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shook his head. "No time for balls," said he.
"I can get you an invitation, if you like," said Denry, glancing at the
door precisely as he had glanced at the door before adding 2 to 7.
"Oh!" Shillitoe cocked his ears. He was not a native of the town, and
had no alderman to protect his legitimate interests.
To cut a shameful story short, in a week Denry was being tried on.
Shillitoe allowed him two years' credit.
The prospect of the ball gave an immense impetus to the study of the art
of dancing in Bursley, and so put quite a nice sum of money info the
pocket of Miss Earp, a young mistress in that art. She was the daughter
of a furniture dealer with a passion for the Bankruptcy Court. Miss
Earp's evening classes were attended by Denry, but none of his money
went into her pocket. She was compensated by an expression of the
Countess's desire for the pleasure of her company at the ball.
The Countess had aroused Denry's interest in women as a sex; Ruth Earp
quickened the interest. She was plain, but she was only twenty-four, and
very graceful on her feet. Denry had one or two strictly private lessons
from her in reversing. She said to him one evening, when he was
practising reversing and they were entwined in the attitude prescribed
by the latest fashion: "Never mind me! Think about yourself. It's the
same in dancing as it is in life--the woman's duty is to adapt herself
to the man." He did think about himself. He was thinking about himself
in the middle of the night, and about her too. There had been something
in her tone... her eye... At the final lesson he inquired if she would
give him the first waltz at the ball. She paused, then said yes.
V
On the evening of the ball, Denry spent at least two hours in the
operation which was necessary before he could give the Countess the
pleasure of his company. This operation took place in his minute bedroom
at the back of the cottage in Brougham Street, and it was of a complex
nature. Three weeks ago he had innocently thought that you had only to
order a dress-suit and there you were! He now knew that a dress-suit is
merely the beginning of anxiety. Shirt! Collar! Tie! Studs! Cuff-links!
Gloves! Handkerchief! (He was very glad to learn authoritatively from
Shillitoe that handkerchiefs were no longer worn in the waistcoat
opening, and that men who so wore them were barbarians and the truth was
not in them. Thus, an everyday handkerchief would do.) Boots!... Boots
were the rock on which he had struck. Shillitoe, in addition to being a
tailor was a hosier, but by some flaw in the scheme of the universe
hosiers do not sell boots. Except boots, Denry could get all he needed
on credit; boots he could not get on credit, and he could not pay cash
for them. Eventually he decided that his church boots must be dazzled up
to the level of this great secular occasion. The pity was that he
forgot--not that he was of a forgetful disposition in great matters; he
was simply over-excited--he forgot to dazzle them up until after he had
fairly put his collar on and his necktie in a bow. It is imprudent to
touch blacking in a dress-shirt, so Denry had to undo the past and begin
again. This hurried him. He was not afraid of being late for the first
waltz with Miss Ruth Earp, but he was afraid of not being out of the
house before his mother returned. Mrs Machin had been making up a lady's
own materials all day, naturally--the day being what it was! If she had
had twelve hands instead of two, she might have made up the own
materials of half-a-dozen ladies instead of one, and earned twenty-four
shillings instead of four. Denry did not want his mother to see him ere
he departed. He had lavished an enormous amount of brains and energy to
the end of displaying himself in this refined and novel attire to the
gaze of two hundred persons, and yet his secret wish was to deprive his
mother of the beautiful spectacle.
However, she slipped in, with her bag and her seamy fingers and her
rather sardonic expression, at the very moment when Denry was putting on
his overcoat in the kitchen (there being insufficient room in the
passage). He did what he could to hide his shirt-front (though she knew
all about it), and failed.
"Bless us!" she exclaimed briefly, going to the fire to warm her hands.
A harmless remark. But her tone seemed to strip bare the vanity of human
greatness.
"I'm in a hurry," said Denry, importantly, as if he was going forth to
sign a treaty involving the welfare of the nations.
"Well," said she, "happen ye are, Denry. But th' kitchen table's no
place for boot-brushes."
He had one piece of luck. It froze. Therefore no anxiety about the
condition of boots.
VI
The Countess was late; some trouble with a horse. Happily the Earl had
been in Bursley all day, and had dressed at the Conservative Club; and
his lordship had ordered that the programme of dances should be begun.
Denry learned this as soon as he emerged, effulgent, from the
gentlemen's cloak-room into the broad red-carpeted corridor which runs
from end to end of the ground-floor of the Town Hall. Many important
townspeople were chatting in the corridor--the innumerable Swetnam
family, the Stanways, the great Etches, the Fearnses, Mrs Clayton
Vernon, the Suttons, including Beatrice Sutton. Of course everybody knew
him for Duncalf's shorthand clerk and the son of the flannel-washer; but
universal white kid gloves constitute a democracy, and Shillitoe could
put more style into a suit than any other tailor in the Five Towns.
"How do?" the eldest of the Swetnam boys nodded carelessly.
"How do, Swetnam?" said Denry, with equal carelessness.
The thing was accomplished! That greeting was like a Masonic initiation,
and henceforward he was the peer of no matter
|
being
|
How many times does the word 'being' appear in the text?
| 5
|
, her black eyes penciled, and her lips painted. With a
movement of her head, she summoned a friend who was passing, a blonde
with auburn hair, likewise inclined to embonpoint, and said to her in a
whisper intended to be heard; "There is a nice fellow!"
Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with a smile: "You are lucky, my
dear boy. My congratulations!"
The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanically fingered the two pieces
of gold in his pocket.
The curtain fell--the orchestra played a valse--and Duroy said:
"Shall we walk around the gallery?"
"If you like."
Soon they were carried along in the current of promenaders. Duroy drank
in with delight the air, vitiated as it was by tobacco and cheap
perfume, but Forestier perspired, panted, and coughed.
"Let us go into the garden," he said. Turning to the left, they entered
a kind of covered garden in which two large fountains were playing.
Under the yews, men and women sat at tables drinking.
"Another glass of beer?" asked Forestier.
"Gladly."
They took their seats and watched the promenaders. Occasionally a woman
would stop and ask with a coarse smile: "What have you to offer, sir?"
Forestier's invariable answer was: "A glass of water from the
fountain." And the woman would mutter, "Go along," and walk away.
At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-arm with the blonde. They made
a handsome couple. The former smiled on perceiving Duroy, and taking a
chair she calmly seated herself in front of him, and said in a clear
voice: "Waiter, two glasses."
In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: "You are not at all bashful!"
She replied: "Your friend has bewitched me; he is such a fine fellow. I
believe he has turned my head."
Duroy said nothing.
The waiter brought the beer, which the women swallowed rapidly; then
they rose, and the brunette, nodding her head and tapping Duroy's arm
with her fan, said to him: "Thank you, my dear! However, you are not
very talkative."
As they disappeared, Forestier laughed and said: "Tell, me, old man,
did you know that you had a charm for the weaker sex? You must be
careful."
Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friend asked: "Shall you remain any
longer? I am going; I have had enough."
Georges murmured: "Yes, I will stay a little longer: it is not late."
Forestier arose: "Very well, then, good-bye until to-morrow. Do not
forget: 17 Rue Fontaine at seven thirty."
"I shall not forget. Thank you."
The friends shook hands and the journalist left Duroy to his own
devices.
Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free, and again he joyously
touched the gold pieces in his pocket; then rising, he mingled with the
crowd.
He soon discovered the blonde and the brunette. He went toward them,
but when near them dared not address them.
The brunette called out to him: "Have you found your tongue?"
He stammered: "Zounds!" too bashful to say another word. A pause
ensued, during which the brunette took his arm and together they left
the hall.
CHAPTER II.
MADAME FORESTIER
"Where does M. Forestier live?"
"Third floor on the left," said the porter pleasantly, on learning
Duroy's destination.
Georges ascended the staircase. He was somewhat embarrassed and
ill-at-ease. He had on a new suit but he was uncomfortable. He felt
that it was defective; his boots were not glossy, he had bought his
shirt that same evening at the Louvre for four francs fifty, his
trousers were too wide and betrayed their cheapness in their fit, or
rather, misfit, and his coat was too tight.
Slowly he ascended the stairs, his heart beating, his mind anxious.
Suddenly before him stood a well-dressed gentleman staring at him. The
person resembled Duroy so close that the latter retreated, then
stopped, and saw that it was his own image reflected in a pier-glass!
Not having anything but a small mirror at home, he had not been able to
see himself entirely, and had exaggerated the imperfections of his
toilette. When he saw his reflection in the glass, he did not even
recognize himself; he took himself for some one else, for a
man-of-the-world, and was really satisfied with his general appearance.
Smiling to himself, Duroy extended his hand and expressed his
astonishment, pleasure, and approbation. A door opened on the
staircase, He was afraid of being surprised and began to ascend more
rapidly, fearing that he might have been seen posing there by some of
his friend's invited guests.
On reaching the second floor, he saw another mirror, and once more
slackened his pace to look at himself. He likewise paused before the
third glass, twirled his mustache, took off his hat to arrange his
hair, and murmured half aloud, a habit of his: "Hall mirrors are most
convenient."
Then he rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately, and before
him stood a servant in a black coat, with a grave, shaven face, so
perfect in his appearance that Duroy again became confused as he
compared the cut of their garments.
The lackey asked:
"Whom shall I announce, Monsieur?" He raised a portiere and pronounced
the name.
Duroy lost his self-possession upon being ushered into a world as yet
strange to him. However, he advanced. A young, fair woman received him
alone in a large, well-lighted room. He paused, disconcerted. Who was
that smiling lady? He remembered that Forestier was married, and the
thought that the handsome blonde was his friend's wife rendered him
awkward and ill-at-ease. He stammered out:
"Madame, I am--"
She held out her hand.
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 6
|
prescription drugs. He drinks from the sink and splashes a
generous amount of water onto his head and face, cleaning his
nose.
He wipes his nose and examines the last remnants of blood on
his fingertip. Then, he dips his finger under the tap.
<b> INT. MAX'S APARTMENT - MAIN ROOM - DAY
</b>
Max's room is constantly dark because the windows are blacked
out. He flips on his desk lamp.
A tiny ANT crawls across his desk. He looks at it for a moment
before getting angry and squashing it.
Sitting on the desk are three computer monitors, which Max
flips on.
Then he pops on more lights and more switches. We pull back
revealing that Max's apartment looks more like the inside of a
computer than a human's home.
The room is knee-high in computer parts of all shapes and
sizes. The walls are covered with circuit boards. Cables hang
from the ceiling like vines in a Brazilian rain forest. They
all seem to be wired together forming a monstrous homemade
computer.
This is EUCLID, Max's creation. The computer is alive with
sounds and lights.
Max works on Euclid with his solder and drill. He cares for
the machine as if it were his dream car
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Heat's been getting
to Euclid. Feel it most in
the afternoon when I run the
set. Have to keep the fans on
all night from now on.
Otherwise, everything is
running topnotch. The stack
of 286's is now faster than
Columbia's computer science
department. I spent a couple
hundred dollars. Columbia's
cost? Half a million?
(Small snicker)
Ha...
<b>
</b> Max checks the peephole on His front door. No one is there. He
unbolts the five lock and slides into the hall.
<b> INT. APARTMENJ HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
As he secures his apartment, a Young girl named JENNA runs up
to him. Her MOM, down the hall, looks apologetic.
Jenna's eyes light up and she pulls out her Fisher Price
calculator.
<b> JENNA
</b> Max, Max! Can we do one?
<b>
</b><b> MOM
</b> (Over and over again)
Jenna! Jenna!
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Oh, no.
<b>
</b><b> JENNA
</b> What's three hundred
and twenty-two times four
hundred and ninety-one.
<b>
</b> Jenna types it into her calculator. Max finishes locking his
door.
<b> MAX
</b> (instantly)
One hundred fifty-eight thousand,
a hundred two. Right?
<b> JENNA
</b> (Eyes light up)
Right.
<b>
</b> Max heads down the staircase.
<b> MOM
</b> Jenna...
<b>
</b> Jenna screams after him.
<b> JENNA
</b> Okay, seventy-three
divided by twenty-two.
<b> MAX
</b> (instantly again)
Three point three one eight one
eight one eight...
<b> EXT. CHINATOWN - DAY
</b> Max watches people bustle through the busy intersections of
Chinatown. The streets are clogged with people.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Somewhere in there.
Somewhere. I know it's right
in front of me. The pattern.
They say it's chaos, it can't
be understood, too much
complexity.
<b> EXT. ELECTRONIC MEGADUMP - DAY
</b> Max scavenges electronic parts as he carefully navigates an
endless dump for old and rotting computers.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> History it's there.
Lurking, shaping.
structuring, hiding, right
beneath the surface.
He unscrews a random IBM Board from a keyboard and slides it
into his pocket.
<b> EXT PLAYGROUND DAY
</b><b> MOVE IN
</b> on Max looking up at something as he reclines on a public
bench.
<b> MAX (V.0.)
</b> The cycling of disease epidemics,
the wax and wane of Caribou populations
in the Arctic, sunspot cycles,
the rise and fall of the
Nile and yes! the New York Stock
Exchange, they are all the
same.
<b>
</b><b> MOVE IN
</b> on a tree branch - shaking gently in the wind.
<b> SLOW DISSOLVE TO EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF STOCK TICKER
</b> Bright stock quotes drift across the screen.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> I
|
hundred
|
How many times does the word 'hundred' appear in the text?
| 4
|
out over Tokyo.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Melodramatic music swells over the Girl's butt in pink sheer
underwear as she lies on the bed.
<b> TITLE CARDS OVER IMAGE.
</b>
<b> LOST IN TRANSLATION
</b>
<b> INT. CAR - NIGHT
</b>
POV from a car window - the colors and lights of Tokyo neon
at night blur by.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
In the backseat of a Presidential limousine, BOB (late-
forties), tired and depressed, leans against a little doily,
staring out the window.
P.O.V. from car window- We see buildings covered in bright
signs, a billboard of Brad Pitt selling jeans, another of
Bob in black & white,looking distinguished with a bottle of
whiskey in a Suntory ad... more signs, a huge TV with perky
Japanese pop stars singing.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. PARK HYATT - NIGHT
</b>
Bob's black Presidential (looks like a 60's diplomat's car)
pulls up at the entrance of the Park Hyatt, a modern sky
rise.
The automatic doors open on the car, as Bob gets out. Eager
BELLHOPS with white gloves approach at the sight of the car,
welcoming Bob and helping him with his bags.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. PARK HYATT - NIGHT
</b>
Bob stands in the back of a crowded elevator surrounded by
Japanese businessmen below his shoulders.
The elevator stops at the 50th floor and the doors open onto
the massive, streamline lobby of the Park Hyatt.
Bob follows the JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN out into the marble and
glass lobby that frames the view of Tokyo.
The CONCIERGE and several eager HOTEL MANAGERS greet Bob. He
just wants to sleep, but more STAFF continue to greet him,
ask him about his fright. They lead him to reception.
<b> INT. HOTEL RECEPTION - NIGHT
</b>
At the reception area four JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN and two WOMEN
quickly sit up from their seats on sight of Bob, and extend
handshakes and gifts. They bow and introduce themselves from
the commercial company, extend name cards and welcome him
enthusiastically.
More staff welcomes him and offer their service during his
stay.
One of them presents a fax that has come for him.
<b> INSERT -
</b>
<b
|
stops
|
How many times does the word 'stops' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and I'd hated to see the house with
him in it; but we drove out one Saturday afternoon, and we brought back
about a bushel of the stuff in the buggy-seat, and I tried it crude,
and I tried it burnt; and I liked it. M'wife she liked it too. There
wa'n't any painter by trade in the village, and I mixed it myself.
Well, sir, that tavern's got that coat of paint on it yet, and it
hain't ever had any other, and I don't know's it ever will. Well, you
know, I felt as if it was a kind of harumscarum experiment, all the
while; and I presume I shouldn't have tried it but I kind of liked to
do it because father'd always set so much store by his paint-mine. And
when I'd got the first coat on,"--Lapham called it CUT,--"I presume I
must have set as much as half an hour; looking at it and thinking how
he would have enjoyed it. I've had my share of luck in this world, and
I ain't a-going to complain on my OWN account, but I've noticed that
most things get along too late for most people. It made me feel bad,
and it took all the pride out my success with the paint, thinking of
father. Seemed to me I might 'a taken more interest in it when he was
by to see; but we've got to live and learn. Well, I called my wife
out,--I'd tried it on the back of the house, you know,--and she left
her dishes,--I can remember she came out with her sleeves rolled up and
set down alongside of me on the trestle,--and says I, 'What do you
think, Persis?' And says she, 'Well, you hain't got a paint-mine, Silas
Lapham; you've got a GOLD-mine.' She always was just so enthusiastic
about things. Well, it was just after two or three boats had burnt up
out West, and a lot of lives lost, and there was a great cry about
non-inflammable paint, and I guess that was what was in her mind.
'Well, I guess it ain't any gold-mine, Persis,' says I; 'but I guess it
IS a paint-mine. I'm going to have it analysed, and if it turns out
what I think it is, I'm going to work it. And if father hadn't had
such a long name, I should call it the Nehemiah Lapham Mineral Paint.
But, any rate, every barrel of it, and every keg, and every bottle, and
every package, big or little, has got to have the initials and figures
N.L.f. 1835, S.L.t. 1855, on it. Father found it in 1835, and I tried
it in 1855.'"
"'S.T.--1860--X.' business," said Bartley.
