;} + h2 {text-align: center;} + .returnTOC {text-align: right; font-size: 70%;} + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; color: gray; font-size: 0.7em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; text-align: right;} + .returnTOC {text-align: right; font-size: 70%;} + .figcenter {padding:1em; margin:auto; clear:both; text-align:center; font-size:0.8em;} + .figcenter p {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + ul.TOC {list-style-type: none; position: relative; width: 85%;} + .TOC p {font-size:90%; margin-top: 0; margin-right: 4%;} + span.ralign {position: absolute; right: 0; top: auto;} + a:link {color: blue; text-decoration: none} + link {color: blue; text-decoration: none} + a:visited {color: blue; text-decoration: none} + a:hover {color: red} + /* chapter intro for this text only */ + p.cintro {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;} + // --> + /*]]>*/ + </style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mintage + +Author: Elbert Hubbard + +Release Date: January 12, 2006 [EBook #17504] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +’Tis here you’ll find the mintage of my mind.—<span style="font-style: italic">Goethe.</span> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;"> + <a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> + <img src="images/hubbard.jpg" width="400" alt="Illustration: Elbert Hubbard" title="" /> + <p style="text-align: center">Elbert Hubbard</p> +</div> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<div style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 4.00em; margin-top: 4.00em;"> + <span style="font-size: 250%;"> + The Mintage + </span> + <br />by<br /> + <span style="font-size: 140%;"> + Elbert Hubbard<br /> + </span> + + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;"> + <a name="coverimage" id="coverimage"></a> + <img src="images/cover.png" width="70%" alt="Illustration: Cover Image" title="" /> + </div> + + <span style="font-size: 80%"> + Copyright 1910<br /> + Elbert Hubbard + </span> + <br /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + <p> <a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a></p> + <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%">Contents</span></p> + + <ul class="TOC" style="list-style-type:upper-roman;margin-left:1em;font-variant:small-caps;"> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Five Babies + <span class="ralign">9</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_II">To The West + <span class="ralign">19</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Simeon Stylites the Syrian + <span class="ralign">27</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Battle of Little Big Horn + <span class="ralign">39</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Sam + <span class="ralign">61</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Cleopatra and Cæsar + <span class="ralign">69</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">A Special Occasion + <span class="ralign">81</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda + <span class="ralign">91</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Billy and the Book + <span class="ralign">97</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_X">John the Baptist and Salome + <span class="ralign">105</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">The Master + <span class="ralign">111</span></a></li> + </ul> + + +<hr class="full" /> + + + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page8" id="page8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +All success consists in this: you are doing +something for somebody—are benefiting +humanity; and the feeling of success comes +from the consciousness of this.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page9" id="page9">[Pg 9]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>Five Babies</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + + +<p>Riding on the Grand +Trunk Railway a few +weeks ago, going from +Suspension Bridge to +Chicago, I saw a sight +so trivial that it seems +unworthy of mention. +Yet for three weeks I +have remembered it, +and so now I’ll relate it, in order to get +rid of it.</p> + +<p>And possibly these little incidents of life +are the items that make or mar existence. +</p><p>But here is what I saw on that railroad +train: five children, the oldest a girl of +ten, and the youngest a baby boy of three. +They were traveling alone and had come +from Germany, duly tagged, ticketed and +certified.</p> + +<p>They were going to their Grandmother +at Waukegan, Illinois.</p> + +<p>The old lady was to meet them in Chicago.</p> + +<p>The children spoke not a word of +English, but there is a universal language +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page10" id="page10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +of the heart that speaks and is understood. +So the trainmen and the children were on +very chummy terms.</p> + +<p>Now, at London, Ontario, our train waited +an hour for the Toronto and Montreal +connections.</p> + +<p>Just before we reached London, I saw +the Conductor take the three smallest +little passengers to the washroom at the +end of the car, roll up their sleeves, +turn their collars in, and duly wash their +hands and faces. Then he combed their +hair. They accepted the situation as if +they belonged to the Conductor’s family, +as of course they did for the time being. +It was a domestic scene that caused the +whole car to smile, and made everybody +know everybody else. A touch of nature +makes a whole coach kin.</p> + +<p>The children had a bushel-basket full +of eatables, but at London that Conductor +took the whole brood over to the dining-hall +for supper, and I saw two fat men +scrap as to who should have the privilege +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page11" id="page11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +of paying for the kiddies’ suppers. The +children munched and smiled and said +little things to each other in Teutonic +whispers. </p><p>After our train left London +and the Conductor had taken up his +tickets, he came back, turned over two +seats and placed the cushions lengthwise. +One of the trainmen borrowed a couple of +blankets from the sleeping-cars, and with +the help of three volunteered overcoats, +the babies were all put to bed, and duly +tucked in.</p> + +<p>I went back to my Pullman, and went to +bed. And as I dozed off I kept wondering +whether the Grandmother would be there +in the morning to meet the little travelers. +What sort of disaster had deprived them +of parents, I did not know, nor did I care +to ask. The children were alone, but +among friends. They were strong and +well, but they kept very close together +and looked to the oldest girl as a mother.</p> + +<p>But to be alone in Chicago would be +terrible! Would she come!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page12" id="page12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +And so I slept. In the morning there was +another Conductor in charge, a man I had +not before seen. I went into the day-coach, +thinking that the man might not know +about the babies, and that I might possibly +help the little immigrants. But my services +were not needed. The ten-year-old “little +other mother” had freshened up her +family, and the Conductor was assuring +them, in awfully bad German, that their +Grandmother would be there—although, +of course, he didn’t know anything at +all about it.</p> + +<p>When the train pulled into the long +depot and stopped, the Conductor took +the baby boy on one arm and a little +girl on the other.</p> + +<p>A porter carried the big lunch-basket, and +the little other mother led a toddler on each +side, dodging the hurrying passengers.</p> + +<p>Evidently I was the only spectator of the +play.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“Will she be there—will she be there?” +I asked myself nervously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page13" id="page13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +She was there, all right, there at the +gate. The Conductor was seemingly as +gratified as I. He turned his charges +over to the old woman, who was weeping +for joy, and hugging the children between +bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch.</p> + +<p>I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, +“Auditorium Annex, please.”</p> + +<p>And as I sat there in the bus, while they +were packing the grips on top, the +Conductor passed by, carrying a tin +box in one hand and his train cap in +the other.</p> + +<p>I saw an Elk’s tooth on his watch-chain.</p> + +<p>I called to him, “I saw you help the +babies—good boy!”</p> + +<p>He looked at me in doubt.</p> + +<p>“Those German children,” I said; “I’m +glad you were so kind to them!”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” he answered, smiling; “yes, I had +forgotten; why, of course, that is a +railroad man’s business, you know—to +help everybody who needs help.”</p> + +<p>He waved his hand and disappeared +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page14" id="page14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +up the stairway that led to the offices. +</p><p>And it came to me that he had forgotten +the incident so soon, simply because to +help had become the habit of his life. +He may read this, and he may not. +There he was—big, bold, bluff and +bronzed, his hair just touched with the +frost of years, and beneath his brass +buttons a heart beating with a desire +to bless and benefit. I do not know +his name, but the sight of the man, +carrying a child on each arm, their +arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, +their long journey done, and he turning +them over in safety to their Grandmother, +was something to renew one’s faith in +humanity.</p> + +<p>Even a great Railway System has a soul.</p> + +<p>If you answer that corporations have +no souls, I’ll say: “Friend, you were +never more mistaken in your life. The +business that has no soul soon ceases to +exist; and the success of a company or +corporation turns on the kind of soul +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page15" id="page15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +it possesses. Soul is necessary to service. +Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency +are tangible soul-assets; and all good +railroad men know it.”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page18" id="page18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +By taking thought you can add cubits to your stature.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page19" id="page19">[Pg 19]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>To The West</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>To stand by the open +grave of one you have +loved, and feel the sky +shut down over less +worth in the world is +the supreme test.</p> + +<p>There you prove your +worth, if ever.</p> + +<p>You must live and face +the day, and face each succeeding day, +realizing that “the moving finger writes, +and having writ moves on, nor all your +tears shall blot a line of it.”</p> + +<p>Heroes are born, but it is calamity that +discovers them.</p> + +<p>Once in Western Kansas, in the early +Eighties, I saw a loaded four-horse wagon +skid and topple in going across a gully. +</p><p>The driver sprang from his seat and +tried to hold the wagon upright.</p> + +<p>The weight was too great for his strength, +powerful man though he was.</p> + +<p>The horses swerved down the ditch +instead of crossing it, and the overturning +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page20" id="page20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +wagon caught the man and pinned him +to the ground.</p> + +<p>Half a dozen of us sprang from our +horses. After much effort the tangled +animals were unhitched and the wagon +was righted.</p> + +<p>The man was dead.</p> + +<p>In the wagon were +the wife and six children, the oldest child +a boy of fifteen. All were safely caught +in the canvas top and escaped unhurt. +We camped there—not knowing what +else to do.</p> + +<p>We straightened the mangled form of +the dead, and covered the body with +a blanket.</p> + +<p>That night the mother and the oldest boy +sat by the campfire and watched the long +night away with their dead.</p> + +<p>The stars marched in solemn procession +across the sky.</p> + +<p>The slow, crawling night passed.</p> + +<p>The first faint flush of dawn appeared +in the East.</p> + +<p>I lay near the campfire, my head pillowed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page21" id="page21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +on a saddle, and heard the widowed +mother and her boy talking in low but +earnest tones.</p> + +<p>“We must go back—we must go back +to Illinois. It is the only thing to do,” +I heard the mother moan.