To the great Persian lord of the interior, the Greek soldier was better known and esteemed than the Greek artist or philosopher; thousands of them went into mercenary service in the Empire, usually to stay and be absorbed.
Their religion was respected, the laws were light and equal, and salaries plentiful and regular. In remote market places in Baluchistan, or in the irrigated paradise behind Babylon, these Spartans, Athenians, men from the Isles and Macedon, were familiar sights to the women, stalking among the black-avised, moody Medic bowmen, and all the mixed races which the Great King collected under his sceptre, like demi-gods, ever in a quarrel or an argument, or an amour, the men most intensely alive.
From such of these as returned, and from the encyclopaedic Aristotle, Alexander would eagerly learn of the wonders of Persia. When he was fifteen his father began with anxiety and care to prepare the dangerous crown of his career : a raid on the opposite coast ports of the Empire. The reports of spies massed themselves in his archives, and from them Alexander would learn, if he cared, solemn data on this secretly elected antagonist, the names and temperaments of governors, distances and routes and garrisons.
It is more probable that the coloured narratives of returned mercenaries, and even the speculations of his tutor, interested him more. The one was a scheme, the other an adventure, which would have been hampered by any other than a spiritual preparation. There are no lines of communication in anadventure. But without one construction of Philip, the Macedonian Army, even Alexander could have done nothing.
This instrument is set beside the Median cavalry of Cyrus, the janissaries of the Sultan, the troopers of Gustavus Adolphus. Because of its more open order and incom-parably greater speed in the field made possible by a discipline as stiff, yet elastic, as steel, it was able to beat, whenever it met it, the Greek phalanx which had no other rival in the world.
As a satellite to this body, was the corps of royal footguards, yeoman farmers more lightly armed, and equipped with burnished silver- bronze greaves, helmets, pikes and shields. Out of these again Philip had chosen a shock battalion of 1, men quicker over everything but made roads than cavalry itself. It is not likely that Alexander ever breathed of his intention to his father. If he had, the veteran would have set it aside as talk.
A natural anecdote of Plutarch here lights up both the respectful view Alexander himself had of the Empire and the bitter and complicated family background behind him. We know little more of these growing years. When Alexander was sixteen he took part in some hill- fighting. When he was eighteen, the family drama took a new turn. Hereupon Philip rose and drew his sword, but fortunately for them both, his passion and the wine he had drunk made him stumble, and he fell.
He is not able to pass from one table to another without falling. We do not know if Alexander had any share in his assassination.
We know that he profited by it; and that that theological snake- charmer, his mother Olympias, hired the obscure bravo who stabbed Philip at the end of a feast two years later. The women of Epirus were very dangerous. So at last—he was only twenty years old, but he had been waiting an age—the boy-god had the army; the only part of kingship that interested him. Litde else indeed was left of the fortune of Philip. The Captain-Generalship, the ordered realm, the treasure, all melted away in the first days.
A spontaneous revolt, from the city-states of the south to the hillsmen of the north, split the structure Philip had spent a lifetime to build. It was enough.
In the events that followed, the wonder of his raging impatience almost eclipses the memory of his extraordinary achievement. His sole feeling against the rebellion, which was more formidable perhaps than anything that had threatened his brilliant father, was neither fear, nor resentment, nor anything else than passion and elemental energy aroused by being delayed. He rushed first upon the wrong end of the enterprise. Instead of meeting the organized armies of the Greek States, he turned north to burn the revolting highlanders out of their heather.
Alexander ended the resistance in a month. His phalanxes forced the Shipka Pass. His cavalry, riding outwards from the line of march like the spokes of a wheel, rushed the defiles, and in a zigzag of fire he burnt and massacred, as if he was dealing with herds of wild sheep, and not the dourest rebels in the world on their ground. At the end of his dominions and march was the Danube.
Beyond that was the mystery of darkest Europe. Alexander reached it at night, and waited till dawn, peering across. Somewhere, unguessably far off, at this time men were building Stonehenge, worshipping in the gaunt alleys of Kamak, perhaps still adding an inch a year to the middens of Denmark. Prehistoric Europe.
Alexander hesitated. Not for the last time the main current of the world was in that stream. Everything was possible that night; Alexander could not decide. The next morning, with a gesture, he moved his whole army across. There was a village of some poor savage devils the other side, Germans, Kelts?
