Evening Star Newspaper, February 21, 1891, Page 7

f. IN HIS STUDIO. A STORY OF DEVOTION WITH- OUT A WOMAN. WBITTES FOR TRE EVENING STAR BY HENEY HARLAND (SIDNEY LUSKA). (Copyrighted) CHAPTER L TAT OS® SIGHT IN JaNvARY, 1689, 4 there came a mighty bang 99“my door; I opened; and in walked my friefid Alvin Nore, the sculptor. / “What! You, old man!" I cried, in surprise. “Well? Any reason wh, that should take we” he returned quietly. L “I confess I was scarcely Zt frew you.” the unexpected that ar- ives, you know,” said he. “Anyhow, I don't see why you should treat it as » thunder- clap.” He drow off his overcoat, dropped into one of the easy chairs before my fireplace, got hold of the poker, and began to stir the coals, all in the most familiar and old-friendly manner possible. “Iv’s a bitter night,” he remarked. ell, I'm glad to see you at any rate,” said L “Totell you the trath, I fancied you were ins buf with me.” “In « hoff with you? Why under the sun should I be im « huff with you? “ah, that was just the puzzle. I couldn't for the life of me But wo all thought oa were ina huff with us, with the lot of us. Eertainly you've avoided "us like the peste You haven't shown your face at the club since long before Christmas. You haven't dined at madame’s since Thanksgiving. And twice when I have passed you in the street you've cut me dead. You've treated the other fellows iu the same way. So—well, we drew eur inferences.” “I haven't felt in a social mond lately, that’s sll T've been keeping in my shella bit. As for cutting you in the street.” he added indig- nantly, “you know perfectly well I'd be incap- able of such a thing. I couldn't have seen you; I must have been thinking about something; in brown study. I've hada good dealon my mon of posed something of “Oh, of course we suy the kind, We ail That there was some- thing wrong with Nore; we only differed as to the possible nature of his trouble. There were three theories current among us; one that you were, as I said. ins huff with us; one that you were in love, and one, if you don't mind ‘m; being frank, that you had the national disease.” “The national disease?” he repeated. “What the deuce is that?” “Why,” I explained, “the disease that affects every good American upon his attainment of that for which every good American is striving tooth and nail, success. Success, dear boy, is our mammon of unrighteousness, the goiden Galt before which wo all fall down 4nd worship. And when success smiles upon one of us he aillicted with a strange and terrible disease. Dingy litte balf-dollar ordinaries like madame’s become intolerable to him; he can stomach nothing lower iti the scale of ‘restaurants than Delmonico’s. The mere mention of beer makes him bilious; he must drink champagne. His memory is weakened and his eyes lose by degrees their power of recognizing his less successful friends. Those are afew of the srmptome. A good many of the fellows thought ry I give it up,” said Nore, shaking his head. “You're got the advantage of me. Idon't ou. That disease is?” “It's called the big head, for short,” I mur- mured, looking hard at the fire. “The big head?” he eried. “Why on earth should J have the big head?” “Why, indeed? Why should any one have it, if you come te that? Ob, why should the spirit of ‘mortal be proud? You are asuccesaful man and we feared inn “I successful? Since when in heaven's name have I succeeded?” “Well, let me see. Inever had any head for dates, but it’s about two years ago now, isn'tit, since you got the order for the Smith mon- ument? A £20,000 order! We thought as the thing was drawing toward ¢ tion and your ‘$20,000 were withina measarable di some of us thought your bat was begi to get too for you. As Walter i ex~ it, pride nowadays instead of going be- fall seems to come after a rise.” “You're a set of uncharitable eurmudgeons,” ve been in the deepest depths of the blues. I felt as though I'd like to hang myself to my bed post and be buried in ‘Then to avoid inflicting the potter's field. upon my fellow beings I'venursed my musery in hiding: and you, like the dear, good old cbsp you are, you hold a council over me, and decide that P've got the big head. I cali that—you've been frank, now [ll be frank—I tas da mafriandly of you al.” “Ob, well let bygones be bygones. Webeon « misunderstanding. and I'm very sorry, for my part, if I've done you an injus- tice. "So lon : ‘a8 you haven't got the and prove it by dropping inand st fire for Jor me in this affable manner I forgive you my heart. And now tell me, if you please, e statue of Major General Smith pro” aggented jocosely. “No, I haven't exactly got my money yet,” he answered, ‘*but the thing is finished in’ clay and the casters are coming tomorrow.” a honestly, old an, I congratulate you. love, you ought to be the happiest mortal on the fico of ‘auhattan Island It's you've been at work on it, isn’t it?” fos, two years, a little more than two years. Two years utterly wasted. Two years lost clean ‘out of my life!” be cried with sudden Ditterness. two “Two years lost out of your life?” I echoed. “What in the name of reason do yon meun?” “I mean that I'm the most miserable wretch on the face of God’s universe.” he answered, gnashing his teeth. “I mean that the thing’s @ failure, an utter, abject, unqualified failure. 