</p> + +<p>And the boy answered: “Mother, listen +to what I say: We will go on—we will +go on. We know where father was going +to take us—we know what he was going +to do. We will go on, and we will do +what he intended to do, and if possible +we will do it better. We will go on!” +</p><p>That first burst of pink in the East +had turned to gold.</p> + +<p>Great streaks of light stretched from +horizon to zenith.</p> + +<p>I could see in the dim and hazy light +the hobbled horses grazing across the +plain a quarter of a mile away.</p> + +<p>The boy of fifteen arose and put fuel +on the fire.</p> + +<p>After breakfast I saw that boy get a spade, +a shovel and a pick out of the wagon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page22" id="page22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +With help of others a grave was dug +there on the prairie.</p> + +<p>The dead was rolled in a blanket and +tied about with thongs, after the fashion +of the Indians.</p> + +<p>Lines were taken from a harness, and +we lowered the body into the grave. +</p><p>The grave was filled up by friendly +hands working in nervous haste.</p> + +<p>I saw the boy pat down the mound +with the back of a spade.</p> + +<p>I saw him carve with awkward, boyish +hands the initials of his father, the date +of his birth and the day of his death. +</p><p>I saw him drive the slab down at the +head of the grave.</p> + +<p>I saw him harness the four horses.</p> + +<p>I saw him help his little brothers into +the canvas-covered wagon.</p> + +<p>I saw him help his mother climb the +wheel as she took her place on the seat. +</p><p>I saw him spring up beside her.</p> + +<p>I saw him gather up the lines in his brown, +slim hands, and swing the whip over the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page23" id="page23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +leaders, as he gave the shrill word of +command and turned the horses to the +West.</p> + +<p>And the cavalcade moved forward to the +West—always to the West.</p> + +<p>The boy had met calamity and disaster. +He had not flinched.</p> + +<p>In a single day he had left boyhood behind +and become a man.</p> + +<p>And the years that followed proved him +genuine.</p> + +<p>What was it worked the change? Grief +and responsibility, nobly met.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page26" id="page26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +The church has aureoled and sainted the +men and women who have fought the +Cosmic Urge. To do nothing and to be +nothing was regarded as a virtue.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page27" id="page27">[Pg 27]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>Simeon Stylites The Syrian</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>As the traveler journeys +through Southern Italy, +Sicily and certain parts +of what was Ancient +Greece, he will see +broken arches, parts +of viaducts, and now +and again a beautiful +column pointing to the +sky. All about is the desert, or solitary +pastures, and only this white milestone +marking the path of the centuries and +telling in its own silent, solemn and +impressive way of a day that is dead.</p> + +<p>In the Fifth Century a monk called +Simeon the Syrian, and known to us +as Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow +of chastity, poverty and obedience, began +to fear greatly lest he might not be true +to his pledge. And that he might live +absolutely beyond reproach, always in +public view, free from temptation, and +free from the tongue of scandal, he +decided to live in the world, and still +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page28" id="page28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +not be of it. To this end he climbed to +the top of a marble column, sixty feet +high, and there on the capstone he began +to live a life beyond reproach.</p> + +<p>Simeon was then twenty-four years old. +</p><p>The environment was circumscribed, but +there were outlook, sunshine, ventilation—three +good things. But beyond these +the place had certain disadvantages. The +capstone was a little less than three feet +square, so Simeon could not lie down. +He slept sitting, with his head bowed +between his knees, and, indeed, in this +posture he passed most of his time. Any +recklessness in movement, and he would +have slipped from his perilous position +and been dashed to death upon the stones +beneath.</p> + +<p>As the sun arose he stood up, just for a +few moments, and held out his arms in +greeting, blessing and in prayer. Three +times during the day did he thus stretch +his cramped limbs, and pray with his +face to the East. At such times, those +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page29" id="page29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +who stood near shared in his prayers, and +went away blessed and refreshed.</p> + +<p>How did Simeon get to the top of the +column?</p> + +<p>Well, his companions at the monastery, +a mile away, said he was carried there +in the night by a miraculous power; +that he went to sleep in his stone cell +and awoke on the pillar. Other monks +said that Simeon had gone to pay his +respects to a fair lady, and in wrath +God had caught him and placed him +on high. The probabilities are, however, +Terese, as viewed by an unbeliever, that +he shot a line over the column with a +bow and arrow and then drew up a rope +ladder and ascended with ease.</p> + +<p>However, in the morning the simple people +of the scattered village saw the man on the +column.</p> + +<p>All day he stayed there.</p> + +<p>And the next day he was still there.</p> + +<p>The days passed, with the scorching +heat of the midday sun, and the cool +winds of the night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page30" id="page30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +Still Simeon kept his place.</p> + +<p>The rainy season came on. When the nights were cold +and dark, Simeon sat there with bowed +head, and drew the folds of his single +garment, a black robe, over his face.</p> + +<p>Another season passed; the sun again +grew warm, then hot, and the sandstorms +raged and blew, when the people +below almost lost sight of the man on +the column. Some prophesied he would +be blown off, but the morning light +revealed his form, naked from the waist +up, standing with hands outstretched to +greet the rising sun.</p> + +<p>Once each day, as darkness gathered, a +monk came with a basket containing a +bottle of goat’s milk and a little loaf of +black bread, and Simeon dropped down +a rope and drew up the basket.</p> + +<p>Simeon never spoke, for words are folly, +and to the calls of saint or sinner he +made no reply. He lived in a perpetual +attitude of adoration.</p> + +<p>Did he suffer? During those first weeks he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page31" id="page31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +must have suffered terribly and horribly. +There was no respite nor rest from the +hard surface of the rock, and aching +muscles could find no change from the +cramped and perilous position. If he fell, +it was damnation for his soul—all were +agreed as to this.</p> + +<p>But man’s body and mind accommodate +themselves to almost any condition. One +thing at least, Simeon was free from +economic responsibilities, free from social +cares and intrusion. Bores with sad stories +of unappreciated lives and fond hopes +unrealized, never broke in upon his peace. +He was not pressed for time. No frivolous +dame of tarnished fame sought to share +with him his perilous perch. The people +on a slow schedule, ten minutes late, never +irritated his temper. His correspondence +never got in a heap.</p> + +<p>Simeon kept no track of the days, having +no engagements to meet, nor offices to +perform, beyond the prayers at morn, +midday and night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page32" id="page32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +Memory died in him, the hurts became +callouses, the world-pain died out of his +heart, and to cling became a habit.</p> + +<p>Language was lost in disuse.</p> + +<p>The food he ate was minimum in quantity; +sensation ceased, and the dry, hot winds +reduced bodily tissue to a dessicated +something called a saint—loved, feared +and reverenced for his fortitude.</p> + +<p>This pillar, which had once graced the +portal of a pagan temple, again became +a place of pious pilgrimage, and people +flocked to Simeon’s rock, so that they +might be near when he stretched out +his black, bony hands to the East, and +the spirit of Almighty God, for a space, +hovered close around.</p> + +<p>So much attention did the abnegation of +Simeon attract that various other pillars, +marking the ruins of art and greatness +gone, in that vicinity, were crowned +with pious monks. The thought of these +monks was to show how Christianity +had triumphed over heathenism. Imitators +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page33" id="page33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +were numerous. About then the Bishops +in assembly asked, “Is Simeon sincere?” +To test the matter of Simeon’s pride, he +was ordered to come down from his +retreat.</p> + +<p>As to his chastity, there was little doubt, +his poverty was beyond question, but how +about obedience to his superiors?</p> + +<p>The order was shouted up to him in a +Bishop’s voice—he must let down his rope, +draw up a ladder, and descend.</p> + +<p>Straightway Simeon made preparation +to obey. And then the Bishops relented +and cried, “We have changed our minds, +and now order you to remain!”</p> + +<p>Simeon lifted his hands in adoration and +thankfulness and renewed his lease.</p> + +<p>And so he lived on and on and on—he +lived on the top of that pillar, never once +descending for thirty years.</p> + +<p>All his former companions grew aweary, +and one by one died, and the monastery +bells tolled their requiem as they were +laid to rest. Did Simeon hear the bells +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page34" id="page34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +and say, “Soon it will be my turn”? +</p> + +<p>Probably not. His senses had flown, +for what good were they! The young +monk who now at eventide brought the +basket with the bottle of goat’s milk +and the loaf of brown bread was born +since Simeon had taken his place on +the pillar.</p> + +<p>“He has always been there,” the people +said, and crossed themselves hurriedly. +</p><p>But one evening when the young monk +came with his basket, no line was dropped +down from above. He waited and then +called aloud, but all in vain.</p> + +<p>When sunrise came, there sat the monk, +his face between his knees, the folds of +his black robe drawn over his head. But +he did not rise and lift his hands in prayer. +</p><p>All day he sat there, motionless.</p> + +<p>The people watched in whispered silence. +Would he arise at sundown and pray, +and with outstretched hands bless the +assembled pilgrims?</p> + +<p>And as they watched, a vulture came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page35" id="page35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +sailing slowly through the blue ether, +and circled nearer and nearer; and off +on the horizon was another—and still +another, circling nearer and ever nearer.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page38" id="page38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +I would write across the sky in letters of +light this undisputed truth, proven by +every annal of history, that the only way +to help yourself is through loyalty to +those who trust and employ you.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page39" id="page39">[Pg 39]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>Battle of the Little Big Horn</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>It was in the Spring +of Eighteen Hundred +Seventy-six that the +Sioux on the Dakota +Reservation became +restless, and after various +fruitless efforts to +restrain them, moved +Westward in a body. +</p><p>This periodic migration was a habit and +a tradition of the tribe. For hundreds of +years they had visited the buffalo country +on an annual hunt.</p> + +<p>Now the buffaloes were gone, save for +a few scattered herds in the mountains. +The Indians did not fully realize this, +although they realized that as the Whites +came in, the game went out. The Sioux +were hunters and horsemen by nature. +They traveled and moved about with great +freedom. If restrained or interfered with +they grew irritable and then hostile.</p> + +<p>Now they were full of fight. The Whites +had ruined the hunting-grounds; besides +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page40" id="page40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +that, white soldiers had fought them if +they moved to their old haunts, sacred +for their use and bequeathed to them +by their ancestors. In dead of Winter, +when the snows lay deep and they were +in their teepees, crouching around the +scanty fire, soldiers had charged on +horseback through the villages, shooting +into the teepees, killing women and +children.