Who knows? So Alexander burnt their village and by evening moved back again, leaving the mystery to another thousand years. Then, through what is now Yugo-Slavia, at a speed no army before or after has attempted, he appeared before the walls of Thebes, the head of the coalition, centre of civilization and order, the city of Pindar.
In a few days this place was a smouldering rubbish heap; 6, of its fighting men dead, 30, sold for slaves. Only the house of Pindar was spared, to remind the world that the destroyer was a lettered man and the pupil of a philosopher. Nor must any apologist dare to say that these were the crimes of an inconscient being, without any more discernment than fire. In all his crimes Alexander was responsible; they were necessary to his adventure, but he knew what he was doing, and could feel remorse.
And he, no more than Greece, suddenly quiet, never got over that Theban day. And there was not a Theban who survived the fatal day that was denied any favour he requested of him. Then with continuity of the same momentum, he set himself to the East. First, with a perfect knowledge of what such an adventure required of him, he set himself , to destroy his lines of retreat. He divided up all that he and the monarchy owned, lands, revenues, monopolies, and gave to his friends, to one a farm, to another a village, to this the revenue of a borough, and to that of a post.
When in this manner he had disposed of his possessions, Perdiccas seriously asked him what he had reserved for himself. We know very exactly how he looked when he leapt off the pontoon on the further shore of the Bosphorus. He was red-haired, with that illusive appearance of openness that goes with the colour, sunburnt.
The turn of his head, which leaned a little to one side, and the quickness of his eye, were best hit off, we are told, by the sculptor Lysippus. He was not tall, nor heavy.
He usually fought with the cavalry, and his mounting was always the signal for the charge. His favourite weapon was a light sword with a razor edge. When he began, he wore no other armour than a quilted coat, and an iron helmet that was polished like silver. His first act when he landed was, naturally, to go up to the ruins of old Troy and sacrifice to Minerva and Achilles. In honour of the hero he anointed the pillar on his tomb with oil and ran round it with his friends naked, as was the custom.
The Leviathan Empire was slow to react. Hardly a quiver seems to have reached its brain far east in Susa. A local police action, entrusted to the governors of the invaded territory, seemed to the somnolent monster sufficient. This was enough to trouble old Parmenio, trained in the very different spirit of Philip, and he suggested to the astonished and amused Alexander to manoeuvre for a while, at any rate until the month, which was May and unlucky by Macedonian tradition, was out.
Alexander suggested they should change the name of the month. The batde began late in the afternoon. The older officers thought the position unfavourable. But while they were still deliberating, Alexander charged the stream with thirteen troops of horse. Alexander was picked out by his helmet and the huge crest of white feathers he had placed on it, and for some minutes had to defend himself single- handed. Under such a leadership the battle resembled a hard football match rather than an operation of war ; the seasoned and serious leaders were at sea with an opponent who ignored any tactics they had ever heard of.
Young Rhoesaces and Spithridates caught the infection, and leaving their squadrons to command themselves, entered on a personal fight with Alexander.
Spithridates succeeded in getting home with his battle-axe on the helmet of the Greek, and cut the feathers clean away. While this horseplay was hottest, the machine came into action. The Macedonian phalanx crossed and smashed into the formations of bowmen—who ran away. Only the Greek mercenaries remained at the end of ten minutes. These collected in good order on a slope and sent a message to Alexander that they would surrender. But the prince in his excitement refused and without a pause charged his horsemen, who had mechanically reformed, at them.
His horse was killed, and this useless and inglorious end of the battle lasted for hours, until the mercenaries were all killed or down.
The campaigns of Alexander from this point have absorbed an enormous amount of learned ingenuity. No further large attempt came to expel him ; the Empire waited. Where he came the inhabitants either accepted him with roses and wine, or fought and were beaten. He preferred the latter. But after a year of this mad, gay marching in Asia Minor, the Emperor Darius saw that Alexander would not be absorbed for a long time, nor retire of his own account.
He collected one of those monstrous armies which empires that have lost the military sense have recourse to, a steam roller of an army, that could scarcely move a couple of miles a day, the inevitable defence of sheer numbers of the peaceful herd against the beast of prey.
The smallest battalion in it represented a larger power than Macedonia ; it was composed of levies from every warlike or unwarlike tribe in Hither Asia. This human tide rolled slowly westwards until it reached the Mediterranean at the Issus, opposite Cyprus.