"Yes," said Lapham, "but I hadn't heard of Plantation Bitters then, and
I hadn't seen any of the fellow's labels. I set to work and I got a
man down from Boston; and I carried him out to the farm, and he
analysed it--made a regular Job of it. Well, sir, we built a kiln, and
we kept a lot of that paint-ore red-hot for forty-eight hours; kept the
Kanuck and his family up, firing. The presence of iron in the ore
showed with the magnet from the start; and when he came to test it, he
found out that it contained about seventy-five per cent. of the
peroxide of iron."
Lapham pronounced the scientific phrases with a sort of reverent
satisfaction, as if awed through his pride by a little lingering
uncertainty as to what peroxide was. He accented it as if it were
purr-ox-EYED; and Bartley had to get him to spell it.
"Well, and what then?" he asked, when he had made a note of the
percentage.
"What then?" echoed Lapham. "Well, then, the fellow set down and told
me, 'You've got a paint here,' says he, 'that's going to drive every
other mineral paint out of the market. Why' says he, 'it'll drive 'em
right into the Back Bay!' Of course, I didn't know what the Back Bay
was then, but I begun to open my eyes; thought I'd had 'em open before,
but I guess I hadn't. Says he, 'That paint has got hydraulic cement in
it, and it can stand fire and water and acids;' he named over a lot of
things. Says he, 'It'll mix easily with linseed oil, whether you want
to use it boiled or raw; and it ain't a-going to crack nor fade any;
and it ain't a-going to scale. When you've got your arrangements for
burning it properly, you're going to have a paint that will stand like
the everlasting hills, in every climate under the sun.' Then he went
into a lot of particulars, and I begun to think he was drawing a
long-bow, and meant to make his bill accordingly. So I kept pretty
cool; but the fellow's bill didn't amount to anything hardly--said I
might pay him after I got going; young chap, and pretty easy; but every
word he said was gospel. Well, I ain't a-going to brag up my paint; I
don't suppose you came here to hear me blow."
"Oh yes, I did," said Bartley. "That's what I want. Tell all there is
to tell, and I can boil it down afterward. A man can't make a greater
mistake with a reporter than to hold back anything out of modesty. It
may be the very thing we want to know. What we want is the whole
truth; and more; we've got so much modesty of our own that we can
temper almost any statement."
Lapham looked as if he did not quite like this tone, and he resumed a
little more quietly. "Oh, there isn't really very much more to say
about the paint itself. But you can use it for almost anything where a
paint is wanted, inside or out. It'll prevent decay, and it'll stop
it, after it's begun, in tin or iron.
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 5
|
rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the realization that
everything I'd based my life on was
false. And that my life had no
meaning.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> (to Martin)
He gets this way when he hits over
eighty-five.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> It seemed like my life was slipping
away, somehow. I was a knot in the
middle of a wet rope. Everything was
futile and nothing had value.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> That's the way life is. The only
meaning and value is what we create.
Through structure, and discipline.
Though they seem to limit our freedom,
they actually give us great comfort.
Your problem is you're looking for
some great answer. Some ultimate
truth. When what you really should
do is go to work and go home.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> And take golf lessons.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> That's a tragedy. Can I finish my
story please? I began my search for
meaning. I was a Catholic, Jew,
Scientologist, Sufi, Buddhist. I
went to a Psychologist, psychiatrist,
herbalist, nutritionist, a shaman,
and a psychic. And they all pretty
much say the same stuff.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> A Jew, a shaman, and a herbalist are
telling you the same thing? You're
insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Basically the same thing. In a very
evolved, esoteric way.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> To make a long story short...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> --Thank God--
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> ...at last I found the holistic system
of systems that opened up the doors
of heaven for me right here on earth.
And everyday I see the world through
the eyes of a child. A world of
creation and wonder.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Jesus...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Overflowing with love.
<b> MARTIN
|
through
|
How many times does the word 'through' appear in the text?
| 3
|
better judge nor me. However, since he has behaved in that manner to
MY DAUGHTER, I shall be revenged on him for aince; for I shall return
the obligation to ane nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths
of his wife--an' let him lick at that."
"What do you mean, Sir?" said the astonished damsel.
"I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle," said he, "for what
he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you shall pay for
this."
So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the
runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he made a
mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a great rage
only at the Laird of Dalcastle. "Villain that he is!" exclaimed he, "I
shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a child of mine, be she
as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I shall lounder her that is
nearest to him in life. Take you that, and that, Mrs. Colwan, for your
husband's impertinence!"
The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would not
abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with many
stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up to her
chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her on
bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird of
Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair from
carrying his daughter's meal, he said to himself: "I shall make the
sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life."
Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; but
she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious tenets;
for she found that, without this advantage, about which there was a
perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of Scripture texts,
and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her naught; so she was
often driven to sit at her casement and look out for the approach of
the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.
That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his
appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found that
there was no refuge for her in her father's house; and so, after some
sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all that had
passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert the laird in spite
of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. She WOULD have the
laird to say family prayers, both morning and evening: the laird would
neither pray morning nor evening. He would not even sing psalms, and
kneel beside her while she performed the exercise; neither would he
converse at all times, and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of
religion, although his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every
assertion that he made, in order that she might spiritualize him by
drawing him into argument.
The laird kept his temper a long while, but at length his patience wore
out; he cut her short in all her futile attempts at spiritualization,
and mocked at her wire-drawn degrees of faith, hope, and repentance. He
also dared to doubt of the great standard doctrine of absolute
predestination, which put the crown on the lady's Christian resentment.
She declared her helpmate to be a limb of Antichrist, and one with whom
no regenerated person could associate. She therefore bespoke a separate
establishment, and, before the expiry of the first six months, the
arrangements of the separation were amicably adjusted. The upper, or
third, story of the old mansion-house was awarded to the lady for her
residence. She had a separate door, a separate stair, a separate
garden, and walks that in no instance intersected the laird's; so that
one would have thought the separation complete. They had each their own
parties, selected from their own sort of people; and, though the laird
never once chafed himself about the lady's companies, it was not long
before she began to intermeddle about some of his.
"Who is that fat bouncing dame that visits the laird so often, and
always by herself?" said she to her maid Martha one day.
"Oh dear, mem, how can I ken? We're banished frae our acquaintances
here, as weel as frae the sweet gospel ordinances."
"Find me out who that jolly dame is, Martha. You, who hold communion
with the household of this ungodly man, can be at no loss to attain
this information. I observe that she always casts her eye up toward our
windows, both in coming and going; and I suspect that she seldom
departs from the house emptyhanded."
That same evening Martha came with the information that this august
visitor was a Miss Logan, an old and intimate acquaintance of the
laird's, and a very worthy respectable lady, of good connections, whose
parents had lost their patrimony in the civil wars.
"Ha! very well!" said the lady; "very well, Martha! But, nevertheless,
go thou and watch this respectable lady's motions and behaviour the
next time she comes to visit the laird--and the next after that. You
will not, I see, lack opportunities."
Martha's information turned out of that nature that prayers were said
in the uppermost story of Dalcastle house against the Canaanitish
woman, every night and every morning; and great discontent prevailed
there, even to anathemas and tears. Letter after letter was dispatched
to Glasgow; and at length, to the lady's great consolation, the Rev.
Mr. Wringhim arrived safely and devoutly in her elevated sanctuary.
Marvellous was the conversation between these gifted people. Wringhim
had held in his doctrines that there were eight different kinds of
FAITH, all perfectly distinct in their operations and effects. But the
lady, in her secluded state, had discovered another five, making twelve
[sic] in all: the adjusting of the existence or fallacy of these five
faiths served for a most enlightened discussion of nearly seventeen
hours; in the course of which the two got warm in their arguments,
always in proportion as they receded from nature, utility, and common
|
weel
|
How many times does the word 'weel' appear in the text?
| 0
|
b> THERE IS NOTHING TO CARRY SOUND, NO
</b><b> OXYGEN, AND NO AIR PRESSURE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> CARD 3
</b><b> LIFE HERE IS IMPOSSIBLE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> TITLE-
</b>
<b> GRAVITY
</b>
<b> BLACK-
</b>
<b> OUTER SPACE, 600 KILOMETERS ABOVE-
</b>
<b> PLANET EARTH.
</b>
Like all images of Earth seen from space, this image of our
planet is mythical and majestic.
The globe seems almost tangible, slowly spinning, floating in
the endless void of space. It is a blue planet, and bright white
clouds twirl and stretch in capricious patterns across the deep
blue of the oceans and the jigsaw of continents: green, yellow
and brown.
It is noon in Cape Town and early night in India.
The sphere is almost a perfect orb except for the darkened
sliver on its Eastern edge.
It is beautiful! And so full of life.
But not here.
Here it is completely silent.
<b> SILENCE-
</b>
<b> IN THE DISTANCE-
</b>
A small metal object crosses the empty space surrounding Earth.
If it appears to be a small satellite that is only because it is
far away from us. It is the size of one football field. It is-
The INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION (ISS).
It resembles a dragonfly. Its solar panels stretch out, like
wings, from the long body made of connected pressurized modules.
It floats with a sense of proud achievement.
|
space
|
How many times does the word 'space' appear in the text?
| 4
|
a dour nature and a
hard Aberdonian accent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success,
his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For
this reason the affection and respect of the Scotchman for his amateur
colleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness with which
he consulted Holmes in every difficulty. Mediocrity knows nothing higher
than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonald had
talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive that there
was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who already stood
alone in Europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was
not prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and
smiled at the sight of him.
"You are an early bird, Mr. Mac," said he. "I wish you luck with your
worm. I fear this means that there is some mischief afoot."
"If you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer the truth,
I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes," the inspector answered, with a knowing grin.
"Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, I won't
smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing on my way; for the early
hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better than your
own self. But--but--"
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look of
absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheet upon
which I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
"Douglas!" he stammered. "Birlstone! What's this, Mr. Holmes? Man, it's
witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those
names?"
"It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to solve. But
why--what's amiss with the names?"
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment.
"Just this," said he, "that Mr. Douglas of Birlstone Manor House was
horribly murdered last night!"
Chapter 2--Sherlock Holmes Discourses
It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It
would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited
by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in
his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long
overstimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual
perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of the
horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face
showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees
the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution.
"Remarkable!" said he. "Remarkable!"
"You don't seem surprised."
"Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised?
I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be
important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within
an hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that
the person is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not
surprised."
In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts about
the letter and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on his hands and
his great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle.
"I was going down to Birlstone this morning," said he. "I had come to
ask you if you cared to come with me--you and your friend here. But from
what you say we might perhaps be doing better work in London."
"I rather think not," said Holmes.
"Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!" cried the inspector. "The papers will be full
of the Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's the mystery
if there is a man in London who prophesied the crime before ever it
occurred? We have only to lay our hands on that man, and the rest will
follow."
"No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands on the
so-called Porlock?"
MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him. "Posted
in Camberwell--that doesn't help us much. Name, you say, is assumed. Not
much to go on, certainly. Didn't you say that you have sent him money?"
"Twice."
"And how?"
"In notes to Camberwell post office."
"Did you ever trouble to see who called for them?"
"No."
The inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. "Why not?"
"Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he first wrote that I
would not try to trace him."
"You think there is someone behind him?"
"I know there is."
"This professor that I've heard you mention?"
"Exactly!"
Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glanced
towards me. "I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that we think in
the C.I.D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over this
professor. I made some inquiries myself about the matter. He seems to be
a very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man."
"I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent."
"Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your view I made it my
business to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. How the talk got
that way I canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and a globe,
and made it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book; but I don't mind
saying that it was a bit above my head, though I had a good Aberdeen
upbringing. He'd have made a grand meenister with his thin face and gray
hair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his hand on my shoulder
as we were parting, it was like a father's blessing before you go out
into the cold, cruel world."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "Great!" he said. "Great! Tell me,
Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, I suppose,
in the professor's study?"
"That's so."
"A fine room, is it not?"
"Very fine--very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes."
|
prophesied
|
How many times does the word 'prophesied' appear in the text?
| 0
|
nearly to the flight deck of the Aircraft Carrier USS Kitty
Hawk. The carrier plunges, driving its bow into a wall of
grey water. The deck pitches forward and back, rolls left to
right, and yaws in a corkscrew motion. The entire 93,000 ton
behemoth rises and falls in the TYPHOON-DRIVEN SWELL.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2. SOMETHING DROPS DOWN OUT OF THE NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> A ROAR. Silver wings flash by, a cockpit, fiery jet
exhausts. A forty ton monster drops at 120 knots into an area
the size of a tennis court in a CONTROLLED CRASH.
<b>
</b> 2A. A SHOWER OF SPARKS, A SCREECH OF RUBBER AND METAL as
the gear hits the deck. The hook catches the 3 wire and the
F-14 TOMCAT is slammed to a halt. It's the scariest thing
you've ever seen, the most dangerous maneuver in aviation and
just another day at the office for a Naval Aviator.
<b>
</b><b> TITLES OVER
</b><b>
</b><b> HARD DRIVING ROCK AND ROLL - THE CARS - RIDE ME HIGH
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 3. FLIGHT DECK - THE LANDING SIGNAL OFFICER - (LSO)
</b><b>
</b> Leans almost horizontal into the winds. He holds the pickle,
controlling the landing lights and speaks into a mike. His
calm, professional commands belie the extreme conditions.
<b>
</b><b> LSO
</b><b> POWER, POWER...DON'T CLIMB...
</b><b> OKAY, HOLD WHAT YOU GOT.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 4. ANOTHER TOMCAT FLIES OVER THE RAMP
</b><b>
</b> It slams in. The pilot hits full power, catches the wire, slams
to a stop, cuts his engines.
<b>
</b><b> 5. OMITTED
</b><b>
</b><b> 6. AIR OPS - BELOW DECK
</b><b>
</b> Lots of scopes and electronic gear. The CARRIER CONTROL APPROACH
OFFICER (CCA) watches a blip on radar, reaches for his mike key.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 7. EXT. THE TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING - (AERIAL)
</b><b>
</b> We float like gods, above the storm, above the cloud cover,
looking down. From overhead, a probe slides into frame, then
a graceful nose. The cockpit sides by, Pilot, then Radar
Intercept Officer (RIO) barely illuminated by the orange glow
of their instruments. The fuselage gracefully swells to two
enormous air intakes, then variable angle wings, swept back
for high speed flight. Twin tailbooms cant outward,
horizontal stabilizers make constant adjustments. Enormous
twin jet exhaust ports glow red in the moonlight.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 8. INT. COCKPIT - (AERIAL)
</b><b>
</b> We become aware of WIND WHISTLE, JET ENGINE SOUNDS, RADIO
STATIC. The pilot, COUGAR, is calm, steady. The Radar
Intercept Officer in the backseat, GOOSE, is a wildman,
always an edge of humor in his voice. A UHF transmission
breaks in..
<b>
</b> STRIKE (V.O. filtered)
<b> GHOST RIDER, THIS IS STRIKE... WE
</b><b> HAVE UNKNOWN CONTACT INBOUND,
</b><b> MUSTANG. YOUR VECTOR ZERO NINE ZERO
</b><b> FOR BOGEY.
</b><b>
</b> Almost immediately the RIO picks up a target and responds.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b><b> CONTACT 20 LEFT AT 25, 900 KNOTS
</b><b> CLOSURE.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 8A. ANGLE - SECOND F-14 - 115 - COUGAR'S WINGMAN
</b><b>
</b> Come in on the cockpit with stenciled name and call signs: LT.
EVAN MITCHELL is the pilot, MAVERICK. In flight suit and oxygen
mask, we can only see his eyes. they are confident. In his
mid-twenties, he is lean, hard, athletic...the archetype fighter
pilot. His rear-seater is LTJG. WALTER MERLIN; WIZARD.
<b>
</b><b> MAVERICK
</b><b> I'LL I.D. HIM, YOU HOOK 'EM.
</b><b>
</b> Maverick peels off to right, to high cover position; 5 o'clock.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 9. INT. GHOST RIDER 117 - COUGAR'S POV
</b><b>
</b> HEADS UP DISPLAY (HUD) glows dimly on the windscreen. Directly
in front of the stick, two CRT screens display data. The bottom
screen shows a radar sweep. Wedged between
|
pilot
|
How many times does the word 'pilot' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ays you may well look thin and dejected, if you sit so constantly in the
house.â
âHelp me you cannot, Agnes; and I cannot go out with _you_âI have far too
much to do.â
âThen let me help you.â
âYou cannot, indeed, dear child. Go and practise your music, or play
with the kitten.â
There was always plenty of sewing on hand; but I had not been taught to
cut out a single garment, and except plain hemming and seaming, there was
little I could do, even in that line; for they both asserted that it was
far easier to do the work themselves than to prepare it for me: and
besides, they liked better to see me prosecuting my studies, or amusing
myselfâit was time enough for me to sit bending over my work, like a
grave matron, when my favourite little pussy was become a steady old cat.
Under such circumstances, although I was not many degrees more useful
than the kitten, my idleness was not entirely without excuse.
Through all our troubles, I never but once heard my mother complain of
our want of money. As summer was coming on she observed to Mary and me,
âWhat a desirable thing it would be for your papa to spend a few weeks at
a watering-place. I am convinced the sea-air and the change of scene
would be of incalculable service to him. But then, you see, thereâs no
money,â she added, with a sigh. We both wished exceedingly that the
thing might be done, and lamented greatly that it could not. âWell,
well!â said she, âitâs no use complaining. Possibly something might be
done to further the project after all. Mary, you are a beautiful drawer.