</p> + +<p>At the head of these soldiers was a white +chief, whom they called Yellow Hair. He +was a smashing, dashing, fearless soldier +who understood the Indian ways and +haunts, and then used this knowledge +for the undoing of the Red Men.</p> + +<p>Yellow Hair wanted to keep them in +one little place all the time, and desired +that they should raise corn like cowardly +Crows, when what they wanted was to +be free and hunt!</p> + +<p>They feared Yellow Hair—and hated him. +</p><p>Custer was a man of intelligence—nervous, +energetic, proud. His honesty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page41" id="page41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +and sincerity were beyond dispute. He +was a natural Indian fighter. He could +pull his belt one hole tighter and go +three whole days without food. He could +ride like the wind, or crawl in the grass, +and knew how to strike, quickly and +unexpectedly, as the first streak of dawn +came into the East. Like Napoleon, he +knew the value of time, and, in fact, he +had somewhat of the dash and daring, +not to mention the vanity, of the Corsican. +His men believed in him and loved him, +for he marched them to victory, and with +odds of five to one had won again and +again.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But Custer had the defect of his qualities; +and to use the Lincoln phrase, sometimes +took counsel of his ambition.</p> + +<p>He had fought in the Civil War in places +where no prisoners were taken, and where +there was no commissary. And this wild, +free life had bred in him a habit of unrest—a +chafing at discipline and all rules of +modern warfare.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page42" id="page42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +Results were the only things he cared for, +and power was his Deity.</p> + +<p>When the Indians grew restless in the +Spring of Seventy-six, Custer was called +to Washington for consultation. President +Grant was not satisfied with our Indian +policy—he thought that in some ways +the Whites were the real savages. The +Indians he considered as children, not +as criminals.</p> + +<p>Custer tried to tell him differently. Custer +knew the bloodthirsty character of the +Sioux, their treachery and cunning—he +showed scars by way of proof!</p> + +<p>The authorities at Washington needed +Custer. However, his view of the case +did not mean theirs. Custer believed in +the mailed hand, and if given the power +he declared he would settle the Indian +Question in America once and forever. +His confidence and assumption and what +Senator Dawes called swagger were not to +their liking. Anyway, Custer was attracting +altogether too much attention—the people +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page43" id="page43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +followed him on Pennsylvania Avenue +whenever he appeared.</p> + +<p>General Terry was chosen to head the +expedition against the hostile Sioux, and +Custer was to go as second in command. +</p><p>Terry was older than Custer, but Custer +had seen more service on the plains. +Custer demurred—threatened to resign—and +wrote a note to the President asking +for a personal interview and requesting a +review of the situation.</p> + +<p>President Grant refused to see Custer, and +reminded him that the first duty of a +soldier was obedience.</p> + +<p>Custer left Washington, glum and sullen—grieved. +But he was a soldier, and so +he reported at Fort Lincoln, as ordered, +to serve under a man who knew less +about Indian fighting than did he.</p> + +<p>The force of a thousand men embarked on +six boats at Bismarck. There a banquet +was given in honor of Terry and Custer. +“You will hear from us by courier before +July Fourth,” said Custer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page44" id="page44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +He was still moody and depressed, but +declared his willingness to do his duty.</p> + +<p>Terry did not like his attitude and told +him so. Poor Custer was stung by the +reprimand.</p> + +<p>He was only a boy, thirty-seven +years old, to be sure, but with the +whimsical, daring, ambitious and jealous +quality of the center-rush. Custer at times +had his eye on the White House—why +not! Had not Grant been a soldier?</p> + +<p>Women worshiped Custer, and men who +knew him, never doubted his earnestness +and honesty. He lacked humor.</p> + +<p>He was both sincere and serious.</p> + +<p>The expedition moved on up the tortuous +Missouri, tying up at night to avoid the +treacherous sandbars that lay in wait. +</p><p>They had reached the Yellowstone +River, and were getting into the Indian +Country.</p> + +<p>To lighten the boats, Terry divided his +force into two parts. Custer disembarked +on the morning of the Twenty-fifth of +June, with four hundred forty-three men, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page45" id="page45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +besides a dozen who looked after the +pack-train.</p> + +<p>Scouts reported that the hostile Sioux +were camped on the Little Big Horn, +seventy-five miles across the country.</p> + +<p>Terry gave Custer orders to march the +seventy-five miles in forty-eight hours, +and attack the Indians at the head of +their camp at daylight on the morning +of the Twenty-seventh. There was to be +no parley—panic was the thing desired, +and when Custer had started the savages +on the run, Terry would attack them at +the other end of their village, and the +two fleeing mobs of savages would be +driven on each other, and then they +would cast down their arms and the +trick would be done.</p> + +<p>Next, to throw a cordon of soldiers +around the camp and hold it would be +easy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Custer and his men rode away at about +eight o’clock on the morning of the +Twenty-fifth. They were in high spirits, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page46" id="page46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +for the cramped quarters on the transports +made freedom doubly grateful.</p> + +<p>They disappeared across the mesa and +through the gray-brown hills, and soon +only a cloud of dust marked their passage. +</p><p>After five miles had been turned off on +a walk, Custer ordered a trot, and then, +where the ground was level, a canter.</p> + +<p>On they went.</p> + +<p>They pitched camp at four o’clock, having +covered forty miles. The horses were +unsaddled and fed, and supper cooked +and eaten.</p> + +<p>But sleep was not to be—these men shall +sleep no more!</p> + +<p>The bugles sounded “Boots and Saddles.” +Before sunset they were again on their +way.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>By three o’clock on the morning of the +Twenty-sixth, they had covered more than +seventy miles.</p> + +<p>They halted for coffee.</p> + +<p>The night, waiting for the dawn, was +doubly dark.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page47" id="page47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +Fast-riding scouts had gone on ahead, +and now reported the Indians camped +just over the ridge, four miles away.</p> + +<p>Custer divided his force into two parts. +The Indians were camped along the river +for three miles. There were about two +thousand of them, and the women and +children were with them.</p> + +<p>Reno with two hundred fifty men was +ordered to swing around and attack the +village from the South. Custer with one +hundred ninety-three men would watch +the charge, and when the valiant Reno had +started the panic and the Indians were +in confusion, his force would then sweep +around and charge them from the other +end of the village.</p> + +<p>This was Terry’s plan of battle, only +Custer was going to make the capture +without Terry’s help.</p> + +<p>When Terry came up the following day, +he would find the work all done and +neatly, too. Results are the only things +that count, and victory justifies itself. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page48" id="page48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +</p><p>The battle would go down on the records +as Custer’s triumph!</p> + +<p>Reno took a two-mile detour, and just at +peep of day, ere the sun had gilded the +tops of the cottonwoods, charged, with +yells and rapid firing, into the Indian +village. Custer stood on the ridge, his +men mounted and impatient just below +on the other side.</p> + +<p>He could distinguish +Reno’s soldiers as they charged into the +underbrush. Their shouts and the sound +of firing filled his fighter’s heart.</p> + +<p>The Indians were in confusion—he could +see them by the dim light, stampeding. +They were running in brownish masses +right around the front of the hill where +he stood. He ordered the bugles to blow +the charge.</p> + +<p>The soldiers greeted the order with a +yell—tired muscles, the sleepless night, +its seventy-five miles of hard riding, +were forgotten. The battle would be +fought and won in less time than a +man takes to eat his breakfast.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page49" id="page49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Down the slope swept Custer’s men +to meet the fleeing foe.</p> + +<p>But now the savages had ceased to +flee. They lay in the grass and fired. +</p><p>Several of Custer’s horses fell.</p> + +<p>Three of his men threw up their hands, +and dropped from their saddles, limp +like bags of oats, and their horses ran +on alone.</p> + +<p>The gully below was full of Indians, and +these sent a murderous fire at Custer as he +came. His horses swerved, but several ran +right on and disappeared, horse and rider +in the sunken ditch, as did Napoleon’s +men at Waterloo.</p> + +<p>The mad, headlong charge hesitated. The +cottonwoods, the water and the teepees +were a hundred yards away.</p> + +<p>Custer glanced back, and a mile distant +saw Reno’s soldiers galloping wildly up +the steep slope of the hill.</p> + +<p>Reno’s charge had failed—instead of +riding straight down through the length +of the village and meeting Custer, he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page50" id="page50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +had gotten only fifty rods, and then had +been met by a steady fire from Indians +who held their ground. He wedged them +back, but his horses, already overridden, +refused to go on, and the charging troops +were simply carried out of the woods into +the open, and once there they took to the +hills for safety, leaving behind, dead, +one-third of their force.</p> + +<p>Custer quickly realized the hopelessness +of charging alone into a mass of Indians, +who were exultant and savage in the +thought of victory. Panic was not for +them.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>They were armed with Springfield rifles, +while the soldiers had only short-range +carbines.</p> + +<p>The bugles now ordered a retreat, and +Custer’s men rode back to the top of +the hill—with intent to join forces with +Reno.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Reno was hopelessly cut off. Determined +Sioux filled the gully that separated the +two little bands of brave men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page51" id="page51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +Custer, evidently, thought that Reno had +simply withdrawn to re-form his troop, +and that any moment Reno would ride +to his rescue.</p> + +<p>Custer decided to hold the hill.</p> + +<p>The Indians were shooting at him from +long range, occasionally killing a horse. +</p><p>He told off his fours and ordered the +horses sent to the rear.</p> + +<p>The fours led their horses back toward +where they had left their packmules +when they had stopped for coffee at +three o’clock.</p> + +<p>But the fours had not gone half a mile +when they were surrounded by a mob +of Indians that just closed in on them. +Every man was killed—the horses were +galloped off by the women and children. +</p><p>Custer now realized that he was caught +in a trap. The ridge where his men lay +face down was half a mile long, and not +more than twenty feet across at the top. +The Indians were everywhere—in the +gullies, in the grass, in little scooped-out +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page52" id="page52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +holes. The bullets whizzed above the +heads of Custer’s men as they lay there, +flattening their bodies in the dust.</p> + +<p>The morning sun came out, dazzling +and hot.</p> + +<p>It was only nine o’clock.</p> + +<p>The men were without food and without +water. The Little Big Horn danced over +its rocky bed and shimmered in the golden +light, only half a mile away, and there in +the cool, limpid stream they had been +confident they would now swim and fish, +the battle over, while they proudly held +the disarmed Indians against General +Terry’s coming.