There was an ancient chariot in the temple tied with cords made of the bark of the cornel tree. But though the most thorough believer in omens that was ever brought up by a snake-charmer, he had the habit of forcing them, if contrary, as he renamed the unlucky month in the beginning. So with a stroke of his sword, he slashed it through. It did not immediately bring him luck. He was passionately fond of bathing though he could not swim and caught a chill in the icy waters of the river Cydnus just when his generals were worried at the news of the human landslide rolling towards them.
It was more interesting than any tragedy, the one reading while the other was drinking. The king, with an open and unem-barrassed countenance, expressed his regard for Philip, who threw himself down beside him and entreated him to be of good courage and trust to his care.
As it happened the medicine was so strong and overpowered his spirits in such a manner that at first he was speechless, but afterwards—in three days—it cured him. He attacked at night, far out off the wing, to avoid this danger, and by dawn the Imperial army was torn in pieces, Darius in flight and the roads for leagues around blocked by mobs of utterly disheartened fugitives. This was the famous battle of the Issus.
Neither Alexander nor any of his men felt any desire to follow it up at that moment. The Macedonians, pikemen and horsemen, settled down to the loot. Although Darius, to force on the rate of his march, had left the majority of his baggage in Damascus, enough remained to send the soldiery mad. He had left even his tent, even his harem behind. Here is placed the incident that more than any other has pleased humanity.
Not only did he respect their feelings and virtue himself, but he protected them, and allowed them to have the same retinue as they were accustomed to. In eating, he was very temperate; but in drinking, especially after Issus, scarcely the same.
This battle indeed made him rich, not on a Macedonian but on an Asiatic scale, and his style of life outwardly showed it. Instead of dried figs and bread, his officers and companions were asked nightly to banquets, the expense and profusion of which would have made his bon vivant father, Philip, gasp. At Damascus he fell in with the rest of the camp treasure, and set out for Egypt.
He had the habit of sacrificing to local gods as he came across their shrines : it is highly probable that he visited the Temple of Yahweh at Jerusalem, though there is no clear tradition of it. Tyre alone resisted him; and he was obliged to make one of those long and difficult sieges of which Semite military history is full. In Egypt nothing is remembered of his doings except the visit to Jupiter Ammon, and his foundation of the city named after him, Alexandria.
It appears that he was pleased by the site, and by a quotation from Homer on city building he found apt. His model was his short Macedonian cloak, that is, a semi-circle bounded by a straight line. The priest of Jupiter Ammon, to see whom was quite possibly the principal motive of this vast side- conquest, pleased him enormously.
Henceforth he is divided; Alexandria is his first possession and he is no longer free. His soldiers are no longer demi-gods, but merely rich men; his companions have become potentates who mark the change by the unheard-of vulgarity of their luxury.
Such a one in the province that had fallen to him has camel loads of earth brought to him from Egypt, to rub himself when he went to the baths. Another has silver nails in his shoes. Philotas had hunting nets made a hundred furlongs broad. Alexander himself lived as hard as he had ever done, and sent all the treasures he captured to his mother and to his friends at home.
But the weight of his success could not be lifted by mere personal asceticism. The adventure slipped with every gain deeper into the condition of a conquest.
It is the morbid interest of this degeneration, the slow smothering of the light and heat of him in the sheer bulk of his gains, the slow strangulation of success that now fills the story. It is not only his hope of renewing the adventure, but his clear interest, that impelled him to move his army in search of Darius. The unhappy Emperor, handsomest, tallest and most ineffectual of men, had collected a second army, the size and better than the quality of that butchered at Issus, and moved half- heartedly, westwards again.
But as if to reveal to the world the intimate, invisible change, Alexander did a simple-minded and strange thing. Parmenio particularly was depressed by the prospect of the next day, and with most of the staff generals came to Alexander and begged him to make a night attack as his only hope, as the darkness would hide from the phalanx the hugeness of their task. Parmenio could not imitate him. Parmenio sent a desperate message to Alexander to look to his retreat.
Alexander, having yelled a contemptuous reply to the messenger, that all could hear, put on his helmet, and mounted. But for the first time in his life this was no signal to charge. He hesitated and rode slowly to the front to the silent reserves, and addressed them. Then waited again. Meanwhile on the whole centre, the supreme trust of Darius, the army of chariots, had charged. The great mass, the terror of the old world, came on with the impetus of a dam-burst, watched down the slope by the hard, pale phalanx of pikemen.
Behind the frenzied horses stood like men of stone or bronze the Medes of the monuments, muffled to the eyes, straining for the impact. They struck the light Macedonian javelinists and bowmen.