What do you say to doing a few more pictures in your best style, and
getting them framed, with the water-coloured drawings you have already
done, and trying to dispose of them to some liberal picture-dealer, who
has the sense to discern their merits?â
âMamma, I should be delighted if you think they _could_ be sold; and for
anything worth while.â
âItâs worth while trying, however, my dear: do you procure the drawings,
and Iâll endeavour to find a purchaser.â
âI wish _I_ could do something,â said I.
âYou, Agnes! well, who knows? You draw pretty well, too: if you choose
some simple piece for your subject, I daresay you will be able to produce
something we shall all be proud to exhibit.â
âBut I have another scheme in my head, mamma, and have had long, only I
did not like to mention it.â
âIndeed! pray tell us what it is.â
âI should like to be a governess.â
My mother uttered an exclamation of surprise, and laughed. My sister
dropped her work in astonishment, exclaiming, â_You_ a governess, Agnes!
What can you be dreaming of?â
âWell! I donât see anything so _very_ extraordinary in it. I do not
pretend to be able to instruct great girls; but surely I could teach
little ones: and I should like it so much: I am so fond of children. Do
let me, mamma!â
âBut, my love, you have not learned to take care of _yourself _yet: and
young children require more judgment and experience to manage than elder
ones.â
âBut, mamma, I am above eighteen, and quite able to take care of myself,
and others too. You do not know half the wisdom and prudence I possess,
because I have never been tried.â
âOnly think,â said Mary, âwhat would you do in a house full of strangers,
without me or mamma to speak and act for youâwith a parcel of children,
besides yourself, to attend to; and no one to look to for advice? You
would not even know what clothes to put on.â
âYou think, because I always do as you bid me, I have no judgment of my
own: but only try meâthat is all I askâand you shall see what I can do.â
At that moment my father entered and the subject of our discussion was
explained to him.
âWhat, my little Agnes a governess!â cried he, and, in spite of his
dejection, he laughed at the idea.
âYes, papa, donât _you_ say anything against it: I should like it so
much; and I am sure I could manage delightfully.â
âBut, my darling, we could not spare you.â And a tear glistened in his
eye as he addedââNo, no! afflicted as we are, surely we are not brought
to that pass yet.â
âOh, no!â said my mother. âThere is no necessity whatever for such a
step; it is merely a whim of her own. So you must hold your tongue, you
naughty girl; for, though you are so ready to leave us, you know very
well we cannot part with _you_.â
I was silenced
|
teach
|
How many times does the word 'teach' appear in the text?
| 0
|
concert. Walking out, drinking tea,
country dances, and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without the
assistance of cards, as I hated all manner of gaming, except backgammon,
at which my old friend and I sometimes took a two-penny hit. Nor can I
here pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the last time we
played together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce
ace five times running. Some months were elapsed in this manner, till
at last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of the
young couple, who seemed earnestly to desire it. During the preparations
for the wedding, I need not describe the busy importance of my wife,
nor the sly looks of my daughters: in fact, my attention was fixed
on another object, the completing a tract which I intended shortly to
publish in defence of my favourite principle. As I looked upon this as a
master-piece both for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my
heart avoid shewing it to my old friend Mr Wilmot, as I made no doubt
of receiving his approbation; but not till too late I discovered that
he was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with good
reason; for he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife. This,
as may be expected, produced a dispute attended with some acrimony,
which threatened to interrupt our intended alliance: but on the day
before that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the subject
at large. It was managed with proper spirit on both sides: he asserted
that I was heterodox, I retorted the charge: he replied, and I rejoined.
In the mean time, while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by
one of my relations, who, with a face of concern, advised me to give up
the dispute, at least till my son's wedding was over. 'How,' cried
I, 'relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be an husband, already
driven to the very verge of absurdity. You might as well advise me to
give up my fortune as my argument.' 'Your fortune,' returned my friend,
'I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in town,
in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute
of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound.
I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till
after the wedding: but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the
argument; for, I suppose, your own prudence will enforce the necessity
of dissembling at least till your son has the young lady's fortune
secure.'--'Well,' returned I, 'if what you tell me be true, and if I am
to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or induce me to
disavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the company of my
circumstances; and as for the argument, I even here retract my former
concessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to
be an husband in any sense of the expression.'
It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both
families when I divulged the news of our misfortune; but what others
felt was slight to what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr Wilmot, who
seemed before sufficiently inclined to break off the match, was by
this blow soon determined: one virtue he had in perfection, which was
prudence, too often the only one that is left us at seventy-two.
CHAPTER 3
A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are
generally found at last to be of our own procuring
The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortunes
might be malicious or premature: but a letter from my agent in town soon
came with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to
myself alone would have been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt was
for my family, who were to be humble without an education to render them
callous to contempt.
Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their
affliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow.
During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of
supporting them; and at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds a year was
offered me in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my
principles without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully closed,
having determined to encrease my salary by managing a little farm.
Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the
wrecks of my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen
thousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention
therefore was now to bring down the pride of my family to their
circumstances; for I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness
itself. 'You cannot be ignorant, my children,' cried I, 'that no
prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but prudence
may do much in disappointing its effects. We are now poor, my fondlings,
and wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us then, without
repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and
seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy.
The poor live pleasantly without our help, why then should not we learn
to live without theirs. No, my children, let us from this moment give up
all pretensions to gentility; we have still enough left for happiness
if we are wise, and let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of
fortune.' As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him
to town, where his abilities might contribute to our support and his
own. The separation of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most
distressful circumstances attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on
which we were to disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave
of his mother and the rest, who mingled their tears with their kisses,
came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and
which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow.
'You are going, my boy,' cried I, 'to London on foot, in the manner
Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me
the same horse that was given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff,
and take this
|
actually
|
How many times does the word 'actually' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of DNA. His face
is chiseled, angular, perfect (too perfect). Past sparks, we
MOVE down to pick up...
<b> EXT. STREET/VON DOOM INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
</b>
REED RICHARDS and BEN GRIMM head toward the soaring glass-box
atrium of VDI Headquarters. Designed to inspire awe, it
does.
<b> REED
</b> High open space, exposed structural
elements. Obviously aimed at first
time visitors to create feelings of...
smallness, inadequacy.
Ben glances at Reed, who looks a little nervous.
<b> BEN
</b> Good thing it ain't workin... Reed,
what are we doing here? This guy's
fast-food, strip-mall science --
<b> REED
</b> This wasn't our first stop, in case
you forgot NASA. And Victor's not
that bad. He's just a little...
(seeing the statue)
Larger than life.
<b> INT. VON DOOM INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
</b>
They move past the statue, into the sprawling atrium.
<b> REED
</b> He's financed some of the biggest
breakthroughs of this century.
<b> BEN
</b> You'd never know it.
He motions to a high-tech ORB, showing FOOTAGE of VDI's
accomplishments: a safe and clean nuclear facility, the first
private Space Station.
All images have VICTOR front and center, glad-handling George
Bush, Tony Blair, shady International Leaders. The last
image is Victor holding the AMERICA'S CUP.
<b> BEN (CONT'D)
</b> Jesus. That too?
They reach three stern RECEPTIONISTS.
<b> REED
</b> Reed Richards and Ben Grimm to see --
A receptionist cuts him off, handing them each a pass.
<b> FEMALE RECEPTIONIST
</b> Executive elevator, top floor.
<b> BEN
|
statue
|
How many times does the word 'statue' appear in the text?
| 1
|
b> FOUR MONTHS LATER...
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> A BARREN LANDSCAPE
</b> beneath slate-grey sky. Frigid rock and stunted trees fall to an
ice-choked coast. Congealed sea on a desolate beach.
<b> MARKO ALEXANDROVICH RAMIUS
</b> bare-headed in cold wind, studies the inclement coast. Bottomless
eyes move slowly across the landscape, missing nothing.
<b> SUPER: POLWARNY INLET
</b> Soviet Submarine Base on the Barents Sea
500 mi north of Murmansk
Ramius wears a tar black winter uniform of Captain First Rank in
the Soviet Navy. Behind him, out of sight, someone SPEAKS:
<b> VOICE (OS)
</b> Cold this morning, Captain.
Ramius shivers. When he replies, he speaks not about the weather,
but of the land:
<b> RAMIUS
</b> It is cold.
<b> (BEAT)-
</b> And hard.
Turning his back on the icy coast, Ramius smi-I fondly at the man
who just spoke to him
<b> CAPTAIN SECOND., RANK VASILY BORODIN
</b> Ramius' executive officer, also in black uniform. Borodin's rigged
with a mike. , Brass .buttons gambol in his Nubian cap like money.
<b> RAMIUS (CONT'D)
</b> e your head a bit. No need to
crowd him.
<b> BORODIN
</b>
<b> (INTO MIKE)
</b> Come left three degrees. Make your
course three-four-zero. Sonar, let
me know when we pass fifty, fathoms.
A HELMSMAN responds on a SPEAKER in the SAIL. Nautical CROSS
TALK. Orders GIVEN and AFFIRMED. Pulling back, Ramius and
Borodin are revealed standing atop
<b> THE RED OCTOBER
</b> a huge submarine, trading a gigantic rudder a hundred yards aft
her sail. A patrol BOAT and ICEBREAKER escort her to sea. On
SPEAKERS in the SAIL:
<b> HELMSMAN (VO)
</b> Captain, political off=er Putin requests
permission to come to the bridge.
<b> RAMIUS
</b>
<b> (GLANCING AT
</b>
<b> BORODIN)
</b> Granted.
<b> BORODIN
</b> (under his breath)
Think of it, Comrade.. .son of only a
humble mM worker...
<b>
|
ramius
|
How many times does the word 'ramius' appear in the text?
| 8
|
you couldn't do better than make your bow to her, if
you can't go to work and wait till you are grown up before you begin
lovering.'
'Nat would break his fiddle over my head if I suggested such a thing.
No, thank you. Another name is engraved upon my heart as indelibly
as the blue anchor on my arm. "Hope" is my motto, and "No surrender",
yours; see who will hold out longest.'
'You silly boys think we must pair off as we did when children; but we
shall do nothing of the kind. How well Parnassus looks from here!' said
Nan, abruptly changing the conversation again.
'It is a fine house; but I love old Plum best. Wouldn't Aunt March stare
if she could see the changes here?' answered Tom, as they both paused at
the great gate to look at the pleasant landscape before them.
A sudden whoop startled them, as a long boy with a wild yellow head came
leaping over a hedge like a kangaroo, followed by a slender girl, who
stuck in the hawthorn, and sat there laughing like a witch. A pretty
little lass she was, with curly dark hair, bright eyes, and a very
expressive face. Her hat was at her back, and her skirts a good deal the
worse for the brooks she had crossed, the trees she had climbed, and the
last leap, which added several fine rents.
'Take me down, Nan, please. Tom, hold Ted; he's got my book, and I
will have it,' called Josie from her perch, not at all daunted by the
appearance of her friends.
Tom promptly collared the thief, while Nan picked Josie from among the
thorns and set her on her feet without a word of reproof; for having
been a romp in her own girlhood, she was very indulgent to like tastes
in others. 'What's the matter, dear?' she asked, pinning up the longest
rip, while Josie examined the scratches on her hands. 'I was studying my
part in the willow, and Ted came slyly up and poked the book out of my
hands with his rod. It fell in the brook, and before I could scrabble
down he was off. You wretch, give it back this moment or I'll box your
ears,' cried Josie, laughing and scolding in the same breath.
Escaping from Tom, Ted struck a sentimental attitude, and with tender
glances at the wet, torn young person before him, delivered Claude
Melnotte's famous speech in a lackadaisical way that was irresistibly
funny, ending with 'Dost like the picture, love?' as he made an object
of himself by tying his long legs in a knot and distorting his face
horribly.
The sound of applause from the piazza put a stop to these antics, and
the young folks went up the avenue together very much in the old style
when Tom drove four in hand and Nan was the best horse in the team.
Rosy, breathless, and merry, they greeted the ladies and sat down on
the steps to rest, Aunt Meg sewing up her daughter's rags while Mrs
Jo smoothed the Lion's mane, and rescued the book. Daisy appeared in a
moment to greet her friend, and all began to talk.
'Muffins for tea; better stay and eat 'em; Daisy's never fail,' said Ted
hospitably.
'He's a judge; he ate nine last time. That's why he's so fat,' added
Josie, with a withering glance at her cousin, who was as thin as a lath.
'I must go and see Lucy Dove. She has a whitlow, and it's time to lance
it. I'll tea at college,' answered Nan, feeling in her pocket to be sure
she had not forgotten her case of instruments.
'Thanks, I'm going there also. Tom Merryweather has granulated lids,
and I promised to touch them up for him. Save a doctor's fee and be good
practice for me. I'm clumsy with my thumbs,' said Tom, bound to be near
his idol while he could.
'Hush! Daisy doesn't like to hear you saw-bones talk of your work.
Muffins suit us better'; and Ted grinned sweetly, with a view to future
favours in the eating line.
'Any news of the Commodore?' asked Tom.
'He is on his way home, and Dan hopes to come soon. I long to see my
boys together, and have begged the wanderers to come to Thanksgiving, if
not before,' answered Mrs Jo, beaming at the thought.
'They'll come, every man of them, if they can. Even Jack will risk
losing a dollar for the sake of one of our jolly old dinners,' laughed
Tom.
'There's the turkey fattening for the feast. I never chase him now, but
feed him well; and he's "swellin' wisibly", bless his drumsticks!' said
Ted, pointing out the doomed fowl proudly parading in a neighbouring
field.
'If Nat goes the last of the month we shall want a farewell frolic for
him. I suppose the dear old Chirper will come home a second Ole Bull,'
said Nan to her friend.
A pretty colour came into Daisy's cheek, and the folds of muslin on her
breast rose and fell with a quick breath; but she answered placidly:
'Uncle Laurie says he has real talent, and after the training he will
get abroad he can command a good living here, though he may never be
famous.'
'Young people seldom turn out as one predicts, so it is of little use
to expect anything,' said Mrs Meg with a sigh. 'If our children are good
and useful men and women, we should be satisfied; yet it's very natural
to wish them to be brilliant and successful.'
'They are like my chickens, mighty uncertain. Now, that fine-looking
cockerel of mine is the stupidest one of the lot, and the ugly,
long-legged chap is the king of the yard, he's so smart; crows loud
enough to wake the Seven Sleepers; but the handsome one croaks, and is
no end of a coward. I get snubbed; but you wait till I grow up, and
then see'; and Ted looked so like his own long-legged pet that everyone
laughed at his modest prediction.
'I want to
|
children
|
How many times does the word 'children' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b> He caught the northbound Howard
line. Got off at Sheridan.
Stopped at 7-11. Purchased six-
pack of beer and a box of Captain
Crunch. Returned home.
The area code is identified. The first three numbers
suddenly fixed, leaving only seven flowing columns.
We begin MOVING TOWARD the screen, CLOSING IN as each
digit is matched, one by one, snapping into place like
the wheels of a slot machine.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> All right, you're relieved. Use
the usual exit.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Do you know when we're going to
make contact?
<b> TRINITY
</b> Soon.
Only two thin digits left.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Just between you and me, you don't
believe it, do you? You don't
believe this guy is the one?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus believes he is.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> I know. But what about you?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus knows things that
I don't.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, but if he's wrong --
The final number pops into place --
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Did you hear that?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Hear what?
<b> SCREEN
</b> Trace complete. Call origin:
<b> #312-555-0690
</b>
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Are you sure this line is clean?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, course I'm sure.
We MOVE STILL CLOSER, the ELECTRIC HUM of the green
numbers GROWING INTO an OMINOUS ROAR.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I better go.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah. Right. See you on the other side.
She hangs up as we PASS THROUGH the numbers, entering the
netherworld of the computer screen.
Where gradually the sound of a police radio grows around
us.
<b> RADIO (V.O.)
</b> Attention all units. Attention
all units.
Suddenly, a flashlight cuts open the darkness and we find
ourselves in --
<b> INT. CHASE HOTEL - NIGHT
</b>
The hotel was abandoned after a fire licked its way
across the polyester carpeting, destroying several rooms
as it spooled soot up the walls and ceiling leaving
patterns of permanent shadow.
We FOLLOW four armed POLICE officers using flashlights as
they creep down the blackened hall and ready themselves
on either side of room 303.
The biggest of them violently kicks in the door --
The other cops pour in behind him, guns thrust before
them.
<b> BIG COP
</b> Police! Freeze!
The room is almost devoid of furniture. There is a fold-
up table and chair with a phone, a modern, and a powerbook
computer. The only light in the room is the glow of the
computer.
Sitting there, her hands still on the keyboard, is
TRINITY; a woman in black leather.
<b> BIG COP
</b> Get your hands behind your head!
Trinity rises.
<b> BIG COP
</b> Hands behind your head! Now! Do
it!
She slowly puts her hands behind her head.
<b> EXT. CHASE HOTEL - NIGHT
</b>
A black sedan with tinted windows glides in through the
police cruisers.
AGENT SMITH and AGENT BROWN get out of the car.
They wear dark suits and sunglasses even at night. They
are also always hardwired; small Secret Service earphones
in one ear, its cord coiling back into their shirt
collars.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> Lieutenant?