</p> + +<p>But the fight had not been won, and +death lay between them and water. The +only thing to do was to await Reno or +Terry. Reno might come at any time, +and Terry would arrive without fail at +tomorrow’s dawn—he had said so, and +his word was the word of a soldier.</p> + +<p>Custer had blundered.</p> + +<p>The fight was lost.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page53" id="page53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Now it was just a question of endurance. +Noon came, and the buzzards began to +gather in the azure.</p> + +<p>The sun was blistering hot—there was +not a tree, nor a bush, nor a green blade +of grass within reach.</p> + +<p>The men had ceased to joke and banter. The situation +was serious. Some tried to smoke, but +their parching thirst was thus only aggravated—they +threw their pipes away.</p> + +<p>The Indians now kept up an occasional +shooting.</p> + +<p>They were playing with the +soldiers as a cat plays with a mouse.</p> + +<p>The Indian is a cautious fighter—he +makes no sacrifices in order to win. +Now he had his prey secure.</p> + +<p>Soon the soldiers would run out of +ammunition, and then one more day, +or two at least, and thirst and fatigue +would reduce brave men into old women, +and the squaws could rush in and pound +them on the head with clubs.</p> + +<p>The afternoon dragged along its awful +length. Time dwindled and dawdled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page54" id="page54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +At last the sun sank, a ball of fire in +the West.</p> + +<p>The moon came out.</p> + +<p>Now and then a Sioux would creep up +into shadowy view, but a shot from a +soldier would send him back into hiding. +Down in the cottonwoods the squaws +made campfires and were holding a +dance, singing their songs of victory. +</p><p>Custer warned his men that sleep +was death. This was their second sleepless +night, and the men were feverish with +fatigue. Some babbled in strange tongues, +and talked with sisters and sweethearts +and people who were not there—reason +was tottering.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page55" id="page55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +With Custer was an Indian boy, sixteen +years old, “Curley the Crow.” Custer +now at about midnight told Curley to +strip himself and crawl out among the +Indians, and if possible, get out through +the lines and tell Terry of their position. +Several of Custer’s men had tried to reach +water, but none came back.</p> + +<p>Curley got through the lines—his boldness +in mixing with the Indians and his red skin +saving him. He took a long way round +and ran to tell Terry the seriousness of +the situation.</p> + +<p>Terry was advancing, but was hampered +and harassed by Indians for twenty miles. +They fired at him from gullies, ridges, +rocks, prairie-dog mounds, and then +retreated. He had to move with caution. +Instead of arriving at daylight as he +expected, Terry was three hours behind. +The Indians surrounding Custer saw the +dust from the advancing troop.</p> + +<p>They hesitated to charge Custer boldly +as he lay on the hilltop, entrenched by +little ditches dug in the night with knives, +tin cups and bleeding fingers.</p> + +<p>It was easy to destroy Custer, but it +meant a dead Sioux for every white +soldier.</p> + +<p>The Indians made sham charges to +draw Custer’s fire, and then withdrew. +</p><p>They circled closer. The squaws came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page56" id="page56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +up with sticks and stones and menaced +wildly.</p> + +<p>Custer’s fire grew less and less. He was +running out of ammunition.</p> + +<p>Terry was only five miles away.</p> + +<p>The Indians closed in like a cloud around +Custer and his few survivors.</p> + +<p>It was a hand-to-hand fight—one against +a hundred.</p> + +<p>In five minutes every man was dead, and +the squaws were stripping the mangled +and bleeding forms.</p> + +<p>Already the main body of Indians was +trailing across the plains toward the +mountains.</p> + +<p>Terry arrived, but it was too late.</p> + +<p>An hour later Reno limped in, famished, +half of his men dead or wounded, sick, +undone.</p> + +<p>To follow the fleeing Indians was useless—the +dead soldiers must be decently +buried, and the living succored. Terry +himself had suffered sore.</p> + +<p>The Indians were five thousand strong, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page57" id="page57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +not two. They had gathered up all the +other tribes for more than a hundred miles. +Now they moved North toward Canada. +Terry tried to follow, but they held him +off with a rear-guard, like white veterans. +The Indians escaped across the border.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page60" id="page60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +Anybody can order, but to serve with grace, +tact and effectiveness is a fine art.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page61" id="page61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>Sam</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>In San Francisco lived +a lawyer—age, sixty—rich +in money, rich +in intellect, a business +man with many interests.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Now, this lawyer was a +bachelor, and lived in +apartments with his +Chinese servant “Sam.”</p> + +<p>Sam and his master had been together +for fifteen years.</p> + +<p>The servant knew the wants of his +employer as though he were his other +self. No orders were necessary.</p> + +<p>If there was to be a company—one +guest or a hundred—Sam was told the +number, that was all, and everything +was provided.</p> + +<p>This servant was cook, valet, watchman, +friend.</p> + +<p>No stray, unwished-for visitor ever got +to the master to rob him of his rest +when he was at home.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page62" id="page62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +If extra help was wanted, Sam secured +it; he bought what was needed; and when +the lawyer awakened in the morning, it +was to the singing of a tiny music-box +with a clock attachment set for seven +o’clock.</p> + +<p>The bath was ready; a clean shirt was +there on the dresser, with studs and +buttons in place; collar and scarf were +near; the suit of clothes desired hung +over a chair; the right pair of shoes, +polished like a mirror, was at hand, +and on the mantel was a half-blown +rose, with the dew still upon it, for a +boutonniere.</p> + +<p>Downstairs, the breakfast, +hot and savory, waited.</p> + +<p>When the good man was ready to go +to the office, silent as a shadow stood +Sam in the hallway, with overcoat, hat +and cane in hand.</p> + +<p>When the weather was threatening, an +umbrella was substituted for the cane. +The door was opened, and the master +departed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page63" id="page63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +When he returned at nightfall, on his +approach the door swung wide.</p> + +<p>Sam never took a vacation; he seemed +not to either eat or sleep.</p> + +<p>He was always near when needed; he +disappeared when he should.</p> + +<p>He knew nothing and he knew everything.</p> + +<p>For weeks scarcely a word might pass +between these men, they understood each +other so well.</p> + +<p>The lawyer grew to have a great affection +for his servant.</p> + +<p>He paid him a hundred dollars a month, +and tried to devise other ways to show +his gratitude; but Sam wanted nothing, +not even thanks.</p> + +<p>All he desired was the privilege to serve.</p> + +<p>But one morning as Sam poured his +master’s coffee, he said quietly, without +a shade of emotion on his yellow face, +“Next week I leave you.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer smiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page64" id="page64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +“Next week I leave you,” repeated the +Chinese; “I hire for you better man.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer set down his cup of coffee. +He looked at the white-robed servant. +He felt the man was in earnest.</p> + +<p>“So you are going to leave me—I do +not pay you enough, eh? That Doctor +Sanders who was here—he knows what +a treasure you are. Don’t be a fool, Sam; +I’ll make it a hundred and fifty a month—say +no more.”</p> + +<p>“Next week I leave you—I go to China,” +said the servant impassively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see! You are going back for a +wife? All right, bring her here—you will +return in two months? I do not object; +bring your wife here—there is work for +two to keep this place in order. The place +is lonely, anyway. I’ll see the Collector +of the Port, myself, and arrange your +passage-papers.”</p> + +<p>“I go to China next week: I need no papers—I +never come back,” said the man with +exasperating calmness and persistence.</p> + +<p>"By God, you shall not go!" said the +lawyer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page65" id="page65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +“By God, I will!” answered the heathen. +</p><p>It was the first time in their experience +together that the servant had used such +language, or such a tone, toward his +master.</p> + +<p>The lawyer pushed his chair back, and +after an instant said, quietly, “Sam, you +must forgive me; I spoke quickly. I do +not own you—but tell me, what have +I done—why do you leave me this way, +you know I need you!”</p> + +<p>“I will not tell you why I go—you laugh.” +</p> + +<p>“No, I shall not laugh.”</p> + +<p>“You will.”</p> + +<p>“I say, I will not.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, I go to China to die!”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! You can die here. Haven’t +I agreed to send your body back if you +die before I do?”</p> + +<p>“I die in four weeks, two days!”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“My brother, he in prison. He twenty-six, +I fifty. He have wife and baby. In China +they accept any man same family to die. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page66" id="page66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +I go to China, give my money to my +brother—he live, I die!”</p> + +<p>The next day a new Chinaman appeared +as servant in the lawyer’s household. In +a week this servant knew everything, and +nothing, just like Sam.</p> + +<p>And Sam disappeared, without saying +good-by.</p> + +<p>He went to China and was beheaded, +four weeks and two days from the day +he broke the news of his intent to go. +</p><p>His brother was set free.</p> + +<p>And the lawyer’s household goes along +about as usual, save when the master +calls for “Sam,” when he should say, +“Charlie.”</p> + +<p>At such times there comes a kind of +clutch at his heart, but he says nothing.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page68" id="page68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +When power and beauty meet, the world +would do well to take to its cyclone-cellar.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page69" id="page69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>Cleopatra and Cæsar</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The sole surviving +daughter of the great +King Ptolemy of Egypt, +Cleopatra was seventeen +years old when her +father died.</p> + +<p>By his will the King +made her joint heir to +the throne with her +brother Ptolemy, several years her junior. +And according to the custom not unusual +among royalty at that time, it was provided +that Ptolemy should become the +husband of Cleopatra.</p> + +<p>She was a woman—her brother a child. +</p><p>She had intellect, ambition, talent. She +knew the history of her own country, and +that of Assyria, Greece and Rome; and +all the written languages of the world +were to her familiar. She had been +educated by the philosophers, who had +brought from Greece the science of +Pythagoras and Plato. Her companions +had been men—not women, or nurses, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page70" id="page70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +or pious, pedantic priests.</p> + +<p>Through the +veins of her young body pulsed and +leaped life, plus.</p> + +<p>She abhorred the thought of an alliance +with her weak-chinned brother; and the +ministers of State, who suggested another +husband as a compromise, were dismissed +with a look.</p> + +<p>They said she was intractable, contemptuous, +unreasonable, and was scheming +for the sole possession of the throne.</p> + +<p>She was not to be diverted even by +ardent courtiers who were sent to her, +and who lay in wait ready with amorous +sighs—she scorned them all.</p> + +<p>Yet she was a woman still, and in her +dreams she saw the coming prince.