These murdered their horses with accurate fire, and then when the front was in confusion charged the chariots, in the marvellous discipline which, while it allowed the freest play to each man, coordinated their efforts like a football scrum. In a few minutes the charge re-formed itself and came through the struggling mass.
But not a tenth, not a fiftieth of those who had begun ; the phalanx opened to meet them and let them pass through to be hamstrung in the rear. At this moment Alexander and his men perceived flying high an eagle, the bird of Jupiter, and he immediately gave the signal for the main action.
The impetuosity of the phalanx carried it at once far into the heart of the Asiatics, and Alexander was thrown up against the bodyguard of Darius.
In the course of a very short time, during which Alexander and Darius may as all traditions have it have come to grips, a panic seized the Persians ; they were heard shouting that their king was dead, that the gods were come out on them, and all ended in a great rout.
In the issue of this battle, the world changed masters. His days were taken with ceremonial, correspondence and the tedium of a world-wide administration. Three times, it is recorded in his lifetime he tried to return, to cease to be a conqueror and became a free adventurer again. The first was as follows. When at last he came to Persepolis and sat on the throne of the Kings of Persia under a gold canopy, he gave abanquet. The whole of Greece seemed to have transported themselves to share in his fortunes, and the chief of this company, whether they were generals or poets or statesmen or courtesans or even buffoons, were invited.
A famous courtesan of Athens, named Thais, who had attached herself to young Ptolemy, was there. Ah, how much greater pleasure it would be to finish this carousal by burning the palace of Xerxes and set fire to it myself in the presence of Alexander.
At last he leaped from his throne, put a garland on his head, and with a torch in his hand led the way to the street. They all followed, shouting and dancing, and came to the palace. They had the idea, under their drunkenness it seems, that by burning this palace Alexander meant to show that he did not intend to remain in the country as its king, but to go back with the plunder to Greece.
Here was the river Iaxartes, and here there was a curious repetition of what had happened in the first days of his adventure, on the Danube. Again he led his army across, as if pressed by an ungovernable impulse, and again he returned after burning a village.
That way led the road to China, where at this moment Tsin was warring with the shadow emperors—an immense supplement to his adventure. But he turned back. His friend Clitus, who had saved his life once, was with him and at the feast that night at headquarters they quarrelled.
All but the Macedonians were loudly amused. Clitus and some of the older officers protested. The King said nothing to them, but told the buffoon to give it all over again. But another of his friends had hidden it. He dragged himself loose from those who were trying to quiet him and rushed to the door and called out, in the Macedonian language, for his guards, saying there was a mutiny.
There was a trumpeter standing on service in the anteroom, and he ordered him to sound the general alarm. The man hesitated, and Alexander fell upon him and beat him with his fists. Afterwards he was rewarded for having stopped the whole army from being roused. Clitus, who was now persuaded to leave, stood in the doorway and recited a mocking couplet, on boasters, froma drama.
Then Alexander snatched a spear from one of the guards and as Clitus was pulling the curtain ran himthrough. He died at once. This death Alexander ever regarded as one of his chief misfortunes. After it his sourness and his hardness of character increased.
He became more and more obsessed by fears of rebellion and conspiracy among his countrymen : many serious revolts provided him with reasons. No one after Clitus was dead could be exempt from suspicion, to which in a most cruel way many of his companions fell victim; amongst them poor Parmenio, and Philotas, his son, whom he had put to the torture.
While giving it out that he intended to explore the extreme east of his dominions, he planned a descent into India proper. The beginning of the expedition recalls that of the great days. The mere facts, that he brought his army practically intact across the Hindu Kush and through the Khyber Pass in less than a year, through a labyrinth of mountains inhabited by the fierce ancestors of the Pathans and Afghans, are perhaps more impressive.
As soon as he arrived at the Indus he defeated the first of the Maharajahs, Porus, or Paurara, and by his generosity made him his friend. Among his captives were certain old apostles of the Jains, the clothes-hating sect, contemporaries and rivals of the first Buddhists, who also have lasted until our day. When his troops mutinied and refused to go further, and he knew that the adventure was finished, to distract himself he had ten of these brought before him to be questioned, promising them that the one who answered worst should be killed and the rest left free.
Of his questions and their answers, with the uneasy light they throw on his intimate thoughts, a few will suffice. He returned by the thirsty road through Lower Baluchistan, to Babylon, where he died. These the soldiers dipped in huge vessels of wine and drank to each other as they marched along, and others seated themselves by the way.