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> Oh shit.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> Lieutenant, you were given
specific orders --
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> I'm just doing my job. You gimme
that Juris-my dick-tion and you
can cran it up your ass.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> The orders were for your protection.
The Lieutenant laughs.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> I think we can
|
your
|
How many times does the word 'your' appear in the text?
| 4
|
snore came through the closed door of the
chief mate's room. The second mate's door was on the hook, but the
darkness in there was absolutely soundless. He, too, was young and could
sleep like a stone. Remained the steward, but he was not likely to
wake up before he was called. I got a sleeping suit out of my room and,
coming back on deck, saw the naked man from the sea sitting on the main
hatch, glimmering white in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and
his head in his hands. In a moment he had concealed his damp body in a
sleeping suit of the same gray-stripe pattern as the one I was wearing
and followed me like my double on the poop. Together we moved right aft,
barefooted, silent.
"What is it?" I asked in a deadened voice, taking the lighted lamp out
of the binnacle, and raising it to his face.
"An ugly business."
He had rather regular features; a good mouth; light eyes under somewhat
heavy, dark eyebrows; a smooth, square forehead; no growth on his
cheeks; a small, brown mustache, and a well-shaped, round chin. His
expression was concentrated, meditative, under the inspecting light of
the lamp I held up to his face; such as a man thinking hard in solitude
might wear. My sleeping suit was just right for his size. A well-knit
young fellow of twenty-five at most. He caught his lower lip with the
edge of white, even teeth.
"Yes," I said, replacing the lamp in the binnacle. The warm, heavy
tropical night closed upon his head again.
"There's a ship over there," he murmured.
"Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?"
"Hadn't the slightest idea. I am the mate of her--" He paused and
corrected himself. "I should say I _was_."
"Aha! Something wrong?"
"Yes. Very wrong indeed. I've killed a man."
"What do you mean? Just now?"
"No, on the passage. Weeks ago. Thirty-nine south. When I say a man--"
"Fit of temper," I suggested, confidently.
The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the
ghostly gray of my sleeping suit. It was, in the night, as though I had
been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense
mirror.
"A pretty thing to have to own up to for a Conway boy," murmured my
double, distinctly.
"You're a Conway boy?"
"I am," he said, as if startled. Then, slowly... "Perhaps you too--"
It was so; but being a couple of years older I had left before he
joined. After a quick interchange of dates a silence fell; and I thought
suddenly of my absurd mate with his terrific whiskers and the "Bless my
soul--you don't say so" type of intellect. My double gave me an inkling
of his thoughts by saying: "My father's a parson in Norfolk. Do you see
me before a judge and jury on that charge? For myself I can't see the
necessity. There are fellows that an angel from heaven--And I am not
that. He was one of those creatures that are just simmering all the time
with a silly sort of wickedness. Miserable devils that have no business
to live at all. He wouldn't do his duty and wouldn't let anybody else do
theirs. But what's the good of talking! You know well enough the sort of
ill-conditioned snarling cur--"
He appealed to me as if our experiences had been as identical as
our clothes. And I knew well enough the pestiferous danger of such a
character where there are no means of legal repression. And I knew well
enough also that my double there was no homicidal ruffian. I did not
think of asking him for details, and he told me the story roughly in
brusque, disconnected sentences. I needed no more. I saw it all going on
as though I were myself inside that other sleeping suit.
"It happened while we were setting a reefed foresail, at dusk. Reefed
foresail! You understand the sort of weather. The only sail we had left
to keep the ship running; so you may guess what it had been like for
days. Anxious sort of job, that. He gave me some of his cursed insolence
at the sheet. I tell you I was overdone with this terrific weather that
seemed to have no end to it. Terrific, I tell you--and a deep ship. I
believe the fellow himself was half crazed with funk. It was no time for
gentlemanly reproof, so I turned round and felled him like an ox. He up
and at me. We closed just as an awful sea made for the ship. All hands
saw it coming and took to the rigging, but I had him by the throat, and
went on shaking him like a rat, the men above us yelling, 'Look out!
look out!' Then a crash as if the sky had fallen on my head. They
say that for over ten minutes hardly anything was to be seen of the
ship--just the three masts and a bit of the forecastle head and of the
poop all awash driving along in a smother of foam. It was a miracle that
they found us, jammed together behind the forebitts. It's clear that I
meant business, because I was holding him by the throat still when they
picked us up. He was black in the face. It was too much for them.
It seems they rushed us aft together, gripped as we were, screaming
'Murder!' like a lot of lunatics, and broke into the cuddy. And the ship
running for her life, touch and go all the time, any minute her last in
a sea fit to turn your hair gray only a-looking at it. I understand that
the skipper, too, started raving like the rest of them. The man had been
deprived of sleep for more than a week, and to have this sprung on him
at the height of a furious gale nearly drove him out of his mind. I
wonder they didn't fling me overboard after getting the carcass of their
precious shipmate out of my fingers. They had rather a job to separate
us, I've been told. A sufficiently fierce story to make an old judge
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 7
|
DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. NARROW CANYON - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT. A dry watercourse threads its way through the cut
in the treeless hills. The sun is not high enough as yet to
drive night from the canyon. A man appears around a bend;
another and still another. They are McCall, Peters and Lednov,
clad in prison clothes, hatless, their heads closely cropped.
As Lednov's face comes into a closeup,
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. HILL - DAWN
</b>
LONG SHOT - DOWN ANGLE. A narrow valley lies below. Through
it runs a cottonwood-bordered stream. Smoke curls up out of
the trees. Horses graze in a small meadow near the creek.
From O.O. comes the SOUND of heavy boots crunching across
the dry, eroded earth. The three men file past camera to
stop in the immediate F.g. and look down into the valley.
They exchange glances and start down.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT - ANGLED THROUGH willows. A bearded man, Cal
Forster, and two young fellows in their late teens squat
beside a campfire eating breakfast. O.s. there is the SOUND
of movement. Lednov moves cautiously into the scene. He has
a revolver in his hand.
Forster turns toward camera and fear comes into his
expression. Lednov fires. Forster crumples near the fire.
The two boys jump to their feet and reach for rifles. Lednov
fires again and again. McCall and Peters come into the scene,
both firing revolvers.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAWN
</b>
MED SHOT - ANGLED ACROSS campfire. On the fire smoulders the
prison clothes the convicts had worn. Smoke spirals up. In
the B.B. Lednov, Peters and McCall, now wearing the clothes
of the three Forsters, saddle the horses. CAMERA PANS AROUND
and ANGLES DOWN. The bodies of Forster and his sons, now
clad in underwear are sprawled by the fire. Forster's arm
lies close to the smouldering clothing.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. CREEK - DAWN
</b>
MED. LONG SHOT. Smoke climbs above the trees. Into the
clearing ride the three convicts, to cross it and move
westward. They disappear over the hill. A dust cloud
|
curls
|
How many times does the word 'curls' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and
even the fact that she was a sprig of the transatlantic democracy never
sufficiently explained her apathy on social questions. She had a mental
image of that son of the Crusaders who was to suffer her to adore him,
but like many an artist who has produced a masterpiece of idealisation
she shrank from exposing it to public criticism. It was the portrait of
a gentleman rather ugly than handsome and rather poor than rich. But his
ugliness was to be nobly expressive and his poverty delicately proud.
She had a fortune of her own which, at the proper time, after fixing on
her in eloquent silence those fine eyes that were to soften the feudal
severity of his visage, he was to accept with a world of stifled
protestations. One condition alone she was to make--that he should have
"race" in a state as documented as it was possible to have it. On this
she would stake her happiness; and it was so to happen that several
accidents conspired to give convincing colour to this artless
philosophy.
Inclined to long pauses and slow approaches herself, Euphemia was
a great sitter at the feet of breathless volubility, and there were
moments when she fairly hung upon the lips of Mademoiselle Marie de
Mauves. Her intimacy with this chosen schoolmate was founded on the
perception--all her own--that their differences were just the right
ones. Mademoiselle de Mauves was very positive, very shrewd,
very ironical, very French--everything that Euphemia felt herself
unpardonable for not being. During her Sundays en ville she had examined
the world and judged it, and she imparted her impressions to our
attentive heroine with an agreeable mixture of enthusiasm and
scepticism. She was moreover a handsome and well-grown person, on whom
Euphemia's ribbons and trinkets had a trick of looking better than on
their slender proprietress. She had finally the supreme merit of being
a rigorous example of the virtue of exalted birth, having, as she did,
ancestors honourably mentioned by Joinville and Commines, and a stately
grandmother with a hooked nose who came up with her after the holidays
from a veritable castel in Auvergne. It seemed to our own young woman
that these attributes made her friend more at home in the world than if
she had been the daughter of even the most prosperous grocer. A certain
aristocratic impudence Mademoiselle de Mauves abundantly possessed,
and her raids among her friend's finery were quite in the spirit of her
baronial ancestors in the twelfth century--a spirit regarded by
Euphemia but as a large way of understanding friendship, a freedom from
conformities without style, and one that would sooner or later express
itself in acts of surprising magnanimity. There doubtless prevailed
in the breast of Mademoiselle de Mauves herself a dimmer vision of the
large securities that Euphemia envied her. She was to become later in
life so accomplished a schemer that her sense of having further heights
to scale might well have waked up early. The especially fine appearance
made by our heroine's ribbons and trinkets as her friend wore them
ministered to pleasure on both sides, and the spell was not of a nature
to be menaced by the young American's general gentleness. The concluding
motive of Marie's writing to her grandmamma to invite Euphemia for a
three weeks' holiday to the castel in Auvergne involved, however, the
subtlest considerations. Mademoiselle de Mauves indeed, at this time
seventeen years of age and capable of views as wide as her wants, was as
proper a figure as could possibly have been found for the foreground
of a scene artfully designed; and Euphemia, whose years were of like
number, asked herself if a right harmony with such a place mightn't
come by humble prayer. It is a proof of the sincerity of the latter's
aspirations that the castel was not a shock to her faith. It was neither
a cheerful nor a luxurious abode, but it was as full of wonders as a
box of old heirlooms or objects "willed." It had battered towers and
an empty moat, a rusty drawbridge and a court paved with crooked
grass-grown slabs over which the antique coach-wheels of the lady with
the hooked nose seemed to awaken the echoes of the seventeenth century.
Euphemia was not frightened out of her dream; she had the pleasure of
seeing all the easier passages translated into truth, as the learner
of a language begins with the common words. She had a taste for old
servants, old anecdotes, old furniture, faded household colours and
sweetly stale odours--musty treasures in which the Chateau de Mauves
abounded. She made a dozen sketches in water-colours after her
conventual pattern; but sentimentally, as one may say, she was for ever
sketching with a freer hand.
Old Madame de Mauves had nothing severe but her nose, and she seemed to
Euphemia--what indeed she had every claim to pass for--the very image
and pattern of an "historical character." Belonging to a great order of
things, she patronised the young stranger who was ready to sit all day
at her feet and listen to anecdotes of the bon temps and quotations from
the family chronicles. Madame de Mauves was a very honest old woman; she
uttered her thoughts with ancient plainness. One day after pushing back
Euphemia's shining locks and blinking with some tenderness from behind
an immense face-a-main that acted as for the relegation of the girl
herself to the glass case of a museum, she declared with an energetic
shake of the head that she didn't know what to make of such a little
person. And in answer to the little person's evident wonder, "I should
like to advise you," she said, "but you seem to me so all of a piece
that I'm afraid that if I advise you I shall spoil you. It's easy to see
you're not one of us. I don't know whether you're better, but you
seem to me to have been wound up by some key that isn't kept by your
governess or your confessor or even your mother, but that you wear by
a fine black ribbon round your own neck. Little persons in my day--when
they were stupid they were very docile, but when they were clever they
were very sly! You're clever enough, I imagine, and yet if I guessed all
your
|
mauves
|
How many times does the word 'mauves' appear in the text?
| 7
|
their easily-demonstrated facts, knows that religion is of _natural_ and
not _supernatural_ origin; that it is a natural element of the
_human mind_, and not a "_direct gift from God_;" that it grows as
spontaneously out of the soul as flowers spring out of the ground. It is
as natural as eating, sleeping or breathing. This conclusion is not the
offspring of mere imagination. It is no hastily-concocted theory, but an
oft-demonstrated and scientifically-established fact, which any person
can test the truth of for himself.
And this modern discovery will, at no distant day, revolutionize
all systems of religious faith in existence, and either dissolve and
dissipate them, or modify and establish them upon a more natural and
enduring basis, expurgated of their dogmatic errors.
Let us, then, labor to banish the wide-spread delusion believed and
taught by a thousand systems of worship--Jew, Pagan and Christian--that
"religion is of supernatural or divine origin," and the many ruinous
errors; senseless dogmas and deplorable soul-crushing superstitions
so thoroughly inwrought into the Christian system will vanish like fog
before the morning sun, and be replaced by a religion which sensible,
intelligent and scientific men and women can accept, and will delight to
honor and practice.
ADDRESS TO THE CLERGY.
FRIENDS and brethren--teachers of the Christian faith: Will you believe
us when we tell you the divine claims of your religion are
gone--all swept away by the "logic of history," and nullified by the
demonstrations of science?
The recently opened fountains of historic law, many of whose potent
facts will be found interspersed through the pages of this work, sweep
away the last inch of ground on which can be predicated the least show
for either the divine origin of the Christian religion, or the divinity
of Jesus Christ.
For these facts demonstrate beyond all cavil and criticism, and with
a logical force which can leave not the vestige of a doubt upon any
unbiased mind, that all its doctrines are an outgrowth from older
heathen systems. Several systems of religion essentially the same in
character and spirit as that religion now known as Christianity, and
setting forth the same doctrines, principles and precepts, and several
personages filling a chapter in history almost identical with that of
Jesus Christ, it is now known to those who are up with the discoveries
and intelligence of the age, were venerated in the East centuries before
a religion called Christian, or a personage called Jesus Christ were
known to history.
Will you not, then, give it up that your religion is merely a human
production, reconstructed from heathen materials--from oriental systems
several thousand years older than yours--or will you continue, in spite
of the unanimous and unalterable verdict of history, science, facts and
logic, to proclaim to the world the now historically demonstrated
error which you have so long preached, that God is the author of your
religion, and Jesus Christ a Deity-begotten Messiah? Though you may have
heretofore honestly believed these doctrines to be true, you can now no
longer plead ignorance as an excuse for propagating such gigantic
and serious errors, as they are now overwhelmingly demonstrated by a
thousand facts of history to be untrue. You must abandon such exalted
claims for your religion, or posterity will mark you as being "blind
leaders of the blind." They will heap upon your honored names their
unmitigated ridicule and condemnation. They will charge you as being
either deplorably ignorant, or disloyal to the cause of truth. And shame
and ignominy will be your portion.
The following propositions (fatal to your claims for Christianity) are
established beyond confutation by the historical facts cited in this
work, viz:--
1. There were many cases of the miraculous birth of Gods reported in
history before the case of Jesus Christ.
2 Also many other cases of Gods being born of virgin mothers.
3. Many of these Gods, like Christ, were (reputedly) born on the 25th of
December.
4. Their advent into the world, like that of Jesus Christ, is in many
cases claimed to have been foretold by "inspired prophets."
5. Stars figured at the birth of several of them, as in the case of
Christ.
6. Also angels, shepherds, and magi, or "wise men."
7. Many of them, like Christ, were claimed to be of royal or princely
descent.
8. Their lives, like his, were also threatened in infancy by the ruler
of the country.
9. Several of them, like him, gave early proof of divinity.
10. And, like him, retired from the world and fasted.
11. Also, like him, declared, "My kingdom is not of this world."
12. Some of them preached a spiritual religion, too, like his.
13. And were "anointed with oil," like him.
14. Many of them, like him, were "crucified for the sins of the world."
15. And after three days' interment "rose from the dead."
16. And, finally, like him, are reported as ascending back to heaven.
17. The same violent convulsions of nature at the crucifixion of several
are reported.
18. They were nearly all called "Saviors," "Son of God," "Messiah,"
"Redeemer," "Lord," &c.
19. Each one was the second member of the trinity of "Father, Son and
Holy Ghost."
20. The doctrines of "Original Sin," "Fall of Man," "The Atonement,"
"The Trinity," "The Word," "Forgiveness," "An Angry God," "Future
Endless Punishment," etc., etc. (see the author's "Biography of Satan,")
were a part of the religion of each of these sin-atoning Gods, as
found set forth in several oriental bibles and "holy books," similar in
character and spirit to the Christian's bible, and written, like it,
by "inspired and holy men" before the time of either Christ or Moses
(before Moses, in some cases, at least). All these doctrines and
declarations, and many others not here enumerated, the historical
citations of this work abundantly prove, were taught in various
oriental heathen nations centuries before the birth of Christ, or before
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How many times does the word 'several' appear in the text?
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our
courtesy worth less than the trouble which it cost him. The churl! He
understood the shrill whistle of the blast, but had no intelligence for
our blithe tones of brotherhood. This lack of faith in our cordial
sympathy, on the traveller's part, was one among the innumerable tokens
how difficult a task we had in hand for the reformation of the world.
We rode on, however, with still unflagging spirits, and made such good
companionship with the tempest that, at our journey's end, we professed
ourselves almost loath to bid the rude blusterer good-by. But, to own
the truth, I was little better than an icicle, and began to be
suspicious that I had caught a fearful cold.