</p> + +<p>She was banished from Alexandria.</p> + +<p>A few friends followed her, and an army +was formed to force from the enemy her +rights.</p> + +<p>But other things were happening—a +Roman army came leisurely drifting in +with the tide and disembarked at Alexandria. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page71" id="page71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +The Great Cæsar himself was in +command—a mere holiday, he said. He +had intended to join the land forces of +Mark Antony and help crush the rebellious +Pompey, but Antony had done the trick +alone; and only a few days before, word +had come that Pompey was dead.</p> + +<p>Cæsar knew that civil war was on in +Alexandria, and being near he sailed +slowly in, sending messengers on ahead +warning both sides to lay down their arms. +</p><p>With him was the far-famed invincible +Tenth Legion that had ravished Gaul. +Cæsar wanted to rest his men and, +incidentally, to reward them. They took +possession of the city without a blow. +</p> + +<p>Cleopatra’s troops laid down their arms, +but Ptolemy’s refused. They were simply +chased beyond the walls, and their punishment +for the time being was deferred.</p> + +<p>Cæsar took possession of the palace of +the King, and his soldiers accommodated +themselves in the houses, public buildings, +and temples as best they could.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page72" id="page72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +Cleopatra asked for a personal interview, +in order to present her cause.</p> + +<p>Cæsar declined to meet her—he understood +the trouble—many such cases he had +seen. Claimants for thrones were not new +to him. Where two parties quarreled, both +are right—or wrong—it really mattered +little.</p> + +<p>It is absurd to quarrel—still more foolish +to fight.</p> + +<p>Cæsar was a man of peace, and to keep +the peace he would appoint one of his +generals governor, and make Egypt a +Roman colony.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he would rest a week +or two, with the kind permission of +the Alexandrians, and write upon his +“Commentaries”—no, he would not see +either Cleopatra or Ptolemy—any desired +information they would get through his +trusted emissaries.</p> + +<p>In the service of Cleopatra was a Sicilian +slave who had been her personal servant +since she was a little girl. This man’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page73" id="page73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +name was Appolidorus. He was a man of +giant stature and imposing mien. Ten +years before his tongue had been torn +out as a token that as he was to attend +a queen he should tell no secrets.</p> + +<p>Appolidorus had but one thought in life, +and that was to defend his gracious queen. +He slept at the door of Cleopatra’s tent, +a naked sword at his side, held in his +clenched and brawny hand.</p> + +<p>And now behold at dusk of day the grim +and silent Appolidorus, carrying upon his +giant shoulders a large and curious rug, +rolled up and tied ’round at each end with +ropes.</p> + +<p>He approaches the palace of the +King, and at the guarded gate hands a note +to the officer in charge. This note gives +information to the effect that a certain +patrician citizen of Alexandria, being +glad that the gracious Cæsar had deigned +to visit Egypt, sends him the richest rug +that can be woven—done, in fact, by his +wife and daughters and held against this +day, awaiting Rome’s greatest son.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page74" id="page74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +The officer reads the note, and orders a +soldier to accept the gift and carry it +within—presents were constantly arriving. +A sign from the dumb giant makes the +soldier stand back—the present is for +Cæsar and can be delivered only in +person. “Lead and I will follow,” were +the words done in stern pantomime. +The officer laughs, sends in the note, and +the messenger soon returning, signifies +that the present is acceptable and the +slave bearing it shall be shown in. +Appolidorus shifts his burden to the +other shoulder, and follows the soldier +through the gate, up the marble steps, +along the splendid hallway, lighted by +flaring torches and lined with reclining +Roman soldiers.</p> + +<p>At a door they pause an instant, there +is a whispered word—they enter.</p> + +<p>The room is furnished as becomes the +room that is the private library of the +King of Egypt. In one corner, seated +at the table, pen in hand, sits a man +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page75" id="page75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +of middle age, pale, clean-shaven, with +hair close-cropped. His dress is not that +of a soldier—it is the flowing white robe +of a Roman Priest. Only one servant +attends this man, a secretary, seated near, +who rises and explains that the present +is acceptable and shall be deposited on +the floor.</p> + +<p>The pale man at the table looks up, +smiles a tired smile and murmurs in a +perfunctory way his thanks.</p> + +<p>Appolidorus having laid his burden on +the floor, kneels to untie the ropes. +The secretary explains that he need not +trouble, pray bear thanks and again +thanks to his master—he need not tarry! +</p><p>The dumb man on his knees neither +hears nor heeds. The rug is unrolled. +</p><p>From out the roll a woman leaps +lightly to her feet—a beautiful young +woman of twenty.</p> + +<p>She stands there, poised, defiant, gazing +at the pale-faced man seated at the table. +</p><p>He is not surprised—he never was. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page76" id="page76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +One might have supposed he received +all his visitors in this manner.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he says in a quiet way, a half-smile +parting his thin lips.</p> + +<p>The breast of the woman heaves with +tumultuous emotion—just an instant. She +speaks, and there is no tremor in her +tones. Her voice is low, smooth and +scarcely audible: “I am Cleopatra.”</p> + +<p>The man at the desk lays down his pen, +leans back and gently nods his head, +as much as to say, indulgently, “Yes, +my child, I hear—go on!”</p> + +<p>“I am Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and +I would speak with thee, alone.”</p> + +<p>She pauses; then raising one jeweled +arm motions to Appolidorus that he +shall withdraw.</p> + +<p>With a similar motion, the man at the +desk signifies the same to his astonished +secretary.</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p>Appolidorus went down the long hallway, +down the stone steps and waited at the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page77" id="page77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +outer gate amid the throng of soldiers. +They questioned him, gibed him, railed +at him, but they got no word in reply. +</p><p>He waited—he waited an hour, two—and +then came a messenger with a note +written on a slip of parchment. The +words ran thus: “Well-beloved ’Dorus: +Veni, vidi, vici! Go fetch my maids; +also, all of our personal belongings.”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page80" id="page80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +As the cities are all only two days from +famine, so is man’s life constantly but a +step from dissolution.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page81" id="page81">[Pg 81]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>A Special Occasion</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Once on a day, I spoke +at the Athenæum, New +Orleans, for the Young +Men’s Hebrew Association.</p> + +<p>When they had asked +my fee I answered, +“One Hundred Fifty +Dollars.” The reply +was, “We will pay you Two Hundred—it +is to be a special occasion.”</p> + +<p>A carriage was sent to my hotel for me. +The Jews may be close traders, but when +it comes to social functions, they know +what to do. The Jew is the most generous +man in the world, even if he can be at +times cent per cent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page82" id="page82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +As I approached the Athenæum I thought, +“What a beautiful building!” It was stone +and brick—solid, subdued, complete and +substantial. The lower rooms were used +for the Hebrew Club. Upstairs stretched +the splendid hall, as I could tell from the +brilliantly lighted windows.</p> + + +<p>Inside, I noticed that the stairways were +carpeted with Brussels. Glancing through +the wide doorways, I beheld an audience +of more than two thousand people. The +great chandeliers sent out a dazzling glory +from their crystal and gold. At the sides, +rich tapestries and hangings of velvet +covered the windows.</p> + +<p>“A beautiful building,” I said to my +old-time friend, Maurice J. Pass, the +Secretary of the Club.</p> + +<p>He smiled in satisfaction and replied, +“Well, we seldom let things go by default—you +have tonight as fine an audience as +ever assembled in New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>We passed down a side hallway and under +the stage, preparatory to going on the +platform. In this room below the stage a +single electric light shone. The place was +dark and dingy, in singular contrast to +the beauty, light, cleanliness and order +just beyond. In the corner were tables +piled high—evidently used for banquets—broken +furniture and discarded boxes. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page83" id="page83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +</p><p>Several smart young men in full dress +sat on the tables smoking cigarettes. One +young man said in explanation, “We +were crowded out—had to give up our +seats to ladies—so we are going to sit on +the stage.”</p> + +<p>The soft blue smoke from the cigarettes +seemed to hug close about the lonely +electric light.</p> + +<p>I saw the smoke and thought that beside +the odor of tobacco I detected the smell +of smoldering pine.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it a trifle smoky here?” I said +to the young man nearest me.</p> + +<p>He laughed at this remark and handed +me a cigarette.</p> + +<p>The Secretary of the Club and I went +up the narrow stairs to the stage. As +we stood there behind the curtain I +looked at the pleasant-faced man. “You +didn’t detect the odor of burning wood +down there, did you?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“No; but you see the windows are open, +and there are bonfires outside, I suppose.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page84" id="page84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +</p><p>“I am a fool,” I thought; “and James +Whitcomb Riley was right when he said +that the speaker who is about to make +his bow to an audience is always so +keyed up that at the moment he is +incapable of sane thinking.”</p> + +<p>I excused myself and walked over to +an open window at the back of the +stage and looked down.</p> + +<p>It must have been forty feet to the stony +street beneath.</p> + +<p>Then I went to a side window and +threw up the sash. This window looked +out on a roof ten or twelve feet below. +I got a broken broom that stood in the +corner and propped the window open. +</p><p>The thought of fire was upon me and +I was inwardly planning what I would +do in case of a stampede. I am always +thinking about what I would do should +this or that happen. Nothing can surprise +me—not even death. If any of my best +helpers should leave me, I have it all +planned exactly whom I will put in their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page85" id="page85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +places. I have it arranged who will take +my own place—my will is made and +my body is to be cremated.</p> + +<p>“Cremated? Not tonight!” I said to +myself, as I placed the broom under +the sash. “If a panic occurs, the people +will go out of the doors and I will stick +to the stage until my coat-tails singe. +I’ll say that the fire is in an adjoining +building; then I’ll smilingly bow myself +off the stage and gently drop out of that +window.”</p> + +<p>“All ready when you are,” said Mr. Fass. +</p><p>I passed out on the stage before that +vast sea of faces.</p> + +<p>It was a glorious sight. There was a row +of military men from the French warship +in the harbor, down in front; priests, and +ladies with sparkling diamonds; a bishop +wearing a purple vestment under his black +gown sat to one side; a stout lady in +decollete waved a feather fan in rhythmic, +mystic motion, far back to the left.</p> + +<p>The audience applauded encouragingly, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page86" id="page86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +I wished I was back in that dear East +Aurora. But I began.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes my heart ceased to +thump and I knew we were off.