The whole country resounded with flutes and songs, and with the dances and riotous frolics of their women. This dissolute and disorderly march was closed with very immodest figures and with all the licentious ribaldry of the Bacchanals. One day a strange incident occurred. His servant who had gone in to fetch his clothes came back and said that there was a stranger seated on the throne.
Alexander hurried there and saw a man on his throne seated in profound silence, wearing his royal robes and with the diadem on his head. They questioned him and said that his name was Dionysus, and a native of Greece. He had fled from his country for a debt, and had been imprisoned in Babylon. That day the god Serapis had appeared to him, freed him from his chains, brought him there and ordered him to put on the robe and crown and sit there in silence.
This and several other omens preyed on his mind. He believed that his death was at hand, but thought it would come from a Macedonian conspiracy. His temper became terrible. Alexander leapt off his throne and seized him by the hair and dashed his head against the wall. This man afterwards became King of Macedonia, and master of all Greece.
But the interview made such a lasting impression on him that he could never pass a statue of Alexander without being seized with trembling. Soldiery heard rumors of his condition and came to the palace gates, raising a great clamor, threatening the generals and officers, so that they were forced to admit them.
Alexander was lying on his bed speechless and they filed past him paying their last respects with tears. He died next day at the age of thirty-three. His death was the signal for the partition of the Empire Amongst his generals. Of these and of those who had known him intimately, Ptolemy almost alone was fortunate. His dynasty ruled Egypt until the Roman conquest. Olympias had her throat cut. Of his work, nothing in a few years remained; his influence on Asia was almost confined to the fashion which all Kings thenceforward followed of claiming deity and divine honours.
The arts and sciences of the Greeks disappeared in a few centuries from Asia like water in a desert, but to this day there is a trace of Greek influence in the statues of Buddha they make in China. His personality and mode of life, as has been said, by the route of Plutarch had a great influence in English education.
His name, distorted to Iskander, or Askander, figures in countless folk-tales of the East. In this case he made the history of the world ; if the bad results are to be charged to him, the separation of Asia and Europe, the loss in history of a central uniting Empire, the path cleared for the Romans and all that followed, so in justice some part of the good, of the immense history that branched from him, should also stand to his credit.
Daschkoff collection. The reproduction is after an engraving that appeared in in the Istoritscheski Viestnik THE ultimate problem of character can only be settled by omnipotent experiment: if some Shakespearian god indulged his spite by resetting Shakespeare as the son of a prosperous English Labour leader, or Napoleon Bonaparte, to be brought up in the ice cream trade at Brooklyn, and attentively watched their wriggles for a lifetime.
Without such a vivisection it is impossible to cut the acquired moulding of education, surroundings, and the very accidents of a career, from the nucleus of personality, the I, which is our insatiable curiosity. Such comparisons depend on the unprovable hypothesis that behavior is a direct manifestation of unchangeable personality; that, in other circumstances, Alexander would go on being rash and successful; that Caesar would take his icy courage with him ; and so beg the question.
The speculation would be more profitable if leaving ourselves out the two lives to be compared were as widely dif erent in setting, circumstance, and scope as possible; and not as near. To fancy the interchange of two military conquerors, or two poets, or two explorers and pirates, is to lose oneself in a confusion of shadings. There must be contrast near black and white, to shake out any plausible, or 65 CASANOVA simply interesting differences and similarities, to help our understanding of personality, and life.
In bringing this Venetian, Giacomo Casanova, alongside that Macedonian Alexander, there is no intended humour. Anything the chaste, painstakingly noble demi-god of Asia has in common with the disreputable card expert, whose summit was an escape from gaol, whose memoirs of necessity remain unpublishable in their entirety in the safe of Brockhaus in Leipzig as long as there is the least censorship of the obscene, must belong to the essentials of the quality of adventurer which alone they shared.
As you will observe, this community is not only one of spirit, in the quasi-physical sense of life-force, but still more significantly of trajectory. Missiles shot through the organic tissue of society, they had not only the same ruthless directness, that is, the same incorruptible egoism, and though they certainly did very unequal amounts of damage, the same range, but the same mysterious law of fatal ballistics made them repeat the same psychological and personal tragedy.
In the family tree were runaway nuns, soldiers of fortune, pamphleteers, an unlucky companion of Columbus, gentlemen devoted to love, war and literature, fast women, and precocious children.