And now we were seated by the brisk fireside of the old farmhouse, the
same fire that glimmers so faintly among my reminiscences at the
beginning of this chapter. There we sat, with the snow melting out of
our hair and beards, and our faces all ablaze, what with the past
inclemency and present warmth. It was, indeed, a right good fire that
we found awaiting us, built up of great, rough logs, and knotty limbs,
and splintered fragments of an oak-tree, such as farmers are wont to
keep for their own hearths, since these crooked and unmanageable boughs
could never be measured into merchantable cords for the market. A
family of the old Pilgrims might have swung their kettle over precisely
such a fire as this, only, no doubt, a bigger one; and, contrasting it
with my coal-grate, I felt so much the more that we had transported
ourselves a world-wide distance from the system of society that
shackled us at breakfast-time.
Good, comfortable Mrs. Foster (the wife of stout Silas Foster, who was
to manage the farm at a fair stipend, and be our tutor in the art of
husbandry) bade us a hearty welcome. At her back--a back of generous
breadth--appeared two young women, smiling most hospitably, but looking
rather awkward withal, as not well knowing what was to be their
position in our new arrangement of the world. We shook hands
affectionately all round, and congratulated ourselves that the blessed
state of brotherhood and sisterhood, at which we aimed, might fairly be
dated from this moment. Our greetings were hardly concluded when the
door opened, and Zenobia--whom I had never before seen, important as
was her place in our enterprise--Zenobia entered the parlor.
This (as the reader, if at all acquainted with our literary biography,
need scarcely be told) was not her real name. She had assumed it, in
the first instance, as her magazine signature; and, as it accorded well
with something imperial which her friends attributed to this lady's
figure and deportment, they half-laughingly adopted it in their
familiar intercourse with her. She took the appellation in good part,
and even encouraged its constant use; which, in fact, was thus far
appropriate, that our Zenobia, however humble looked her new
philosophy, had as much native pride as any queen would have known what
to do with.
III. A KNOT OF DREAMERS
Zenobia bade us welcome, in a fine, frank, mellow voice, and gave each
of us her hand, which was very soft and warm. She had something
appropriate, I recollect, to say to every individual; and what she said
to myself was this:--"I have long wished to know you, Mr. Coverdale,
and to thank you for your beautiful poetry, some of which I have
learned by heart; or rather it has stolen into my memory, without my
exercising any choice or volition about the matter. Of course--permit
me to say you do not think of relinquishing an occupation in which you
have done yourself so much credit. I would almost rather give you up
as an associate, than that the world should lose one of its true poets!"
"Ah, no; there will not be the slightest danger of that, especially
after this inestimable praise from Zenobia," said I, smiling, and
blushing, no doubt, with excess of pleasure. "I hope, on the contrary,
now to produce something that shall really deserve to be called
poetry,--true, strong, natural, and sweet, as is the life which we are
going to lead,--something that shall have the notes of wild birds
twittering through it, or a strain like the wind anthems in the woods,
as the case may be."
"Is it irksome to you to hear your own verses sung?" asked Zenobia,
with a gracious smile. "If so, I am very sorry, for you will certainly
hear me singing them sometimes, in the summer evenings."
"Of all things," answered I, "that is what will delight me most."
While this passed, and while she spoke to my companions, I was taking
note of Zenobia's aspect; and it impressed itself on me so distinctly,
that I can now summon her up, like a ghost, a little wanner than the
life but otherwise identical with it. She was dressed as simply as
possible, in an American print (I think the dry-goods people call it
so), but with a silken kerchief, between which and her gown there was
one glimpse of a white shoulder. It struck me as a great piece of good
fortune that there should be just that glimpse. Her hair, which was
dark, glossy, and of singular abundance, was put up rather soberly and
primly--without curls, or other ornament, except a single flower. It
was an exotic of rare beauty, and as fresh as if the hothouse gardener
had just clipt it from the stem. That flower has struck deep root into
my memory. I can both see it and smell it, at this moment. So
brilliant, so rare, so costly as it must have been, and yet enduring
only for a day, it was more indicative of the pride and pomp which had
a luxuriant growth in Zenobia's character than if a great diamond had
sparkled among her hair.
Her hand, though very soft, was larger than most women would like to
have, or than they could afford to have, though not a whit too large in
proportion with the spacious plan of
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do you do, Woldemar! Ah, what a splendid horse! Where did you buy
it?"
"I bought it from the army contractor.... He made me pay for it too, the
brigand!"
"What's its name?"
"Orlando.... But it's a stupid name; I want to change.... Eh bien, eh
bien, mon garcon.... What a restless beast it is!" The horse snorted,
pawed the ground, and shook the foam off the bit.
"Lenotchka, stroke him, don't be afraid."
The little girl stretched her hand out of the window, but Orlando
suddenly reared and started. The rider with perfect self-possession gave
it a cut with the whip across the neck, and keeping a tight grip with
his legs forced it in spite of its opposition, to stand still again at
the window.
"Prenez garde, prenez garde," Marya Dmitrievna kept repeating.
"Lenotchka, pat him," said the young man, "I won't let him be perverse."
The little girl again stretched out her hand and timidly patted the
quivering nostrils of the horse, who kept fidgeting and champing the
bit.
"Bravo!" cried Marya Dmitrievna, "but now get off and come in to us."
The rider adroitly turned his horse, gave him a touch of the spur, and
galloping down the street soon reached the courtyard. A minute later
he ran into the drawing-room by the door from the hall, flourishing his
whip; at the same moment there appeared in the other doorway a tall,
slender dark-haired girl of nineteen, Marya Dmitrievna's eldest
daughter, Lisa.
Chapter IV
The name of the young man whom we have just introduced to the reader
was Vladimir Nikolaitch Panshin. He served in Petersburg on special
commissions in the department of internal affairs. He had come to the
town of O---- to carry out some temporary government commissions,
and was in attendance on the Governor-General Zonnenberg, to whom he
happened to be distantly related. Panshin's father, a retired cavalry
officer and a notorious gambler, was a man with insinuating eyes, a
battered countenance, and a nervous twitch about the mouth. He spent his
whole life hanging about the aristocratic world; frequented the English
clubs of both capitals, and had the reputation of a smart, not very
trustworthy, but jolly good-natured fellow. In spite of his smartness,
he was almost always on the brink of ruin, and the property he left his
son was small and heavily-encumbered. To make up for that, however,
he did exert himself, after his own fashion, over his son's education.
Vladimir Nikolaitch spoke French very well, English well, and German
badly; that is the proper thing; fashionable people would be ashamed
to speak German well; but to utter an occasional--generally a
humorous--phrase in German is quite correct, c'est meme tres chic,
as the Parisians of Petersburg express themselves. By the time he
was fifteen, Vladimir knew how to enter any drawing-room without
embarrassment, how to move about in it gracefully and to leave it at
the appropriate moment. Panshin's father gained many connections for his
son. He never lost an opportunity, while shuffling the cards between
two rubbers, or playing a successful trump, of dropping a hint about his
Volodka to any personage of importance who was a devotee of cards. And
Vladimir, too, during his residence at the university, which he left
without a very brilliant degree, formed an acquaintance with several
young men of quality, and gained an entry into the best houses. He was
received cordially everywhere: he was very good-looking, easy in his
manners, amusing, always in good health, and ready for everything;
respectful, when he ought to be; insolent, when he dared to be;
excellent company, un charmant garcon. The promised land lay before him.
Panshin quickly learnt the secret of getting on in the world; he knew
how to yield with genuine respect to its decrees; he knew how to take
up trifles with half ironical seriousness, and to appear to regard
everything serious as trifling; he was a capital dancer; and dressed in
the English style. In a short time he gained the reputation of being one
of the smartest and most attractive young men in Petersburg.
Panshin was indeed very smart, not less so than his father; but he was
also very talented. He did everything well; he sang charmingly, sketched
with spirit, wrote verses, and was a very fair actor. He was only
twenty-eight, and he was already a kammer-yunker, and had a very
good position. Panshin had complete confidence in himself, in his
own intelligence, and his own penetration; he made his way with
light-hearted assurance, everything went smoothly with him. He was
used to being liked by every one, old and young, and imagined that
he understood people, especially women: he certainly understood their
ordinary weaknesses. As a man of artistic leanings, he was conscious of
a capacity for passion, for being carried away, even for enthusiasm,
and consequently, he permitted himself various irregularities; he was
dissipated, associated with persons not belonging to good society, and,
in general, conducted himself in a free and easy manner; but at heart he
was cold and false, and at the moment of the most boisterous revelry
his sharp brown eye was always alert, taking everything in. This bold,
independent young man could never forget himself and be completely
carried away. To his credit it must be said, that he never boasted
of his conquests. He had found his way into Marya Dmitrievna's house
immediately he arrived in O----, and was soon perfectly at home there.
Marya Dmitrievna absolutely adored him. Panshin exchanged cordial
greetings with every one in the room; he shook hands with Marya
Dmitrievna and Lisaveta Mihalovna, clapped Gedeonovsky lightly on the
shoulder, and turning round on his heels, put his hand on Lenotchka's
head and kissed her on the forehead.
"Aren't you afraid to ride such a vicious horse?" Marya Dmitrievna
questioned him.
"I assure you he's very
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turned his mind to
technical microscopy when he was eighteen, and a chance friendship with
a Holborn microscope dealer had confirmed that bent. He had remarkably
skilful fingers and a love of detailed processes, and he had become one
of the most dexterous amateur makers of rock sections in the world.
He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the
little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus
and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to
a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified
manner. He did it, he said, "to distract his mind." His chief successes
he exhibited to the Lowndean Microscopical Society, where their high
technical merit never failed to excite admiration. Their scientific
value was less considerable, since he chose rocks entirely with a
view to their difficulty of handling or their attractiveness at
conversaziones when done. He had a great contempt for the sections the
"theorizers" produced. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they
were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. Yet an indiscriminating,
wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions....
He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with
chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also
in order "to distract his mind." He read it in winter in the evening
after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to
monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin
slippers across the fender. She wondered occasionally why his mind
needed so much distraction. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which
he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and
carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home.
It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was
younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the
impression of its predecessor. But she certainly remembered that when
she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a
bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. And
in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and
hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to
the scullery wall.
It had been Ann Veronica's lot as the youngest child to live in a home
that became less animated and various as she grew up. Her mother had
died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married
off--one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone
out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could
of her father. But he was not a father one could make much of.
His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest
quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern
vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure
and good for life. He made this simple classification of a large and
various sex to the exclusion of all intermediate kinds; he held that
the two classes had to be kept apart even in thought and remote from one
another. Women are made like the potter's vessels--either for worship
or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. He had never wanted
daughters. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed
his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had
sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. He was
a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his
dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real
vein of passion in his sentiment. But he had always felt (he had never
allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family
was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. He had,
however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain
human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. One was
in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor
business. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother's care.
He had no ideas about daughters. They happen to a man.
Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. It runs about
gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of
soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. It
is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it
does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. It makes
wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good
enough for Punch. You call it a lot of nicknames--"Babs" and "Bibs" and
"Viddles" and "Vee"; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back.
It loves to sit on your knee. All that is jolly and as it should be.
But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. There
one comes to a relationship that Mr. Stanley had never thought out.
When he found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once
resorted to distraction. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved
his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any
quality of guidance. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other
people's. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was
that it had rather a light way with parental rights. His instinct was in
the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound
to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his
declining years just as he thought fit. About this conception of
ownership he perceived and desired a certain sentimental glamour, he
liked everything properly dressed, but it remained ownership. Ownership
seemed only a reasonable return for the cares and expenses of a
daughter's upbringing. Daughters were not like sons. He perceived,
however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in
discountenanced these assumptions. Nothing else was put in their place,
and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. The new and
the old cancelled out; his daughters became quasi-independent
dependents--which is absurd. One married as he wished and one against
his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented
with her beautiful, safe
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| 0
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day after her arrival, she went to choose some jewels at a famous
Italian's; this man came from Florence with the Queen, and had acquired
such immense riches by his trade, that his house seemed rather fit for
a Prince than a merchant; while she was there, the Prince of Cleves
came in, and was so touched with her beauty, that he could not
dissemble his surprise, nor could Mademoiselle de Chartres forbear
blushing upon observing the astonishment he was in; nevertheless, she
recollected herself, without taking any further notice of him than she
was obliged to do in civility to a person of his seeming rank; the
Prince of Cleves viewed her with admiration, and could not comprehend
who that fine lady was, whom he did not know. He found by her air, and
her retinue, that she was of the first quality; by her youth he should
have taken her to be a maid, but not seeing her mother, and hearing the
Italian call her madam, he did not know what to think; and all the
while he kept his eyes fixed upon her, he found that his behaviour
embarrassed her, unlike to most young ladies, who always behold with
pleasure the effect of their beauty; he found too, that he had made her
impatient to be going, and in truth she went away immediately: the
Prince of Cleves was not uneasy at himself on having lost the view of
her, in hopes of being informed who she was; but when he found she was
not known, he was under the utmost surprise; her beauty, and the modest
air he had observed in her actions, affected him so, that from that
moment he entertained a passion for her. In the evening he waited on
his Majesty's sister.
This Princess was in great consideration by reason of her interest with
the King her brother; and her authority was so great, that the King, on
concluding the peace, consented to restore Piemont, in order to marry
her with the Duke of Savoy. Though she had always had a disposition to
marry, yet would she never accept of anything beneath a sovereign, and
for this reason she refused the King of Navarre, when he was Duke of
Vendome, and always had a liking for the Duke of Savoy; which
inclination for him she had preserved ever since she saw him at Nice,
at the interview between Francis I, and Pope Paul III. As she had a
great deal of wit, and a fine taste of polite learning, men of
ingenuity were always about her, and at certain times the whole Court
resorted to her apartments.
The Prince of Cleves went there according to his custom; he was so
touched with the wit and beauty of Mademoiselle de Chartres, that he
could talk of nothing else; he related his adventure aloud, and was
never tired with the praises of this lady, whom he had seen, but did
not know; Madame told him, that there was nobody like her he described,
and that if there were, she would be known by the whole world. Madam
de Dampiere, one of the Princess's ladies of honour, and a friend of
Madam de Chartres, overhearing the conversation, came up to her
Highness, and whispered her in the ear, that it was certainly
Mademoiselle de Chartres whom the Prince had seen. Madame, returning
to her discourse with the Prince, told him, if he would give her his
company again the next morning, he should see the beauty he was so much
touched with. Accordingly Mademoiselle de Chartres came the next day
to Court, and was received by both Queens in the most obliging manner
that can be imagined, and with such admiration by everybody else, that
nothing was to be heard at Court but her praises, which she received
with so agreeable a modesty, that she seemed not to have heard them, or
at least not to be moved with them. She afterwards went to wait upon
Madame; that Princess, after having commended her beauty, informed her
of the surprise she had given the Prince of Cleves; the Prince came in
immediately after; "Come hither," said she to him, "see, if I have not
kept my word with you, and if at the same time that I show you
Mademoiselle de Chartres, I don't show you the lady you are in search
of. You ought to thank me, at least, for having acquainted her how
much you are her admirer."
The Prince of Cleves was overjoyed to find that the lady he admired was
of quality equal to her beauty; he addressed her, and entreated her to
remember that he was her first lover, and had conceived the highest
honour and respect for her, before he knew her.
The Chevalier de Guise, and the Prince, who were two bosom friends,
took their leave of Madame together. They were no sooner gone but they
began to launch out into the praises of Mademoiselle de Chartres,
without bounds; they were sensible at length that they had run into
excess in her commendation, and so both gave over for that time; but
they were obliged the next day to renew the subject, for this new-risen
beauty long continued to supply discourse to the whole Court; the Queen
herself was lavish in her praise, and showed her particular marks of
favour; the Queen-Dauphin made her one of her favourites, and begged
her mother to bring her often to her Court; the Princesses, the King's
daughters, made her a party in all their diversions; in short, she had
the love and admiration of the whole Court, except that of the Duchess
of Valentinois: not that this young beauty gave her umbrage; long
experience convinced her she had nothing to fear on the part of the
King, and she had to great a hatred for the Viscount of Chartres, whom
she had endeavoured to bring into her interest by marrying him with one
of her daughters, and who had joined himself to the Queen's party, that
she could not have the least favourable thought of a person who bore
his name, and was a great object of his friendship.
The Prince of Cleves became passionately in love with Mademoiselle de
Chartres, and ardently wished to marry her, but he was afraid the
haughtiness of her mother would not stoop to match her with one who was
not the head of his family: nevertheless his birth was illustrious, and
his elder brother, the Count d'En, had just married a lady so nearly
related to the
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How many times does the word 'count' appear in the text?
| 0
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anger, looking upon him with much interest. First the Ryls, who are
first cousins to the wood-nymphs, although so differently formed. For
the Ryls are required to watch over the flowers and plants, as the
nymphs watch over the forest trees. They search the wide world for the
food required by the roots of the flowering plants, while the brilliant
colors possessed by the full-blown flowers are due to the dyes placed
in the soil by the Ryls, which are drawn through the little veins in
the roots and the body of the plants, as they reach maturity. The Ryls
are a busy people, for their flowers bloom and fade continually, but
they are merry and light-hearted and are very popular with the other
immortals.
Next came the Knooks, whose duty it is to watch over the beasts of the
world, both gentle and wild. The Knooks have a hard time of it, since
many of the beasts are ungovernable and rebel against restraint. But
they know how to manage them, after all, and you will find that certain
laws of the Knooks are obeyed by even the most ferocious animals.