</p> + +<p>I spoke for two hours, and I spoke well. +</p><p>I did not push the lecture in front of +me, nor did I drag it behind. I got the +chancery twist on it and carried it off +big, as I do about one time in ten. I +finished in a whirlwind of applause, with +the bishop crying “Bravo!” and the fat +lady with the fifty-dollar feather fan +beaming approbation.</p> + +<p>Fass stood in the wings to congratulate +me.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I shook hands with a hundred. The house +slowly emptied. I bade the genial Fass +good-by. He took my hand in both of +his. “You will come back! You must come +back!” he said.</p> + +<p>He walked with me, bareheaded, to my +carriage.</p> + +<p>He again pressed my hand.</p> + +<p>I rode to my hotel and went to bed, +and to sleep.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page87" id="page87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +I was awakened by a bright glare of light +that filled my room.</p> + +<p>I got up and looked +at my watch. It was just midnight.</p> + +<p>Off to the East I saw red tongues of angry +flame streaking the sky from horizon to +zenith.</p> + +<p>“It is the Jewish Club, all right,” I said. +</p> + +<p>I pulled down the blind and went back +to bed.</p> + +<p>When I went down to breakfast at +seven o’clock in the morning, I heard +the newsboys in the streets crying, “All +about the fire!” I bought a paper and +read the headline, “Hubbard’s Lecture +Hot Stuff!”</p> + +<p>I walked out Saint Charles Avenue and +viewed the smoldering ruins where only a +few hours before I had spoken to more than +two thousand people—where the bishop +in purple vestment had cried “Bravo!” +and the stout lady with feathered fan +had beamed approval.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page88" id="page88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +“Was anybody hurt?” I asked one of +the policemen on guard.</p> + +<p>“Only one man killed—Fass, the Secretary; +I believe he lies somewhere over there +to the left, beneath that toppled wall.”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page90" id="page90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +The person who reasons from a false +premise is always funny—to other folks.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page91" id="page91">[Pg 91]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>Uncle Joe and Aunt Melinda</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The opinion prevails all +through the truly rural +districts that the big +cities are for the most +part given over to Confidence +Men.</p> + +<p>And the strange part +is that the opinion is +correct.</p> + +<p>But it should not be assumed that all the +people in, say, Buffalo, are moral derelicts—there +are many visitors there, most of +the time, from other sections.</p> + +<p>And while at all times one should exercise +caution, yet to assume that the party who +is “fresh” is intent on high crimes and +misdemeanors may be a rather hasty and +unjust generalization.</p> + +<p>For instance, there are Uncle Joe and +Aunt Melinda, who live eight miles back +from East Aurora, at Wales Hollow. They +had been married for forty-seven years, +and had never taken a wedding-journey. +They decided to go to Buffalo and spend +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page92" id="page92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +two days at a hotel regardless of expense. +</p><p>Much had been told them about the +Confidence Men who hang around the +railroad-station, and they were prepared. +</p><p>They arrived at East Aurora, where +they were to take the train, an hour ahead +of time. The Jerkwater came in and +they were duly seated, when all at once +Uncle Joe rushed for the door, jumped +off and made for the waiting-room looking +for his carpetbag. It was on the train all +right, but he just forgot, and feeling sure +he had left it in the station made the +grand skirmish as aforesaid.</p> + +<p>The result was that the train went off +and left your Uncle Joseph.</p> + +<p>Aunt Melinda was much exercised, but +the train-hands pacified her by assurances +that her husband would follow on the next +train, and she should simply wait for him +in the depot at Buffalo.</p> + +<p>Now the Flyer was right behind the Jerkwater, +and Uncle Joe took the Flyer and +got to Buffalo first. When the Jerkwater +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page93" id="page93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +came in, Uncle Joe was on the platform +waiting for Aunt Melinda.</p> + +<p>As she disembarked he approached her.</p> + +<p>She shied and passed on.</p> + +<p>He persisted in his attentions.</p> + +<p>Then it was that she shook her umbrella +at him and bade him hike. The eternally +feminine in her nature prompted self-preservation. +She banked on her reason—woman’s +reason—not her intuition. She +had started first—her husband could only +come on a later train.</p> + +<p>“Go ’way and leave me alone,” she +shouted in shrill falsetto. “You have got +yourself up to look like my Joe—and +that idiotic grin on your homely face is +just like my Joe, but no city sharper can +fool me, and if you don’t go right along +I’ll call for the perlice!”</p> + +<p>She called for the police, and Uncle Joe +had to show a strawberry-mark to prove +his identity, before he received recognition.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page96" id="page96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +To be your brother’s keeper is beautiful +if you do not cease to be his friend.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page97" id="page97">[Pg 97]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>Billy and the Book</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>One day last Winter in +New York I attended +a police court on a +side street, just off +lower Broadway. I was +waiting to see my old +friend Rosenfeld in the +Equitable Life Building, +but as his office +didn’t open up until nine o’clock, I put +in my time at the police court.</p> + +<p>There was the usual assortment of drunks, +petty thieves—male and female, black, +white and coffee-colored—disorderlies, +vagabonds and a man in full-dress suit +and a wide expanse of dull ecru shirt-bosom.</p> + +<p>The place was stuffy, foul-smelling, and +reeked with a stale combination of tobacco +and beer and patchouli, and tears, curses, +fear and promises unkept.</p> + +<p>The Judge turned things off, but without +haste. He showed more patience and +consideration than one usually sees on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page98" id="page98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +the bench. His judgments seemed to be +gentle and just.</p> + +<p>The courtroom was clearing, and I started +to go.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>As I was passing down the icy steps a +piping child’s voice called to me, “Mister, +please give me a lift!”</p> + +<p>There at the foot of the steps, standing +in the snow, was a slender slip of a girl, +yellow and earnest, say ten years old, +with a shawl pinned over her head. She +held in her hand a rope, and this rope +was tied to a hand-sled. On this sled +sat a little boy, shivering, dumpy and +depressed, his bare red hands clutching +the seat.</p> + +<p>“Mister, I say, please give me a lift!”</p> + +<p>“Sure!” I said.</p> + +<p>It was a funny sight.</p> + +<p>This girl seemed absolutely unconscious +of herself. She was not at all abashed, and +very much in earnest about something.</p> + +<p>Evidently she had watched the people +coming out and had waited until one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page99" id="page99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +appeared that she thought safe to call +on for help.</p> + +<p>“Of course I’ll give you a lift—what is +it you want me to do?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to go inside and see the Judge. +It’s about my brudder here. He is six, +goin’ on seven, and they sent him home +from school ’cause they said he wasn’t +old enough. I’m going to have that teacher +’rested. I’ve got the Bible here that says +he’s six years old. If you’ll carry the book +I’ll bring Billy and the sled!”</p> + +<p>“Where is the Bible?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Billy’s settin’ on it.”</p> + +<p>It was a big, +black, greasy Family Bible, evidently a +relic of better days. It had probably been +hidden under the bed for safety.</p> + +<p>The girl grappled the sled with one hand, +and with the other Billy’s little red fist.</p> + +<p>I followed, carrying the big, black, greasy +Family Bible.</p> + +<p>Evidently this girl had been here before. +She walked around the end of the judicial +bar, and laid down the sled. Then she took +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page100" id="page100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +the Bible out of my hands. It was about +all she could do to lift it.</p> + +<p>In a shrill, piping voice, full of business, +and very much in earnest, she addressed +the Judge: “I say, Mister Judge, they +sent my brudder Billy away from school, +they did. He’s six, goin’ on seven, and I +want that teacher ’rested and brought here +so you can tell her to let Billy go to school. +Here is our Family Bible—you can see for +yourself how old Billy is!”</p> + +<p>The Judge adjusted his glasses, stared, +and exclaimed, “God bless my soul!”</p> + +<p>Then he called a big, blue-coated officer +over and said: “Mike, you go with this +little girl and her brother, and tell that +teacher, if possible, to allow the boy to +go to school; that I say he is old enough. +You understand! If you do not succeed, +come back and tell me why.”</p> + +<p>The officer smiled and saluted.</p> + +<p>The big policeman took the little boy in +his arms. The girl carried the sled, and +I followed with the Family Bible.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page101" id="page101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +The officer looked at me—“Newspaper +man, I s’pose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> + +<p>“What paper?”</p> + +<p>“The American.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the best ever.”</p> + +<p>“I think so—possibly with a few exceptions.”</p> + +<p>“She’s the queerest lot yet, is this kid,” +and the big bluecoat jerked his thumb +toward the girl.</p><p>I suggested that we go +to the restaurant across the way and get +a bite of something to eat.</p> + +<p>“I’m not hungry,” said the officer, “but +the youngsters look as if they hadn’t et +since day before yesterday.”</p> + +<p>We lined up at the counter.</p> + +<p>The officer drank two cups of coffee and +ate a ham sandwich, two hard-boiled eggs, +a plate of cakes and a piece of pie.</p> + +<p>The girl and her brother each had a plate +of cakes, a piece of pie and a glass of milk.</p> + +<p>“What’s yours?” asked the waiter.</p> + +<p>“Same,” said I.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page102" id="page102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +As I did not care for the cakes, the officer +cleaned the plate for me.</p> + +<p>I didn’t have time to go to the school, +but the officer assured me that he would +“fix it,” and he winked knowingly, as if +he had looked after such things before. +He was kind, but determined, and I had +confidence he would see that the little +boy was duly admitted.</p> + +<p>I started up the street alone.</p> + +<p>They went the other way. The officer +carried the little boy.</p> + +<p>The girl with the shawl over her head +followed, pulling the hand-sled, and on the +sled rested the big, black Family Bible. I +lost sight of them as they turned the corner.</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page104" id="page104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +An act is only a crystallized thought.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page105" id="page105">[Pg 105]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>John the Baptist and Salome</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>John the Baptist, the +strong, fine youth, came +up out of the wilderness +crying in the streets +of Jerusalem, “Repent +ye! Repent ye!”</p> + +<p>Salome heard the call +and from her window +looked with half-closed, +catlike eyes upon the semi-naked, young +fanatic.</p> + +<p>She smiled, did this idle creature of +luxury, as she lay there amid the cushions +on her couch, and gazed through the +casement upon the preacher in the street. +</p> + +<p>Suddenly a thought came to her.</p> + +<p>She arose on her elbow—she called her slaves.</p> + +<p>They clothed her in a gaudy gown, +dressed her hair, and led her forth.</p> + +<p>Salome followed the wild, weird, religious +enthusiast.</p> + +<p>She pushed through the crowd and placed +herself near the man, so the smell of her +body would reach his nostrils.