He learned small roles, which he played badly. Opposite his lodgings was a respectable shoemaker, Farusi, with a vivacious stagestruck daughter. Zanetta, aged fifteen or sixteen. Gaetano Casanova persuaded her to elope with him. Her father promptly died of mortification. But they married and her mother forgave them.
Giacomo, our man, was the eldest. He saw little of his father, who died when he was far off his teens, nothing of his mother, who developed into a practical, intriguing little person, and finally found her fortune in a life engagement in the Dresden State Theatre.
Without pain, even with a sort of amused pleasure, when he afterwards reflected on it, Casanova was thus released from the initial responsibility of life : parents.
The purblind benevolence of his grandmother claimed and received nothing but gratitude. She was no obstacle, and no influence. It was orphanhood with all its advantages; and as soon as he could walk, he was adopted by two foster parents: his century and Venice. This city, at that time he was born in , was the most dissolute and fascinating place in the world.
The days of its magnificent growth were over, the days painted by Gentile Bellini, and Carpaccio, and Veronese. But in the rich decay of its grandeur, there fermented a life that surpassed the pot-bellied wickedness of old Rome, the vulgar exuberance of Sodom and Gomorrah, by as far as these do the wistful banality of night life in modern London, Paris and Berlin. There may have been good, kind folk in Venice.
Casanova does not seem to have heard of many. But the decay of her sublime energies and pride, through a coalition of fate and history against her, had produced nothing ignoble, nothing more degenerate than a rich compost, apter for the native European plants, wit, elegance, humanity, than for any orchid. In fact, neither the tropical luxury of the Brazils, where the excitement comes from the sun and not the imagination, nor the morose confusion of Asiatic courts, has any right to compare itself with the exclusively, typically European radiance of dying Venice.
Consequently this life into which Casanova was born, and where his memoirs are our best guide, did not stand by itself, like something imported and accidental, but was a manifestation, supreme in its beauty, of the sick times. This is true of the myriadshaped eighteenth century, supporting the infinite detail of other truths about it: that for the deepest sociological reasons its essential social framework was sclerozed, and mineralized like the arterial system of an old man.
Politically and socially it was not, therefore, except in a very gross metaphor, degenerate or decayed at all; but set; arrived at such a development that change was shut out of the natural course of things. Everything was owned, setded, finished; the human race was, as never before or 68 CASANOVA since, the prisoner of its own logic, its own legal geometry, its laws, that is, its Past. Neither kings nor peoples could change it; Europe had locked itself in and lost the key. And in the wall which confined them all, there was not the least chink for an adventurer to pass, no matter his genius.
Imagine an explosion in a locked room ; that is the aspect of the Revolution that was to end the impasse. But Casanova came before the Revolution. All his active life he was shut in with the rest. His adventure is entirely internal, inside society, if you like, parasitico-intestinal.
The spirit of the age, then, to give it a name and judge it, was not fin de siecle, like the exhausted times of de Maupassant and Wilde, but fin de monde; everything optimistic, and even provident, was out of date.
The secret of the Carnival of Venice was a social despair. On this background, with all the colours of an advanced civilization, the Venetian wove that rarest of all delights, a new way of love, love as free of consequence, and as hurried as if they were all tried, sentenced and awaiting execution in a common prison. An aristocratic, undomestic love, which for supreme distinction was decorated with mystery, the enhancer of all spiritual pleasure.
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Hugh Urban tells the real story of Scientology from its cold war-era beginnings in the s to its prominence today as the religion of Hollywood's celebrity elite. Urban paints a vivid portrait of Hubbard, the enigmatic founder who once commanded his own private fleet and an intelligence apparatus rivaling that of the U.
One FBI agent described him as "a mental case," but to his followers he is the man who "solved the riddle of the human mind. At the heart of this collection of correspondences are the letters of the poet H. Friedman English and women's studies, U.
Annotation copyrighted by Book News, Inc. The New Penguin Dictionary of Modern Quotations contains over 8, quotations from to the present. As much a companion to the modern age as it is an entertaining and useful reference tool, it takes the reader on a tour of the wit and wisdom of the great and the good, from Margot Asquith to Monica Lewinsky, from George V to Boutros Boutros-Galli and Jonathan Aitken to Frank Zappa. My writingsa mixed bag.
Ive been writing safely dull and inoffensive poems since , but Ive noticed of late that FARCE alien elements theyre called has occasionally taken residence in my verses. This can sometimes be considered a problem, but I think a problem that can be endured for the sake of the action, the plot, the whole nine yards, and for what is generously called life.
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