Their anxieties make the Knooks look old and worn and crooked, and
their natures are a bit rough from associating with wild creatures
continually; yet they are most useful to humanity and to the world in
general, as their laws are the only laws the forest beasts recognize
except those of the Master Woodsman.
Then there were the Fairies, the guardians of mankind, who were much
interested in the adoption of Claus because their own laws forbade them
to become familiar with their human charges. There are instances on
record where the Fairies have shown themselves to human beings, and
have even conversed with them; but they are supposed to guard the lives
of mankind unseen and unknown, and if they favor some people more than
others it is because these have won such distinction fairly, as the
Fairies are very just and impartial. But the idea of adopting a child
of men had never occurred to them because it was in every way opposed
to their laws; so their curiosity was intense to behold the little
stranger adopted by Necile and her sister nymphs.
Claus looked upon the immortals who thronged around him with fearless
eyes and smiling lips. He rode laughingly upon the shoulders of the
merry Ryls; he mischievously pulled the gray beards of the low-browed
Knooks; he rested his curly head confidently upon the dainty bosom of
the Fairy Queen herself. And the Ryls loved the sound of his laughter;
the Knooks loved his courage; the Fairies loved his innocence.
The boy made friends of them all, and learned to know their laws
intimately. No forest flower was trampled beneath his feet, lest the
friendly Ryls should be grieved. He never interfered with the beasts
of the forest, lest his friends the Knooks should become angry. The
Fairies he loved dearly, but, knowing nothing of mankind, he could not
understand that he was the only one of his race admitted to friendly
intercourse with them.
Indeed, Claus came to consider that he alone, of all the forest people,
had no like nor fellow. To him the forest was the world. He had no
idea that millions of toiling, striving human creatures existed.
And he was happy and content.
** Some people have spelled this name Nicklaus and others Nicolas,
which is the reason that Santa Claus is still known in some lands
as St. Nicolas. But, of course, Neclaus is his right name, and
Claus the nickname given him by his adopted mother, the fair nymph
Necile.
5. The Master Woodsman
Years pass swiftly in Burzee, for the nymphs have no need to regard
time in any way. Even centuries make no change in the dainty
creatures; ever and ever they remain the same, immortal and unchanging.
Claus, however, being mortal, grew to manhood day by day. Necile was
disturbed, presently, to find him too big to lie in her lap, and he had
a desire for other food than milk. His stout legs carried him far into
Burzee's heart, where he gathered supplies of nuts and berries, as well
as several sweet and wholesome roots, which suited his stomach better
than the belludders. He sought Necile's bower less frequently, till
finally it became his custom to return thither only to sleep.
The nymph, who had come to love him dearly, was puzzled to comprehend
the changed nature of her charge, and unconsciously altered her own
mode of life to conform to his whims. She followed him readily through
the forest paths, as did many of her sister nymphs, explaining as they
walked all the mysteries of the gigantic wood and the habits and nature
of the living things which dwelt beneath its shade.
The language of the beasts became clear to little Claus; but he never
could understand their sulky and morose tempers. Only the squirrels,
the mice and the rabbits seemed to possess cheerful and merry natures;
yet would the boy laugh when the panther growled, and stroke the bear's
glossy coat while the creature snarled and bared its teeth menacingly.
The growls and snarls were not for Claus, he well knew, so what did
they matter?
He could sing the songs of the bees, recite the poetry of the
wood-flowers and relate the history of every blinking owl in Burzee.
He helped the Ryls to feed their plants and the Knooks to keep order
among the animals. The little immortals regarded him as a privileged
person, being especially protected by Queen Zurline and her nymphs and
favored by the great Ak himself.
One day the Master Woodsman came back to the forest of Burzee. He had
visited, in turn, all his forests throughout the world, and they were
many and broad.
Not until he entered the glade where the Queen and her nymphs were
assembled to greet him did Ak remember the child he had permitted
Necile to adopt. Then he found, sitting familiarly in the circle of
lovely immortals, a broad-shouldered, stalwart youth, who, when erect,
stood fully as high as the shoulder of the Master himself.
Ak paused, silent and frowning, to
|
instances
|
How many times does the word 'instances' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</b><b>
</b><b> OVER BLACK
</b><b>
</b> We listen to the immortal music of Mozart's Adagio of the
Clarinet Concerto in A.
<b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. THE SOLAR SYSTEM
</b><b>
</b> Space, infinite and empty.
<b>
</b> But then, slowly all nine planets of our Solar System move
into frame and align.
<b>
</b> The last of them is the giant, burning sphere of the sun.
<b>
</b> Just as the sun enters frame, a solar storm of gigantic
proportion unfolds. The eruptions shoot thousands of miles
into the blackness of space.
<b>
</b><b> FADE TO BLACK
</b><b>
</b><b> 2009
</b><b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. COUNTRY SIDE/INDIA - SUNSET
</b><b>
</b> Mozart's concerto filters from a jeep's stereo, fighting the
drumming sounds of the monsoon rain. PROF. FREDERIC WEST, 66,
listens to the music.
<b>
</b> An Indian BOY playing by the roadside steers his wooden toy
ship across a puddle.
<b>
</b> The Professor turns to his driver, pointing to the boy.
<b>
</b><b> PROF. WEST
</b> Watch out!
<b>
</b> But it's too late. The jeep drives straight through the
puddle at full speed, sinking the boy's toy ship.
<b>
</b> In the background, the jeep stops in front of a building. The
driver jumps out, leading the Professor towards its entrance.
<b>
</b> The sign at the door reads: `Institute for Astrophysics -
University of New Delhi'.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. NAGA-DENG MINE/INDIA - SUNSET
</b><b>
</b> An endless mine shaft. An old elevator cage comes to a
grinding halt. When Prof. West steps out we see that he is
accompanied now by a nervous DR. SATNAM TSURUTANI, 32.
<b>
</b><b>
|
mozart
|
How many times does the word 'mozart' appear in the text?
| 1
|
, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace. And so, in fact, it had
been. He had become little better than a pair of human bellows. In his
hand he held the halberd with which Auriol had been wounded.
"So you have been playing the leech, Flapdragon, eh?" cried Baldred.
"Ay, marry have I," replied the dwarf, with a wild grin, and displaying
a wolfish set of teeth. "My master ordered me to smear the halberd with
the sympathetic ointment. I obeyed him: rubbed the steel point, first on
one side, then on the other; next wiped it; and then smeared it again."
"Whereby you put the patient to exquisite pain," replied Baldred; "but
help me to transport him to the laboratory."
"I know not if the doctor will care to be disturbed," said Flapdragon.
"He is busily engaged on a grand operation."
"I will take the risk on myself," said Baldred. "The youth will die if
he remains here. See, he has fainted already!"
Thus urged, the dwarf laid down the halberd, and between the two, Auriol
was speedily conveyed up a wide oaken staircase to the laboratory.
Doctor Lamb was plying the bellows at the furnace, on which a large
alembic was placed, and he was so engrossed by his task that he scarcely
noticed the entrance of the others.
"Place the youth on the ground, and rear his head against the chair," he
cried, hastily, to the dwarf. "Bathe his brows with the decoction in
that crucible. I will attend to him anon. Come to me on the morrow,
Baldred, and I will repay thee for thy trouble. I am busy now."
"These relics, doctor," cried the gatekeeper, glancing at the bag, which
was lying on the ground, and from which a bald head protruded--"I ought
to take them back with me."
"Heed them not--they will be safe in my keeping," cried Doctor Lamb
impatiently; "to-morrow--to-morrow."
Casting a furtive glance round the laboratory, and shrugging his
shoulders, Baldred departed; and Flapdragon having bathed the sufferer's
temples with the decoction, in obedience to his master's injunctions,
turned to inquire what he should do next.
"Begone!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that the dwarf darted out of the
room, clapping the door after him.
Doctor Lamb then applied himself to his task with renewed ardour, and in
a few seconds became wholly insensible of the presence of a stranger.
Revived by the stimulant, Auriol presently opened his eyes, and gazing
round the room, thought he must be dreaming, so strange and fantastical
did all appear. The floor was covered with the implements used by the
adept--bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts, scattered about
without any attempt at arrangement. In one corner was a large
terrestrial sphere: near it was an astrolabe, and near that a
heap of disused glass vessels. On the other side lay a black,
mysterious-looking book, fastened with brazen clasps. Around it were a
ram's horn, a pair of forceps, a roll of parchment, a pestle and mortar,
and a large plate of copper, graven with the mysterious symbols of the
Isaical table. Near this was the leathern bag containing the two
decapitated heads, one of which had burst forth. On a table at the
farther end of the room, stood a large open volume, with parchment
leaves, covered with cabalistical characters, referring to the names of
spirits. Near it were two parchment scrolls, written in letters,
respectively denominated by the Chaldaic sages, "the Malachim," and "the
Passing of the River." One of these scrolls was kept in its place by a
skull. An ancient and grotesque-looking brass lamp, with two
snake-headed burners, lighted the room. From the ceiling depended a huge
scaly sea-monster, with outspread fins, open jaws garnished with
tremendous teeth, and great goggling eyes. Near it hung a celestial
sphere. The chimney-piece, which was curiously carved, and projected far
into the room, was laden with various implements of hermetic science.
Above it were hung dried bats and flitter-mice, interspersed with the
skulls of birds and apes. Attached to the chimney-piece was a horary,
sculptured in stone, near which hung a large starfish. The fireplace was
occupied by the furnace, on which, as has been stated, was placed an
alembic, communicating by means of a long serpentine pipe with a
receiver. Within the room were two skeletons, one of which, placed
behind a curtain in the deep embrasure of the window, where its polished
bones glistened in the white moonlight, had a horrible effect. The
other enjoyed more comfortable quarters near the chimney, its fleshless
feet dangling down in the smoke arising from the furnace.
Doctor Lamb, meanwhile, steadily pursued his task, though he ever and
anon paused, to fling certain roots and drugs upon the charcoal. As he
did this, various-coloured flames broke forth--now blue, now green, now
blood-red.
Tinged by these fires, the different objects in the chamber seemed to
take other forms, and to become instinct with animation. The
gourd-shaped cucurbites were transformed into great bloated toads
bursting with venom; the long-necked bolt-heads became monstrous
serpents; the worm-like pipes turned into adders; the alembics looked
like plumed helmets; the characters on the Isaical table, and those on
the parchments, seemed traced in fire, and to be ever changing; the
sea-monster bellowed and roared, and, flapping his fins, tried to burst
from his hook; the skeletons wagged their jaws, and raised their
fleshless fingers in mockery, while blue lights burnt in their eyeless
sockets; the bellows became a prodigious bat fanning the fire with its
wings; and the old alchemist assumed the appearance of the archfiend
presiding over a witches' sabbath.
Auriol's brain reeled
|
pipes
|
How many times does the word 'pipes' appear in the text?
| 0
|
, the
mistress of my heart.
"Although younger than myself, she received my civilities without
embarrassment. I asked the cause of her journey to Amiens, and whether
she had any acquaintances in the town. She ingenuously told me that
she had been sent there by her parents, to commence her novitiate for
taking the veil. Love had so quickened my perception, even in the
short moment it had been enthroned, that I saw in this announcement a
death-blow to my hopes. I spoke to her in a way that made her at once
understand what was passing in my mind; for she had more experience
than myself. It was against her consent that she was consigned to a
convent, doubtless to repress that inclination for pleasure which had
already become too manifest, and which caused, in the sequel, all her
misfortunes and mine. I combated the cruel intention of her parents
with all the arguments that my new-born passion and schoolboy eloquence
could suggest. She affected neither austerity nor reserve. She told
me, after a moment's silence, that she foresaw too clearly, what her
unhappy fate must be; but that it was, apparently, the will of Heaven,
since there were no means left her to avert it. The sweetness of her
look, the air of sorrow with which she pronounced these words, or
rather perhaps the controlling destiny which led me on to ruin, allowed
me not an instant to weigh my answer. I assured her that if she would
place reliance on my honour, and on the tender interest with which she
had already inspired me, I would sacrifice my life to deliver her from
the tyranny of her parents, and to render her happy. I have since been
a thousand times astonished in reflecting upon it, to think how I could
have expressed myself with so much boldness and facility; but love
could never have become a divinity, if he had not often worked miracles.
"I made many other pressing and tender speeches; and my unknown fair
one was perfectly aware that mine was not the age for deceit. She
confessed to me that if I could see but a reasonable hope of being able
to effect her enfranchisement, she should deem herself indebted for my
kindness in more than life itself could pay. I repeated that I was
ready to attempt anything in her behalf; but, not having sufficient
experience at once to imagine any reasonable plan of serving her, I did
not go beyond this general assurance, from which indeed little good
could arise either to her or to myself. Her old guardian having by
this time joined us, my hopes would have been blighted, but that she
had tact enough to make amends for my stupidity. I was surprised, on
his approaching us, to hear her call me her cousin, and say, without
being in the slightest degree disconcerted, that as she had been so
fortunate as to fall in with me at Amiens, she would not go into the
convent until the next morning, in order to have the pleasure of
meeting me at supper. Innocent as I was, I at once comprehended the
meaning of this ruse; and proposed that she should lodge for the night
at the house of an innkeeper, who, after being many years my father's
coachman, had lately established himself at Amiens, and who was
sincerely attached to me.
"I conducted her there myself, at which the old Argus appeared to
grumble a little; and my friend Tiberge, who was puzzled by the whole
scene, followed, without uttering a word. He had not heard our
conversation, having walked up and down the court while I was talking
of love to my angelic mistress. As I had some doubts of his
discretion, I got rid of him, by begging that he would execute a
commission for me. I had thus the happiness, on arriving at the inn,
of entertaining alone the sovereign of my heart.
"I soon learned that I was less a child than I had before imagined. My
heart expanded to a thousand sentiments of pleasure, of which I had not
before the remotest idea. A delicious consciousness of enjoyment
diffused itself through my whole mind and soul. I sank into a kind of
ecstasy, which deprived me for a time of the power of utterance, and
which found vent only in a flood of tears.
"Manon Lescaut (this she told me was her name) seemed gratified by the
visible effect of her own charms. She appeared to me not less excited
than myself. She acknowledged that she was greatly pleased with me,
and that she should be enchanted to owe to me her freedom and future
happiness. She would insist on hearing who I was, and the knowledge
only augmented her affection; for, being herself of humble birth, she
was flattered by securing for her lover a man of family.
"After many reflections we could discover no other resource than in
flight. To effect this it would be requisite to cheat the vigilance of
Manon's guardian, who required management, although he was but a
servant. We determined, therefore, that, during the night, I should
procure a post-chaise, and return with it at break of day to the inn,
before he was awake; that we should steal away quietly, and go straight
to Paris, where we might be married on our arrival. I had about fifty
crowns in my pocket, the fruit of my little savings at school; and she
had about twice as much. We imagined, like inexperienced children,
that such a sum could never be exhausted, and we counted, with equal
confidence, upon the success of our other schemes.
"After having supped, with certainly more satisfaction than I had ever
before experienced, I retired to prepare for our project. All my
arrangements were the more easy, because, for the purpose of returning
on the morrow to my father's, my luggage had been already packed. I
had, therefore, no difficulty in removing my trunk, and having a chaise
prepared for five o'clock in the morning, at which hour the gates of
the town would be opened; but I encountered an obstacle which I was
little prepared for, and which nearly upset all my plans.
"Tiberge, although only three years older than myself, was a youth of
unusually strong mind, and of the best regulated conduct. He loved me
with singular affection. The sight of so lovely a girl as Manon, my
ill-disguised impat
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 7
|
reading light, and the press machines are red-hot of touch, and nobody
writes anything but accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations or
obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because
it tells you of the sudden deaths of men and women that you knew
intimately, and the prickly-heat covers you as with a garment, and you
sit down and write:ââA slight increase of sickness is reported from
the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in its
nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District
authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret
we record the death, etc.â
Then the sickness really breaks out, and the less recording and
reporting the better for the peace of the subscribers. But the Empires
and the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly as before, and
the foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in
twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the
middle of their amusements say:ââGood gracious! Why canât the
paper be sparkling? Iâm sure thereâs plenty going on up here.â
That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say,
âmust be experienced to be appreciated.â
It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper
began running the last issue of the week on Saturday night, which is to
say Sunday morning, after the custom of a London paper. This was a
great convenience, for immediately after the paper was put to bed, the
dawn would lower the thermometer from 96° to almost 84° for almost
half an hour, and in that chillâyou have no idea how cold is 84° on
the grass until you begin to pray for itâa very tired man could set
off to sleep ere the heat roused him.
One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty to put the paper to bed
alone. A King or courtier or a courtesan or a community was going to
die or get a new Constitution, or do something that was important on
the other side of the world, and the paper was to be held open till the
latest possible minute in order to catch the telegram. It was a pitchy
black night, as stifling as a June night can be, and the loo, the
red-hot wind from the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry trees
and pretending that the rain was on its heels. Now and again a spot of
almost boiling water would fall on the dust with the flop of a frog,
but all our weary world knew that was only pretence. It was a shade
cooler in the press-room than the office, so I sat there, while the
type ticked and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the windows, and
the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat from their foreheads and
called for water. The thing that was keeping us back, whatever it was,
would not come off, though the loo dropped and the last type was set,
and the whole round earth stood still in the choking heat, with its
finger on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and wondered whether
the telegraph was a blessing, and whether this dying man, or struggling
people, was aware of the inconvenience the delay was causing. There was
no special reason beyond the heat and worry to make tension, but, as
the clock-hands crept up to three oâclock and the machines spun their
fly-wheels two and three times to see that all was in order, before I
said the word that would set them off, I could have shrieked aloud.
Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shivered the quiet into little
bits. I rose to go away, but two men in white clothes stood in front of
me. The first one said:ââItâs him!â The second saidââSo it
is!â And they both laughed almost as loudly as the machinery roared,
and mopped their foreheads. âWe see there was a light burning across
the road and we were sleeping in that ditch there for coolness, and I
said to my friend here, the office is open. Letâs come along and
speak to him as turned us back from the Degumber State,â said the
smaller of the two. He was the man I had met in the Mhow train, and his
fellow was the red-bearded man of Marwar Junction. There was no
mistaking the eyebrows of the one or the beard of the other.
I was not pleased, because I wished to go to sleep, not to squabble
with loafers. âWhat do you want?â I asked.
âHalf an hourâs talk with you cool and comfortable, in the
office,â said the red-bearded man. âWeâd like some drinkâthe
Contrack doesnât begin yet, Peachey, so you neednât lookâbut what
we really want is advice. We donât want money. We ask you as a favor,
because you did us a bad turn about Degumber.â
I led from the press-room to the stifling office with the maps on the
walls, and the red-haired man rubbed his hands. âThatâs something
like,â said he. âThis was the proper shop to come to. Now, Sir, let
me introduce to you Brother Peachey Carnehan, thatâs him, and Brother
Daniel Dravot, that is me, and the less said about our professions the
better, for we have been most things in our time. Soldier, sailor,
compositor, photographer, proof-reader, street-preacher, and
correspondents of
|
because
|
How many times does the word 'because' appear in the text?
| 2
|
--Like something is brewing,
about to begin--
The shadow's direction becomes purposeful - taking us down
through the clouds, whipping us on the wind towards a small
town in the distance.
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --Can't put me finger on what lies
<b> IN STORE--
</b> Downwards and downwards until it skittishly circles a large,
bustling park and then swoops us into the lavish gardens.
There, a ten-year-old girl plays in the lush grass; she puts
the finishing touches to a miniature version of the large
park she sits in - benches made from twigs, trees from
flowers, picnic cups from acorns - and gives a satisfied nod.
She wraps her arms tightly around her chest, lifts her face
to the sky, a half-smile threatening to break across her
concentrated face. This is the young P.L. TRAVERS (whom we
will also know as GINTY.)
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --But I feel what's to happen, all
<b> HAPPENED BEFORE--
</b> Her little brow is furrowed with imagination and then, all of
a sudden, the smile breaks free as something in her mind
becomes real.
<b> INT. SHAWFIELD ST - PAMELA'S OFFICE - LONDON - MORNING (1961)
</b>
P.L. TRAVERS sits in her rocking chair (in the same position
as above) arms clasped tightly around her body, face to the
sky. Older, beautiful; striking blue eyes aid her air of
stiff and steely determination.
Her office is a canvas of a life well travelled. Buddha
smiles from every corner, framed poetry and letters adorn the
walls alongside pictures of Pamela throughout the years with
men we will not come to know and everywhere, china hens sit
on shelves, their wings clasped to their chests, brooding.
Despite the multitude of objects, the room is peaceful,
white.
Downstairs the doorbell rings.
Pamela closes her eyes, breathes.
It rings again, Pamela shakes her head, tuts. She stands up,
smooths down her skirt with flat palms. Breathes.
<b> INT. SHAWFIELD ST - DOWNSTAIRS HALLWAY - MORNING
</b>
Pamela opens the front door and squints as a flood of
sunlight and cherry blossom petals float over the threshold.
DIARMUID RUSSELL (45) - bright, youthful - waits to be asked
inside. Pamela is not pleased to see him.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> Mrs Travers.
<b> INT. PAMELA'S LIVING ROOM - MORNING
</b>
Pamela and Diarmuid sit in silence. Diarmuid looks at her,
she looks out of the window.
<b> DIARMUID PAMELA
</b> You're ready to--? Like pink clouds on sticks.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> Excuse me?
<b> PAMELA
</b> The cherry blossoms
<b> (BEAT)
</b> I was trying to think of what they--
Diarmuid
|
despite
|
How many times does the word 'despite' appear in the text?
| 0
|
as we go.
<b> STRAIGHT CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. CIRCUS - FRONT OF CIRCUS - PEOPLE ENTERING - NIGHT
</b>
We see barkers, children, people, pushing... buying tickets,
hats, candy... SOUNDS of children laughing, MUSIC playing
from o.s. within the tent area... and we...
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BACK OF CIRCUS - NIGHT
</b>
A continuation of the animals, trainers, clowns INTERCUT
with the action of the circus customers jamming the
entranceway to get in... (complimented CUTS from backstage
to out front... building to the final crescendo... as we see
the alley empty and clear out vs. the front area clearing
and also becoming empty.)
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS PROPER - NIGHT
</b>
The fully dressed orchestra playing the oncoming people to
their respective seats as we PAN ALONG the happy faces and
excited children... DOWN and BACK within the circus backstage
and SLOWLY COME TO A STOP OUTSIDE: "CLOWN ALLEY".
<b> CLOWN ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
The heartbeat of any circus... The long row of unkempt, yet
beautifully neat trunks where the clowns make up, with many
of the clowns just coming in and setting their clothes and
things around their own little areas... midgets running and
playing, like the little children they are about to
entertain... MUSIC is in the deep background... as we COME
TO A STOP at the large trunk with the letters clearly printed
<b> ...'GUSTAV - EUROPE'S PREMIER CLOWN."
</b>
We PULL BACK and AWAY from the lettering on the trunk and
REVEAL the face of a gentle but drawn man, a man whose body
and movements indicate he has been at this for a long time.
As he sits, the little midgets run close to see what they
can do to help; one pulls the chair for him to sit on; another
brings a hot cup of coffee; another takes his coat and hangs
in on the hattree, adjacent to his trunk... as we PUSH PAST
HIM to introduce the other clowns... some half made up, others
finishing their make-up... and some just sitting and rapping
together, smoking, drinking coffee, waiting for showtime...
and in the very distant b.g., almost against the wall of
clown alley, we see the trunk and the body of a "CLOWN" in
silhouette... we CRAWL TOWARDS the body and the trunk... and
COME TO A STOP... HOLDING FULL FRAME. The clown, already
made-up and dressed in his tramp outfit, has his head in his
hands, leaning down on the trunk table top, a depressed and
sad looking hulk of a man... an o.s. voice:
<b> MIDGET
</b> Coffee? It's nice and hot.
The MIDGET slides the cup in front of the clown's face... as
he picks up his head and smiles and nods yes... he sips the
coffee and we see the clown is HELMUT DORQUE (pronounced
Doork).
He is a depressed and very unhappy clown... the frown on his
face shows years of knocking around... plus fear that those
years are now over. From o.s. we HEAR the SOUND of a small
air horn being blown and carried by one of the midgets. He
is yelling through an old megaphone.
<b> MIDGET
</b> 15 Minutes to circus... 15 minutes
to circus.
Upon hearing this, "Clown Alley" really gets busy... all the
clowns get up and put their last minute touches together...
touching up their make-ups... getting their coats and props
together... and as they get themselves up and ready, they
exit the clown alley area and start for the arena. The last
one to go is Helmut, lingering behind intentionally as we:
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS ARENA - CLOSEUP RINGMASTER - NIGHT
</b>
<b> RINGMASTER
</b> Ladies and gentlemen, we proudly
present... "The Clowns"!
<b> INT. CLOWN ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
Helmut hangs back until the very last clown exits Clown Alley,
as we:
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS PROPER - NIGHT
</b>
The MUSIC is really going strong... and the clowns come on
like all forty. They explode in the ring... doing all their
bits and pieces which ultimately brings them back to the
entrance area they just came from and they make the "West
Point" arch for the TIMPANI DRUM ROLL and the grand entrance
of "Gustav" the Great.
<b> CLOSER SHOT
</b>
"Gustav" makes his famous comedy walk into the tent with the
longest pair of tails ever seen (at least 75 feet long) and
at the end holding them from dragging on the floor is Helmut,
the "Tramp Clown".
<b> WIDER SHOT
</b>
We see Gustav taking the applause, and it is tremendous.
|
back
|
How many times does the word 'back' appear in the text?
| 4
|
LONG SHOT
</b> The quadrangle of Army buildings is quiet and deserted. A
broken-down taxi drives in at one corner and slowly makes its
way around the quadrangle. SUPERIMPOSED over shot is the
<b> LEGEND:
</b>
<b> HAWAII, 1941
</b><b> SIX MONTHS BEFORE
</b><b> PEARL HARBOR
</b>
The taxi pulls up across the street from camera. A soldier
gets out, pulls two heavily loaded barracks bags after him.
He pays the driver, hoists the bags to his back, moves toward
camera. The taxi drives away slowly. The soldier walks toward
steps leading to a low building. He is PREWITT (called "PREW"
for short), 22 years old, well-built, good-looking. He wears
an enlisted man's uniform and on the sleeves are marks where
chevrons have been removed. He pauses, looks up over the
door. CAMERA PANS UP to sign which reads: ORDERLY ROOM - G
<b> COMPANY, 219TH REGIMENT.
</b>
<b> MEDIUM SHOT
</b> A small thin soldier in an undershirt and fatigue pants backs
out of the screen door and into shot. He is wielding a frayed
broom. This is PRIVATE ANGELO MAGGIO. He is violent and funny
and sour and friendly. He sees Prewitt's legs but not his
face, speaks as he sweeps a cloud of dust off the porch.
<b> MAGGID
</b> Fine way to pass the time. Good for
the mind.
<b> PREW
</b> Hello, Maggio.
Maggio turns and stares at Prew, astonished.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> Prew...?
<b> PREW
</b><b> (NODS)
</b> I transferred out of Fort Shatter.
Maggio notices the marks on the sleeves where the stripes
have been removed. Prew follows his glance.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> You quit the Bugle Corps...?
<b> 2.
</b>
Prew nods. Maggio jerks his head toward the sign.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> To here...?
<b>
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 1
|
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 15}
* The less a man can be physically forced, and the more he can be
morally forced (by the mere idea of duty), so much the freer he is.
The man, for example, who is of sufficiently firm resolution and
strong mind not to give up an enjoyment which he has resolved on,
however much loss is shown as resulting therefrom, and who yet desists
from his purpose unhesitatingly, though very reluctantly, when he
finds that it would cause him to neglect an official duty or a sick
father; this man proves his freedom in the highest degree by this very
thing, that he cannot resist the voice of duty.
II. Exposition of the Notion of an End which is also a Duty
We can conceive the relation of end to duty in two ways; either
starting from the end to find the maxim of the dutiful actions; or
conversely, setting out from this to find the end which is also
duty. Jurisprudence proceeds in the former way. It is left to
everyone's free elective will what end he will choose for his
action. But its maxim is determined a priori; namely, that the freedom
of the agent must be consistent with the freedom of every other
according to a universal law.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 20}
Ethics, however, proceeds in the opposite way. It cannot start
from the ends which the man may propose to himself, and hence give
directions as to the maxims he should adopt, that is, as to his
duty; for that would be to take empirical principles of maxims, and
these could not give any notion of duty; since this, the categorical
ought, has its root in pure reason alone. Indeed, if the maxims were
to be adopted in accordance with those ends (which are all selfish),
we could not properly speak of the notion of duty at all. Hence in
ethics the notion of duty must lead to ends, and must on moral
principles give the foundation of maxims with respect to the ends
which we ought to propose to ourselves.
Setting aside the question what sort of end that is which is in
itself a duty, and how such an end is possible, it is here only
necessary to show that a duty of this kind is called a duty of virtue,
and why it is so called.
To every duty corresponds a right of action (facultas moralis
generatim), but all duties do not imply a corresponding right
(facultas juridica) of another to compel anyone, but only the
duties called legal duties. Similarly to all ethical obligation
corresponds the notion of virtue, but it does not follow that all
ethical duties are duties of virtue. Those, in fact, are not so
which do not concern so much a certain end (matter, object of the
elective will), but merely that which is formal in the moral
determination of the will (e.g., that the dutiful action must also
be done from duty). It is only an end which is also duty that can be
called a duty of virtue. Hence there are several of the latter kind
(and thus there are distinct virtues); on the contrary, there is
only one duty of the former kind, but it is one which is valid for all
actions (only one virtuous disposition).
The duty of virtue is essentially distinguished from the duty of
justice in this respect; that it is morally possible to be
externally compelled to the latter, whereas the former rests on free
self-constraint only. For finite holy beings (which cannot even be
tempted to the violation of duty) there is no doctrine of virtue,
but only moral philosophy, the latter being an autonomy of practical
reason, whereas the former is also an autocracy of it. That is, it
includes a consciousness- not indeed immediately perceived, but
rightly concluded, from the moral categorical imperative- of the power
to become master of one's inclinations which resist the law; so that
human morality in its highest stage can yet be nothing more than
virtue; even if it were quite pure (perfectly free from the
influence of a spring foreign to duty), a state which is poetically
personified under the name of the wise man (as an ideal to which one
should continually approximate).
Virtue, however, is not to be defined and esteemed merely as
habit, and (as it is expressed in the prize essay of Cochius) as a
long custom acquired by practice of morally good actions. For, if this
is not an effect of well-resolved and firm principles ever more and
more purified, then, like any other mechanical arrangement brought
about by technical practical reason, it is neither armed for all
circumstances nor adequately secured against the change that may be
wrought by new allurements.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 25}
REMARK
To virtue = + a is opposed as its logical contradictory
(contradictorie oppositum) the negative lack of virtue (moral
weakness) = 0; but vice = - a is its contrary (contrarie s. realiter
oppositum); and it is not merely a needless question but an
offensive one to ask whether great crimes do not perhaps demand more
strength of mind than great virtues. For by strength of mind we
understand the strength of purpose of a man, as a being endowed with
freedom, and consequently so far as he is master of himself (in his
senses) and therefore in a healthy condition of mind. But great crimes
are paroxysms, the very sight of which makes the man of healthy mind
shudder. The question would therefore be something like this:
whether a man in a fit of madness can have more physical strength than
if he is in his senses; and we may admit this without on that
account ascribing to him more strength of mind, if by mind we
understand the vital principle of man in the free use of his powers.
For since those crimes have their ground merely in the power of the
inclinations that weaken reason, which does not prove strength of
mind, this question would
|
hence
|
How many times does the word 'hence' appear in the text?
| 2
|
the phone and writes.
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
A gorgeous, bikini-clad BABE struts slowly into a tighly
framed glamour shot. She pauses, takes a deep breath, then
dives a 'perfect ten' dive into a house-side moat. She swims
long, slow motion strokes around the moat as the camera
tracks alonside her, lovingly admiring her tan lines and
hydrodynamic build. She slides out of the water and walks up
a cobble stone walk, dripping as she passes a seated
GENTLEMAN in a white suit. His face is unrevealed. As she
enters the house, he sets his drink down by a phone. He lifts
up the receiver and dials.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
Azul's phone rings. He looks up at it, startled, as if no one
has ever called him before. He glances at his watch, and then
back at the phone, hesitating to answer it. He looks around
the cell block as if someone might be playing a trick on him.
Finally he answers it, pausing before saying hello. It is El
Moco.
<b> MOCO (V.O.)
</b> Good morning, Azul. Do you know who this
is?
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
Moco... What the hell do you want after
all these years?
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
MOCO is sitting on his porch drinking tequila.
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
We've got a lot to talk about. I'm just a
few town away with a whole new gang. I
heard you were nearby so I thought I'd
give you a call, amigo.
<b> AZUL (V.O)
</b> That's sweet of you, asshole. I don't
suppose you could get me out of there,
and then maybe hand me over my share of
money.
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
Yes, I figured you'd want your money, my
friend. That is why I have called you. I
heard you were getting out soon, and
figured I should deal with our situation.
But do you really need me to help you get
out? From what I hear, you're running
quite a business out of your cell with a
phone and some loyal men. It keeps you
well protected I hear. Not a bad idea. I
may try that myself sometime.
<b> AZUL (V.O.)
</b> I could stay in here and earn peanuts
compared to what you owe me if I were to
get out. So, yes, I want you to help
me... my friend.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
Soon my friend, soon. I'm sending you
some people in a few days to get you.
<b> AZUL (V.O.)
</b> Really? Well, that's more like it. Just
like the Moco I used to know.
Azul is walking towards his window at the sound of a truck
racing in.
<b>
|
phone
|
How many times does the word 'phone' appear in the text?
| 8
|
rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the realization that
everything I'd based my life on was
false. And that my life had no
meaning.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> (to Martin)
He gets this way when he hits over
eighty-five.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> It seemed like my life was slipping
away, somehow. I was a knot in the
middle of a wet rope. Everything was
futile and nothing had value.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> That's the way life is. The only
meaning and value is what we create.
Through structure, and discipline.
Though they seem to limit our freedom,
they actually give us great comfort.