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page106" id="page106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +His eyes ranged the swelling lines of her +body.</p> + +<p>Their eyes met.</p> + +<p>She half-smiled and gave him that look +which had snared the soul of many +another.</p> + +<p>But he only gazed at her with passionless, +judging intensity and repeated his cry, +“Repent ye. Repent ye, for the day is +at hand!”</p> + +<p>Her reply, uttered soft and low, was +this: “I would kiss thy lips!”</p> + +<p>He moved away and she reached to +seize his garment, repeating, “I would +kiss thy lips—I would kiss thy lips!”</p> + +<p>He turned aside, and forgot her, as +he continued his warning cry, and went +his way.</p> + +<p>The next day she waylaid the youth +again; as he came near she suddenly +and softly stepped forth and said in +that same low, purring voice, “I would +kiss thy lips!”</p> + +<p>He repulsed her with scorn.</p> + +<p>She threw her arms about him and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page107" id="page107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +sought to draw his head down near hers. +</p><p>He pushed her from him with sinewy +hands, sprang as from a pestilence, and +was lost in the pressing throng.</p> + +<p>That night she danced before Herod +Antipas, and when the promise was +recalled that she should have anything +she wished, she named the head of the +only man who had ever turned away +from her. “The head of John the Baptist +on a charger!”</p> + +<p>In an hour the wish was gratified.</p> + +<p>Two eunuchs stood before Salome with +a silver tray bearing its fearsome burden. +</p><p>The woman smiled—a smile of triumph, +as she stepped forth with tinkling feet.</p> + +<p>A look of pride came over the painted face. +</p><p>Her jeweled fingers reached into the +blood-matted hair. She lifted the head +aloft, and the bracelets on her brown, +bare arms fell to her shoulders, making +strange music. Her face pressed the face +of the dead.</p> + +<p>In exultation she exclaimed, +“I have kissed thy lips!”</p> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<p class="cintro"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page110" id="page110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +He who influences the thought of his +time influences the thought of all the +time that follows. And he has made his +impress upon eternity.</p> + +<div> + <span class='pagenum'><a name="page111" id="page111">[Pg 111]</a></span> + <h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>The Master</h2> + <p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Giovanni Bellini was his name.</p> + +<p>Yet when people who loved +beautiful pictures spoke +of “Gian,” every one +knew who was meant; +but to those who worked +at art he was “The +Master.” He was two +inches under six feet in height, strong +and muscular. In spite of his seventy +summers his carriage was erect, and +there was a jaunty suppleness about his +gait that made him seem much younger. +In fact, no one would have believed +he had lived over his threescore and +ten, were it not for the iron-gray hair +that fluffed out all around under the +close-fitting black cap, and the bronzed +complexion—sun-kissed by wind and by +weather—which formed a trinity of opposites +that made people turn and stare. +</p><p>Queer stories used to be told about +him. He was a skilful gondolier, and it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page112" id="page112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +was the daily row back and forth from +the Lido that gave him that face of +bronze. Folks said he ate no meat and +drank no wine, and that his food was +simply ripe figs in the season, with coarse +rye bread and nuts.</p> + +<p>Then there was that funny old hunchback, +a hundred years old at least, and +stone-deaf, who took care of the gondola, +spending the whole day, waiting for his +master, washing the trim, graceful, blue-black +boat, arranging the awning with the +white cords and tassels, and polishing the +little brass lions at the sides. People tried +to question the old hunchback, but he +gave no secrets away. The master always +stood up behind and rowed; while down +on the cushions rode the hunchback, the +guest of honor.</p> + +<p>There stood the master erect, plying +the oar, his long black robe tucked up +under the dark blue sash that exactly +matched the color of the gondola. The +man’s motto might have been, “Ich +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page113" id="page113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +Dien,” or that passage of Scripture, +“He that is greatest among you shall +be your servant.” Suspended around his +neck by a slender chain was a bronze +medal, presented by vote of the Signoria +when the great picture of “The Transfiguration” +was unveiled. If this medal +had been a crucifix, and you had met +the wearer in San Marco, one glance +at the finely chiseled features, the black +cap and the flowing robe and you would +have said at once the man was a priest, +Vicar-General of some important diocese. +But seeing him standing erect on the stern +of a gondola, the wind caressing the dark +gray hair, you would have been perplexed +until your gondolier explained in serious +undertone that you had just passed “the +greatest Painter in all Venice, Gian, the +Master.”</p> + +<p>Then, if you showed curiosity and wanted +to know further, the gondolier would have +told you more about this strange man. +</p><p>The canals of Venice are the highways, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page114" id="page114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +and the gondoliers are like ’bus-drivers +in Piccadilly—they know everybody and +are in close touch with all the Secrets of +State. When you get to the Gindecca and +tie up for lunch, over a bottle of Chianti, +your gondolier will tell you this:</p> + +<p>The hunchback there in the gondola, +rowed by the Master, is the Devil, who +has taken that form just to be with and +guard the greatest artist the world has +ever seen. Yes, Signor, that clean-faced +man with his frank, wide-open, brown +eyes is in league with the Evil One. He +is the man who took young Tiziano from +Cadore into his shop, right out of a glass-factory, +and made him a great artist, +getting him commissions and introducing +him everywhere! And how about the +divine Giorgione who called him father? +Oho!</p> + +<p>And who is Giorgione? The son of some +unknown peasant woman. And if Bellini +wanted to adopt him, treat him as his +son indeed, kissing him on the cheek +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page115" id="page115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +when he came back just from a day’s +visit to Mestre, whose business was it! +Oho!</p> + +<p>Beside that, his name isn’t Giorgione—it +is Giorgio Barbarelli. And didn’t +this Giorgio Barbarelli, and Tiziano from +Cadore, and Espero Carbonne, and that +Gustavo from Nuremberg, and the others +paint most of Gian’s pictures? Surely they +did. The old man simply washes in the +backgrounds and the boys do the work. +About all old Gian does is to sign the +picture, sell it and pocket the proceeds. +Carpaccio helps him, too—Carpaccio who +painted the loveliest little angel sitting +cross-legged playing the biggest mandolin +you ever saw in your life.</p> + +<p>That is genius, you know, the ability to +get some one else to do the work, and +then capture the ducats and the honors +for yourself. Of course, Gian knows how +to lure the boys on—something has to be +done in order to hold them. Gian buys a +picture from them now and then; his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page116" id="page116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +studio is full of their work—better than +he can do. Oh, he knows a good thing +when he sees it. These pictures will be +valuable some day, and he gets them at +his own price. It was Antonello of Messina +who introduced oil-painting into Venice. +Before that they mixed their paints +with water, milk or wine. But when +Antonello came along with his dark, +lustrous pictures, he set all artistic Venice +astir. Gian Bellini discovered the secret, +they say, by feigning to be a gentleman +and going to the newcomer and sitting +for his picture. He it was who discovered +that Antonello mixed his colors with oil. +Oho!</p> + +<p>Of course, not all of the pictures in +his studio are painted by the boys: +some are painted by that old Dutchman +what’s-his-name—oh, yes, Durer, Alberto +Durer of Nuremberg. Two Nuremberg +painters were in that very gondola last +week just where you sit—they are here +in Venice now, taking lessons from Gian, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page117" id="page117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +they said. Gian was up there to Nuremberg +and lived a month with Durer—they +worked together, drank beer together, I +suppose, and caroused. Gian is very strict +about what he does in Venice, but you +can never tell what a man will do when +he is away from home. The Germans +are a roystering lot—but they do say +they can paint. Me? I have never been +up there—and do not want to go, either—there +are no canals there. To be sure, +they print books in Nuremberg. It was +up there somewhere that they invented +type, a lazy scheme to do away with +writing. They are a thrifty lot—those +Germans—they give me my fare and a +penny more, just a single penny, and +no matter how much I have talked and +pointed out the wonderful sights, and +imparted useful information, known to +me alone—only one penny extra—think +of it!</p> + +<p>Yes, printing was first done at Mayence +by a German, Gutenberg, about sixty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page118" id="page118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +years ago. One of Gutenberg’s workmen +went up to Nuremberg and taught others +how to design and cast type. This man, +Alberto Durer, helped them, designing +the initials and making their title-pages +by cutting the design on a wood block, +then covering this block with ink, laying +a sheet of paper upon it, placing it in +a press, and then when the paper is +lifted off it looks exactly like the original +drawing. In fact, most people couldn’t +tell the difference, and here you can +print thousands of them from the one +block.</p> + +<p>Bellini makes drawings for title-pages and +initials for Aldus and Nicholas Jenson. +Venice is the greatest printing place in +the world, and yet the business began +here only thirty years ago. The first book +printed here was in Fourteen Hundred +Sixty-nine, by John of Speyer. There +are two hundred licensed printing-presses +here, and it takes usually four men to +a press—two to set the type and get +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page119" id="page119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +things ready, and two to run the press. +This does not count, of course, the men +who write the books, and those who +make the type and cut the blocks from +which they print the pictures for the +illustrations. At first, you know, the books +they printed in Venice had no title-pages, +initials or illustrations. My father was +a printer and he remembers when the +first large initials were printed—before +that the spaces were left blank and the +books were sent out to the monasteries +to be completed by hand.</p> + +<p>Gian and Gentile had a good deal to +do about cutting the first blocks for +initials—they got the idea, I think, from +Nuremberg. And now there are Dutchmen +down here from Amsterdam learning how +to print books and paint pictures. Several +of them are in Gian’s studio, I hear—every +once in a while I get them for a +trip to the Lido or to Murano.</p> + +<p>Gentile Bellini is his brother and looks +very much like him. The Grand Turk +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page120" id="page120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +at Constantinople came here once and +saw Gian Bellini at work in the Great +Hall. He had never seen a good picture +before and was amazed. He wanted the +Senate to sell Gian to him, thinking he +was a slave. They humored the Pagan +by hiring Gentile Bellini to go instead, +loaning him out for two years, so to speak. +</p><p>Gentile went, and the Sultan, who +never allowed any one to stand before +him, all having to grovel in the dirt, +treated Gentile as an equal. Gentile +even taught the old rogue to draw a +little, and they say the painter had a +key to every room in the palace, and +was treated like a prince.</p> + +<p>Well, they got along all right, until +one day Gentile drew the picture of +the head of John the Baptist on a charger. +</p><p>“A man’s head doesn’t look like that +when it is cut off,” said the Grand Turk +contemptuously. Gentile had forgotten +that the Turk was on familiar ground. +</p><p>“Perhaps the Light of the Sun knows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page121" id="page121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +more about painting than I do!” said +Gentile, as he kept right on at his work. +</p><p>“I may not know much about painting, +but I’m no fool in some other things I +might name,” was the reply.