Part 35 (1/2)
Ross had turned to her--was holding out his arms to her. ”You won't go, my darling!” he said.
”I am going Wednesday on the 7.10,” said Diantha.
THE ”ANTI” AND THE FLY
The fly upon the Cartwheel Thought he made all the Sound; He thought he made the Cart go on-- And made the wheels go round.
The Fly upon the Cartwheel Has won undying fame For Conceit that was colossal, And Ignorance the same.
But to-day he has a Rival As we roll down History's Track-- For the ”Anti” on the Cartwheel Thinks she makes the Wheels go back!
THE BARREL
I was walking, peacefully enough, along a plain ordinary road, when I lifted my head and observed an impressive gateway. The pillars were of stone, high, carven, ma.s.sive; mighty gates of wrought iron hung between them, the gray wall stretched away on either side.
As the gates were open and there was no prohibitory sign, I entered, and for easy miles walked on; under the springing arches of tall elms, flat roofs of beech, and level fans of fir and pine; through woodland, park and meadow, with glimpses of starred lily-ponds, blue lakelets, and bright brooks; seeing the dappled deer, the swans and pheasants--a glorious place indeed.
Then a smooth turn, and across velvet lawns and statued gardens I saw a towering palace, so n.o.bly beautiful, so majestic, I took off my hat involuntarily. Approaching it I was met by courteous servingmen; told that it was open to visitors; and shown from hall to hall, from floor to floor; where every object was a work of art; where line, color and proportion, perfect architecture and fitting decoration made an overwhelming beauty.
”Whose it is?” I inquired. ”Some Duke?--King?--Emperor? Who owns this palace?--this glorious estate?”
They bowed and offered to lead me to him.
Downward and toward the back; through servants' apartments; through workroom, scullery and stable; out to the last and least and meanest little yard; narrow and dark, stone-paved, stone-walled, shadowed by caves of barns; there, huddled in a barrel, they pointed out a man.
They bowed to him, they called him master. They told me he was the owner of this vast estate.
I could not believe it--but they stood bowing--and he ordered them away.
”What!” I cried. ”_You!_--you are the owner--the master of all this wealth of beauty--this beauty of wealth! You own these miles of breezy upland and rich valley--still forests and bright lakes! You own these n.o.ble trees--those overflowing flowers--those glades of browsing deer!
You own this palace--a joy to the eye and uplift to the soul! This majesty and splendor--this comfort, beauty, form, you own all this--and are living--_here._”
He regarded me superciliously, with a weary expression.
”Young man,” he said, ”you are a dreamer--a visionary--a Utopian!--an idealist! You should consider Facts, my young sir; fix your mind on Facts! The _Fact_ is that I live in this Barrel.”
It was a fact;--he did visibly live in the Barrel.
It was also a fact that he owned that vast estate.
And there was no lid on the Barrel.
OUR ANDROCENTRIC CULTURE; or, THE MAN-MADE WORLD
III.