Your problem is you're looking for
some great answer. Some ultimate
truth. When what you really should
do is go to work and go home.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> And take golf lessons.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> That's a tragedy. Can I finish my
story please? I began my search for
meaning. I was a Catholic, Jew,
Scientologist, Sufi, Buddhist. I
went to a Psychologist, psychiatrist,
herbalist, nutritionist, a shaman,
and a psychic. And they all pretty
much say the same stuff.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> A Jew, a shaman, and a herbalist are
telling you the same thing? You're
insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Basically the same thing. In a very
evolved, esoteric way.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> To make a long story short...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> --Thank God--
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> ...at last I found the holistic system
of systems that opened up the doors
of heaven for me right here on earth.
And everyday I see the world through
the eyes of a child. A world of
creation and wonder.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Jesus...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Overflowing with love.
<b> MARTIN
|
ball
|
How many times does the word 'ball' appear in the text?
| 6
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. CEDARS-SINAI CORRIDOR - TRAVELING TWO SHOT - DAY
</b>
We DOLLY on Neil as he crosses through the long crowded
corridor. Patients, nurses, interns and doctors pass by.
A P.A. broadcasts occasional messages.
<b>PROFILE
</b>
Nail crosses under an "EMERGENCY" sign and keeps going
towards the exit doors.
<b>TRAVELING - FRONTAL
</b>
Neil APPROACHES THE CAMERA. From the other direction two
ambulance attendants wheel an old man under oxygen and
pass by Neil.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>WIDE REAR SHOT
</b>
Without breaking his stride from the moment he got off the
bus, Neil exits through the doors, examines four ambulances
parked in the slots, climbs into one and drives off. Maybe
he's stolen it. We don't know.
<b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 2.
<b>EXT. R & C CONSTRUCTION SUPPLIES - ON CHRIS - DAY
</b>
CHRIS SHIHERLIS crosses past stacks of gravel and cement
with a white-coated BLACK CLERK. Chris wears a hard hat
over a mongol cut, Levi's, black boots and a sleeveless
sweat shirt and carries on one shoulder a 150 lb., red,
Milwaukee Tool Company case. He looks like a construction
worker by day who by night hits L.A's slams, jams and raves.
He's 29, from Austin, Texas. Chris is also a highline
pro: a boxman who knows five ways to open any safe made.
Right now he's buying a hollow core drill. He and McCauley
were cellmates in San Quentin Penitentiary from 1984 to
1987. Chris hit the streets in 1988. He's a hot dog and
spends money as fast as he makes it. Right now, he and
the Clerk exit to the sales counter.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. SALES COUNTER - TWO SHOT
</b>
As they approach, the Clerk goes behind it.
<b> CLERK
</b> What you working on?
<b> CHRIS
</b> Drillin' some post holes into
concrete ...
<b> CLERK
</b> (re: toolcase)
With that you can ream solid
steel. Check, charge, or cash?
<b> CHRIS
</b> Cash. Put "Jack's Fencing" on
the receipt.
<b> CLERK
</b><b> $788. 30
</b>
Chris pays; Clerk writes receipt.
<b> CLERK
</b> (continuing)
...that a good racket? I ought
to get out from behind this
counter...
<b> CHRIS
</b> (takes receipt)
Yeah.
(beat)
Take it easy.
He leaves with the heavy red case.
<b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 3.
<b>INT. "TOYS 'R' US STORE" - ON CERRITO - DAY
</b>
MICHAEL CERRITO - at 40 - is looking at a doll house.
He's a wide, thick, coarse-featured big man. Sicilian
from Sunnyside, he's spent 15 years in Attica, Joliet and
Marion penitentiaries. He's strictly a "cowboy": his
natural inclination towards a score is "...get the guns
and let's go." He's been off smack and everything else
for five years. He's clean and sober. He's the nicest
guy on the block and a loving father. If you get in his
way, he'll kill you as soon as look at you. If you asked
him about the contradictions, he wouldn't know what you
were talking
|
neil
|
How many times does the word 'neil' appear in the text?
| 3
|
</b> This book -- It's essential that people
read it because --
(gravely, patting the
manuscript)
-- It's the truth. And only I know it.
<b> RECEPTIONIST
</b> (nodding sympathetically)
Maybe after the holidays then.
<b>INT. TILED HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
The old woman carries her manuscript haltingly down a subway
hall. She stops to catch her breath, then continues and
passes several archway with letters printed above them. When
she arrives at one topped by an LL, she slips a card in a
slot. A plastic molded chair drops into the archway. She
sits in the chair; it rises.
<b>INT. TUBE -DAY
</b>
The woman is still in the chair as it slips gracefully into a
line of chairs shooting through a glass tube. The other
chairs are peopled with commuters. We stay with the woman as
she and the others travel over New York City in the tube.
There are hundreds of these commuter tubes crisscrossing the
skyline. The woman glances at the manuscript in her lap.
It's called:
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
This serves as the movie's opening title. The other credits
follow, as the old woman studies commuters in passing tubes.
Their faces are variously harsh and sad and lonely and blank.
<b>INT. WAITING ROOM - DAY
</b>
<b>SUBTITLED: FIFTY YEARS EARLIER
</b>
Every doctor's office waiting room: chairs against the wall,
magazines on end tables, a sad-looking potted plant, generic
seascape paintings on the walls. The receptionist, Mary, 25,
can be seen typing in the reception area. Behind her are
shelves and shelves of medical files. The door opens and
Clementine enters. She's in her early thirties, zaftig in a
faux fur winter coat over an orange hooded sweatshirt. She's
decidedly funky and has blue hair. Mary looks up.
<b> MARY
</b> May I help you?
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> (approaching reception area)
Yeah, hi, I have a one o'clock with Dr.
Mierzwiak. Clementine Kruczynski.
<b> MARY
</b> Yes, please have a seat. He'll be right
with you.
Clementine sits. She looks tired, maybe hungover. She picks
up a magazine at random and thumbs without interest.
<b>INT. INNER OFFICE AREA - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Mary pads down the hallway. She knocks on a closed door.
<b> MIERZWIAK (O.S.)
</b> Yes?
Mary opens the door, peeks in. Howard Mierzwiak, 40's,
professional, dry, sits behind his desk studying some papers.
<b> MARY
</b> Howard, your one o'clock.
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> (not looking up)
Thanks, Mary. You can bring her in.
She smiles and nods. It's clear she's in love. It's equally
clear that Mierzwiak doesn't have a clue. Mary turns to
leave.
<b> MIERZWIAK (CONT'D)
</b> (looking up)
Mary...
<b> MARY
</b> (turning back)
Yes?
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> Order me a pastrami for after?
<b> MARY
</b> Cole slaw, ice tea?
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> (nodding)
Thanks.
<b> MARY
</b> Welcome, Howard.
She smiles and heads down the hall. Stan, 30's, tall,
spindly, and earnest in a lab coat pops out of a doorway.
<b> STAN
</b> Boo.
<b> MARY
</b> Hi.
She glances back nervously at Mierzwiak's open door.
<b> STAN
</b> Barely seen you all morning, kiddo.
He leans in to kiss her. She cranes her neck to keep him
off.
<b> MARY
</b> (reprimanding whisper)
Stan... c'mon...
<b> STAN
</b> Sorry. I just --
<b> MARY
</b> (somewhat guiltilly)
It's just...y'know... I mean...
<b> STAN
</b> I know. Anyway --
<b> MARY
</b> Anyway, I've got to do my tap
dance here.
She indicates the door to the reception area. Stan nods.
<b> STAN
</b> See you later, alligator.
<b> MARY
</b> 'kay.
<b> STAN
</b> Hey, if you're ordering lunch for
Mierzwiak, would you --
<b> MARY
</b> I better do this, Stan.
Stan nods again and Mary opens the door to the waiting room.
<b> MARY (CONT'D)
</b> Ms. Kruczynski?
<b> CLEMENTINE (O.S.)
</b> Hi.
After a moment, Clementine appears in the doorway. Mary
leads her down the hall, not looking back.
<b> MARY
</b> (professionally courteous)
|
people
|
How many times does the word 'people' appear in the text?
| 0
|
twenty-four hours of their lives they should
pass eight shut up in one room with their wives alone, and this, not
birdlike, for the mating season, but all the year round and every year.
How they settled even such minor questions as to which party should
decide whether and how much the window should be open and how many
blankets should be on the bed, and at what hour they should go to
bed and get up so as to avoid disturbing one another's sleep, seemed
insoluble questions to me. But the members of the conference did not
seem to mind. They were content to have the whole national housing
problem treated on a basis of one room for two people. That was the
essence of marriage for them.
Please remember, too, that there was nothing in their circumstances to
check intemperance. They were men of business: that is, men for the most
part engaged in routine work which exercized neither their minds nor
their bodies to the full pitch of their capacities. Compared with
statesmen, first-rate professional men, artists, and even with laborers
and artisans as far as muscular exertion goes, they were underworked,
and could spare the fine edge of their faculties and the last few inches
of their chests without being any the less fit for their daily routine.
If I had adopted their habits, a startling deterioration would have
appeared in my writing before the end of a fortnight, and frightened me
back to what they would have considered an impossible asceticism. But
they paid no penalty of which they were conscious. They had as much
health as they wanted: that is, they did not feel the need of a doctor.
They enjoyed their smokes, their meals, their respectable clothes,
their affectionate games with their children, their prospects of larger
profits or higher salaries, their Saturday half holidays and Sunday
walks, and the rest of it. They did less than two hours work a day and
took from seven to nine office hours to do it in. And they were no good
for any mortal purpose except to go on doing it. They were respectable
only by the standard they themselves had set. Considered seriously
as electors governing an empire through their votes, and choosing and
maintaining its religious and moral institutions by their powers of
social persecution, they were a black-coated army of calamity. They were
incapable of comprehending the industries they were engaged in, the
laws under which they lived, or the relation of their country to other
countries. They lived the lives of old men contentedly. They were
timidly conservative at the age at which every healthy human being ought
to be obstreperously revolutionary. And their wives went through the
routine of the kitchen, nursery, and drawing-room just as they went
through the routine of the office. They had all, as they called it,
settled down, like balloons that had lost their lifting margin of gas;
and it was evident that the process of settling down would go on until
they settled into their graves. They read old-fashioned newspapers
with effort, and were just taking with avidity to a new sort of paper,
costing a halfpenny, which they believed to be extraordinarily bright
and attractive, and which never really succeeded until it became
extremely dull, discarding all serious news and replacing it by vapid
tittle-tattle, and substituting for political articles informed by
at least some pretence of knowledge of economics, history, and
constitutional law, such paltry follies and sentimentalities, snobberies
and partisaneries, as ignorance can understand and irresponsibility
relish.
What they called patriotism was a conviction that because they were born
in Tooting or Camberwell, they were the natural superiors of Beethoven,
of Rodin, of Ibsen, of Tolstoy and all other benighted foreigners. Those
of them who did not think it wrong to go to the theatre liked above
everything a play in which the hero was called Dick; was continually
fingering a briar pipe; and, after being overwhelmed with admiration
and affection through three acts, was finally rewarded with the legal
possession of a pretty heroine's person on the strength of a staggering
lack of virtue. Indeed their only conception of the meaning of the word
virtue was abstention from stealing other men's wives or from refusing
to marry their daughters.
As to law, religion, ethics, and constitutional government, any
counterfeit could impose on them. Any atheist could pass himself off on
them as a bishop, any anarchist as a judge, any despot as a Whig, any
sentimental socialist as a Tory, any philtre-monger or witch-finder as
a man of science, any phrase-maker as a statesman. Those who did not
believe the story of Jonah and the great fish were all the readier to
believe that metals can be transmuted and all diseases cured by radium,
and that men can live for two hundred years by drinking sour milk. Even
these credulities involved too severe an intellectual effort for many of
them: it was easier to grin and believe nothing. They maintained their
respect for themselves by "playing the game" (that is, doing what
everybody else did), and by being good judges of hats, ties, dogs,
pipes, cricket, gardens, flowers, and the like. They were capable
of discussing each other's solvency and respectability with some
shrewdness, and could carry out quite complicated systems of paying
visits and "knowing" one another. They felt a little vulgar when they
spent a day at Margate, and quite distinguished and travelled when
they spent it at Boulogne. They were, except as to their clothes, "not
particular": that is, they could put up with ugly sights and sounds,
unhealthy smells, and inconvenient houses, with inhuman apathy and
callousness. They had, as to adults, a theory that human nature is so
poor that it is useless to try to make the world any better, whilst as
to children they believed that if they were only sufficiently lectured
and whipped, they could be brought to a state of moral perfection such
as no fanatic has ever ascribed to his deity. Though they were not
intentionally malicious, they practised the most appalling cruelties
from mere thoughtlessness, thinking nothing of imprisoning men and
women for periods up to twenty years for breaking into their houses; of
treating their children as wild beasts to be tamed by a system of blows
and imprisonment which they called education; and of keeping pianos in
their houses, not for musical purposes, but to torment their daughters
with a senseless stupidity that would have revolted an inquis
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his father loves him
much. We are the sons of one man in Canaan, and truly the youngest is
now with our father, and one other is dead."
Was he still angry? They lifted their dark eyes to the stern face of
the young Egyptian.
"I see you are spies," was the harsh reply, but his voice was softer.
"In this way I will prove you. By the king's life, you shall not go
back unless your younger brother is brought here to me. Send one among
you to bring him, and the rest of you shall be kept in prison until he
returns. So shall I prove whether what you say is true. If you will
not do this, then by the king's life you are spies indeed!" He waved
them away with his hand, and the Egyptian soldiers pushed them out at
the door, telling them that they must come away at once to prison.
As they sat on the earthen floor of the prison looking at each other in
silence, they felt amazed and full of sorrow, thinking that they would
never see their tents and their little ones again. For they did not
know that the king's officer was their own brother Joseph, and that
instead of being angry, he was really filled with joy at seeing them
after twenty years of separation. As for his angry words, he was only
trying them, and meant nothing but kindness, as we shall see.
II.
Joseph's brothers were to be kept in prison until they settled who
should ride back in haste to Hebron to bring Benjamin down into Egypt;
but Joseph's heart was tender, and after a while he began to think that
perhaps he had been too harsh with them.
One man, he told himself, could not carry enough corn to feed all the
starving families in Hebron, and it might be dangerous for him to ride
back alone. His old father, too, would be anxious. So he sent word to
the prison that the brothers might all go home but Simeon, who must
stay in prison until the rest came back with their young brother.
He also gave orders that they were to have their corn-sacks filled, and
that each man's money was to be secretly tied up again in the mouth of
his sack.
All the brothers were glad but Simeon, who begged them to come back as
quickly as they could; and riding on their high camels, with their
well-laden asses tied to each other in a long line, they left the
Egyptian city, thankful to get away, and went back to their old father
in Hebron.
Jacob was glad to see them again, but he would not believe their story
about Simeon being left behind; and he refused to let them have
Benjamin, for he said that Joseph was once taken and never came back,
and that the same fate would befall the other son of his old age.
When they said that the Egyptian ruler had ordered them to bring their
young brother down, their old father only asked, with flashing eyes,
why they told the Egyptian that they had another brother. They replied
quite truly that he asked them the question. Jacob did not believe
them, and this made him all the more determined not to trust Benjamin
with them.
But the corn which they had brought was soon finished, and the old man
urged his sons to go back to Egypt for more. They refused to do so
unless they could take Benjamin with them; and after holding out for a
long time, at last their father yielded. He bade them make up a little
present of honey and dates and simple country things for the terrible
Egyptian, hoping that the great man would not be unkind to his youngest
son. Then with hands upraised he asked God's blessing upon his sons,
and with a sorrowful heart saw them ride away.
Mounted on strong camels, and followed by a string of asses with the
empty corn-sacks on their backs, the ten brothers left the Vale of
Hebron, and rode slowly across the hot desert to one of the gates of
the great Egyptian wall. Again they came to the island, and were
ferried over to the city as before.
The camels knelt in the wide marketplace, where Joseph had been sold as
a slave twenty years before, to wait while one of the brothers went to
tell the doorkeeper of Joseph's house that the ten shepherds of Canaan
had returned with their youngest brother. After waiting for a time
they were told that the king's officer would see them.
Joseph was glad when he heard that his brothers had come back again,
and that they had brought his youngest brother with them. Pulling his
black wig down over his brow to hide his pleasure, he ordered them to
be brought in; and when they came and knelt before him, it was not on
Judah or Reuben, but on the young man Benjamin, that he fixed his
searching eyes.
His brother had grown so much that he hardly knew him for the little
boy who used to run about the camp holding his hand as he took him to
see the little lambs and the small black kids at play.
"Take these men to my house, for I shall dine with them to-day," was
all Joseph said. The brothers were amazed when the meaning of the
Egyptian words was made known to them. And when the gates of the
courtyard closed behind them, they thought they were prisoners again,
and sat down on the stone pavement to sigh and mourn.
But at noon there came a loud knocking at the gate, and the red and
green chariot of the great Egyptian drove in, and soon they were
summoned to stand before him. With their simple presents in their
hands, they went through the garden and into his beautiful house, and
kneeling, laid the gifts at his feet.
"Is your father well?" the great man asked in a kindly voice. "The old
man of whom you spoke--is he still alive?"
"Thy servant our father is alive and in good health," they answered
humbly.
"Is this your younger brother, of whom you spoke?" he asked again,
speaking as if he did not know one from another. Benjamin answered
with a low bow; and Joseph said, "May God be gracious to thee, my son!"
Then Benjamin looked up at him, and Joseph felt the tears coming into
his eyes; and rising from his chair, to the surprise of the men, he
left the hall. They did not know why he had done so. But if they
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