</p> + +<p>The Sultan clapped his hands three +times: two slaves appeared from opposite +doors. One was a little ahead of the other, +and as this one approached, the Sultan +with a single swing of the snickersnee +snipped off his head. This teaches us +that obedience to our superiors is its +own reward. But the lesson was wholly +lost on Gentile Bellini, for he did not +even remain to examine the severed head +for art’s sake. The thought that it might +be his turn next was supreme, and he +leaped through a window, taking the +sash with him. Making his way to the +docks he found a sailing vessel loading +with fruit, bound for Venice. A small +purse of gold made the matter easy: +the captain of the boat secreted him, +and in four days he was safely back +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page122" id="page122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +in Saint Mark’s giving thanks to God +for his deliverance.</p> + +<p>No, I didn’t say Gian was a rogue—I +only told you what others say. I am +only a poor gondolier—why should I +trouble myself about what great folks +do? I simply tell you what I hear—it +may be so, and it may not. God knows! +There is that Pascale Salvini—he has a +rival studio—and when that Genoese, +Christoforo Colombo, was here and made +his stopping-place at Bellini’s studio, +Pascale told every one that Colombo was +a lunatic, and Bellini another, for encouraging +him to show his foolish maps and +charts. Now, they do say that Colombo has +discovered a new world, and Italians are +feeling troubled in conscience because they +did not fit him out with ships instead of +forcing him to go to Spain.</p> + +<p>No, I didn’t say Bellini was a hypocrite—Pascale’s +pupils say so, and once they +followed him over to Murano—three +barca-loads and my gondola beside. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page123" id="page123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +You see it was like this: Twice a week +just after sundown, we used to see Gian +Bellini untie his boat from the landing +there behind the Doge’s palace, turn the +prow, and beat out for Murano, with no +companion but that deaf old caretaker. +Twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays—always +at just the same hour, regardless +of the weather—we would see the old +hunchback light the lamps, and in a few +moments the Master would appear, tuck +up his black robe, step into the boat, take +the oar and away they would go. It was +always to Murano, and always to the +same landing—one of our gondoliers had +followed them several times, just out of +curiosity.</p> + +<p>Finally it came to the ears of Pascale that +Gian took this regular trip to Murano. +“It is a rendezvous,” said Pascale. “It +is worse than that: an orgy among those +lacemakers and the rogues of the glassworks. +Oh, to think that Gian should +stoop to such things at his age—his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page124" id="page124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +pretended asceticism is but a mask—and +at his age!”</p> + +<p>The Pascale students took it up, and +once came in collision with that Tiziano +of Cadore, who they say broke a boat-hook +over the head of one of them who had +spoken ill of the Master.</p> + +<p>But this did not silence the talk, and +one dark night, when the air was full +of flying mist, one of Pascale’s students +came to me and told me that he wanted +me to take a party over to Murano. The +weather was so bad that I refused to go—the +wind blew in gusts, sheet lightning +filled the Eastern sky, and all honest men, +but poor belated gondoliers, had hied +them home.</p> + +<p>I refused to go.</p> + +<p>Had I not seen Gian the painter go not +half an hour before? Well, if he could +go, others could too.</p> + +<p>I refused to go—except for double fare. +</p><p>He accepted and placed the double fare +in silver in my palm. Then he gave a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page125" id="page125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +whistle and from behind the corners came +trooping enough swashbuckler students +to swamp my gondola. I let in just enough +to fill the seats and pushed off, leaving +several standing on the stone steps cursing +me and everything and everybody.</p> + +<p>As my boat slid away in the fog and +headed on our course, I glanced back +and saw the three barca-loads following +in my wake.</p> + +<p>There was much muffled talk, and orders +from some one in charge to keep silence. +But there was passing of strong drink, +and then talk, and from it I gathered +that these were all students from Pascale’s, +out on one of those student carousals, +intent on heaven knows what! It was +none of my business.</p> + +<p>We shipped considerable water, and some +of the students were down on their knees +praying and bailing, bailing and praying. +</p><p>At last we reached the Murano landing. +All got out, the barcas tied up, and I tied +up, too, determined to see what was doing. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page126" id="page126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +The strong drink was passed, and a low, +heavy-set fellow who seemed to be captain +charged all not to speak, but to follow +him and do as he did.</p> + +<p>We took a side street where there was +little travel and followed through the dark +and dripping way, fully a half-mile, down +there in that end of the island called the +sailors’ broglio, where they say no man’s +life is safe if he has a silver coin or two. +There was much music in the wine-shops +and shouts of mirth and dancing feet on +stone floors, but the rain had driven +every one from the streets.</p> + +<p>We came to a long, low, stone building +that used to be a theater, but was now +a dance-hall upstairs and a warehouse +below. There were lights upstairs and +sounds of music. The stairway was dark, +but we felt our way up and on tiptoe +advanced to the big double door, from +under which the light streamed.</p> + +<p>We had received our orders, and when +we got to the landing we stood there +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page127" id="page127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +just an instant. “Now we have him—Gian +the hypocrite!” whispered the stout +man in a hoarse breath. We burst in the +doors with a whoop and a bang. The +change from the dark to the light sort +of blinded us at first. We all supposed +that there was a dance in progress of +course, and the screams from women +were just what we expected; but when +we saw several overturned easels and an +old man, half-nude, and too scared to +move, seated on a model throne, we did +not advance into the hall as we intended. +That one yell we gave was all the noise +we made. We stood there in a bunch, +just inside the door, sort of dazed and +uncertain. We did not know whether to +retreat, or charge on through the hall +as we had intended. We just stood there +like a lot of driveling fools.</p> + +<p>“Keep right at your work, my good +people. Keep right at your work!” called +a pleasant voice. “I see we have some +visitors.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page128" id="page128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +And Gian Bellini came forward. His robe +was still tucked up under the blue sash, +but he had laid aside his black cap, and +his tumbled gray hair looked like the +aureole of a saint. “Keep right at your +work,” he said again, and then came +forward and bade us welcome and begged +us to have seats.</p> + +<p>I dared not run away, so I sat down on +one of the long seats that were ranged +around the wall. My companions did the +same. There must have been fifty easels, +all ranged in a semicircle around the old +man who posed as a model. Several of +the easels had been upset, and there was +much confusion when we entered.</p> + +<p>“Just help us to arrange things—that is +right, thank you,” said Gian to the stout +man who was captain of our party. To +my astonishment the stout man was doing +just as he was bid, and was pacifying the +women students and straightening up +their easels and stools.</p> + +<p>I was interested in watching Gian walking +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page129" id="page129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +around, helping this one with a stroke of +his crayon, saying a word to that, smiling +and nodding to another. I just sat there +and stared. These students were not +regular art students, I could see that +plainly. Some were children, ragged and +barelegged, others were old men who +worked in the glass-factories, and surely +with hands too old and stiff to ever paint +well. Still others were women and young +girls of the town. I rubbed my eyes +and tried to make it out!</p> + +<p>The music we heard I could still hear—it +came from the wine-shop across the +way. I looked around and what do you +believe? My companions had all gone. +They had sneaked out one by one and +left me alone.</p> + +<p>I watched my chance and when the +Master’s back was turned I tiptoed out, +too.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When I got down on the street I found +I had left my cap, but I dared not go back +after it. I made my way down to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page130" id="page130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +landing, half running, and when I got +there not a boat was to be seen—the +three barcas and my gondola were gone.</p> + +<p>I thought I could see them, out through +the mist, a quarter of a mile away. I called +aloud, but no answer came back but the +hissing wind. I was in despair—they were +stealing my boat, and if they did not steal +it, it would surely be wrecked—my all, +my precious boat!</p> + +<p>I cried and wrung my hands. I prayed! +And the howling winds only ran shrieking +and laughing around the corners of the +building.</p> + +<p>I saw a glimmering light down the beach +at a little landing. I ran to it, hoping some +gondolier might be found who would row +me over to the city. There was one boat +at the landing and in it a hunchback, +sound asleep, covered with a canvas. It +was Gian Bellini’s boat. I shook the +hunchback into wakefulness and begged +him to row me across to the city. I yelled +into his deaf ears, but he pretended not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page131" id="page131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +to understand me. Then I showed him +the silver coin—the double fare—and +tried to place it in his hand. But no, +he only shook his head.</p> + +<p>I ran up the beach, still looking for a +boat.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>An hour had passed.</p> + +<p>I got back to the landing just as Gian +came down to his boat.</p> + +<p>I approached him and explained that +I was a poor worker in the glass-factory, +who had to work all day and +half the night, and as I lived over in +the city and my wife was dying, I must +get home. Would he allow me to ride +with His Highness? “Certainly—with +pleasure, with pleasure!” he answered, +and then pulling something from under +his sash he said, “Is this your cap, +Signor?” I took my cap, but my tongue +was paralyzed for the moment so I could +not thank him.</p> + +<p>The wind had died down, the rain had +ceased, and from between the blue-black +<span class='pagenum'><a name="page132" id="page132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +clouds the moon shone out. Gian rowed +with a strong, fine stroke, singing a “Te +Deum Laudamus” softly to himself the +while.</p> + +<p>I lay there and wept, thinking of my +boat, my all, my precious boat!</p> + +<p>We reached the landing—and there was +my boat, safely tied up, not a cushion +nor a cord missing.</p> + +<p>Gian Bellini? He may be a rogue as +Pascale Salvini says—God knows! How +can I tell—I am only a poor gondolier!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="page133" id="page133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +So here then endeth the Volume entitled +“The Mintage,” the same being Ten +Stories and One More written by Elbert +Hubbard. The whole done into a printed +book by The Roycrofters at their Shop, +which is in the Village of East Aurora, +Erie County, New York State, this year +of Grace mcmx and from the founding +of The Roycroft Shop the Sixteenth.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mintage, by Elbert Hubbard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINTAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 17504-h.htm or 17504-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/0/17504/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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