1 could——I could cut off my hand that modeled it. I'd like to smash the blasted fntoa thousand aioms. The mere thought of it makes me sick.” “Oh, I see,” said I. “You're off your head.” “No, I'm not off my head. I wish I were. But what I tell you is the truth. You don't ry I'd want to think it so if 1 could help it, do you? It’s the truth. I've fought Gy of long it and tried not to acknowledge it this while; but it’s no use. At the eleventh hour it bas forced itself upon me. The thing's a mons- trority—an abortion.” “ab, yes, poor old chap, you're off your head,” TFepeated. “The last time I saw your Fite he bade fair to become « masterpiece. inless you've altered him mightily for the Worse since then you're stark mad now. But don't let that dismay, you. You ‘IL get over it Fight presently. | I's one of those periodic fits of dementia that befall every rotary of the arte. The man who doesn't go off his head at Jeast two or three times a year is no true artist. It’s action and reaction, you know. He has spells of enthusiasm and delight in hie work, when he fancies it far better than it really is, and these are succeeded by spells of horrible depression, when he thinks it infinitely worse. It’s night and day; th swing of the pendulum. You'll be all right agai hy “What you admitied Nore, “is true enough in's way, but it isn’t true of m: special case. This is no mere mood with me; it’s a conviction. It's been growing on m growing on me, little by littie, irresistibly, for the past six months; « feeling, « conviction, that the was wrong, al! wrong. As i told you, I fought shy of it: I tried to run away from it, tried to wink myself, cheat my- self, play the ostrich and stick my head in to work in the morning saying: ‘Nonsense T's all right. Work away at ftand finish it." But then, just se surely as night wrong, someho wrong. Then I be- gn, 10 fame over it, twist ieabowt alter it; but o it worse. The was fusdamental,enential, intrinsic: neomount of -Iteration could make it right. I had begun from the wrong direction, the was © where, from the bottom to the ; it leavened the whole lump. The bee vega erg bp males take the thing down an begin it over again. a ennrent theta co to do. Td spent mighty near two years at it, and I wasn't brave eno’ fone enn face the thought losing the result of years’ = stifle the tell ‘That’ rT heart and Bo = drawn and quartered than let the thing go forth as my work. il, my dear fellow, if you feel as you do, and if you're right—which I doubt—tho oply step for you to take is to do another figure. "If you can't whip hape by altering hat's all very well, but may time is up. ‘The contract reqnires that it shi be delivered in bronze on the 15th of April. Here it is the middle of January now.” i, but that could be easily arranged. Writo to the committce and ask for an exten- sion of time. Wis SSS “Don't you suppose I've done lready? But the committee’ Do you kuow the sort of people the committee is composed of? Stock- rs, merchants, lawyers, politicians; men who know less about art than yon or ( know about esoteric Shintoism, but think th everything. I did writo to them. I told them | L wasn't satisfied with what I'd done and I asked for a year's extension. Whet do you suppose they answered? They came up to the studio in a body ouly three days ago to in- spect the thing, and, blockhends that they are ¥ were delighted with it. Extension of time? No, indeed! It was But they were overjoyed; and that w: portant thing. They wouldn't hear of an ox- tension of time. Ittaust go up at once and be any tion day.” “Well,” said I, men were right after all. and you're mistaken. ‘as you say, because, as I told you when I saw it, I really did think it an immense suc- cess.” “TI don’t care what you thought. I don’t care what anybody thinks. An artist's last court of appeal in such matters has got to be iuner feeling, his own artistic conscience. My innef feeling has spoken; judgment bas been handed down; the case is closed. If the 50,000,000 inhabitants of this country arose as one man and pronounced the thing right it wouldn't make the slightest difference to me. I know it's —e ell, I'm awfully sorry for baad old fellow. T'm sorry your feeling should what it is; but I'm quite certain that after the statue has gone up, you'll get reconciled to it. If you come to talk of failures, every work of art that has ever been turned out on this planct was a failure in the eye of the artist himself. The thing accomplished always falls so far short of the thing conceived of and projected. i other people—to those that haven't that origi nal conception, that ideal, forever in their mind's eyes, to compare the finished product with—to them it seems all right. of art, one of art's primary condition: “Again, what you say is all true enough in general way,” Nore retorted. “but again it’s untrue of my special case. failure isn't @ relative failure, it's positive failure. It isn't simply that the figure pales by comparison with what ¥ had hoped it might be—comparisons aside, it's absolutely bad. t's false, it's shoddy, twrall you Know, ite al to you to Vell, you know, it’s alwaj m to you throw up the commission,” said I, “though that would be cold comfort. Tell your com- mittee people that the statue docs not satiafy you, refuse to deliver it,and let the whole bus eas drop.” “Yes, exactly; and ruin myself forever and @ day. To begin with, I've got to have the money. I could get on very well without it for another year orso, but [I've got to have it sooner or later, because I'm up to my ears in debt. I've been living on borrowed money since the Lord knows when and until I get the Pay for this Ican't settle with my creditors it in the second place it would blast my career eternally. Who do you suppose would ever entrust another cominission to me, if I went back on this at the last moment, as you propose? No,I can’t afford to throw up ‘the commission. “Well, then, what a can’t be cured must be but you'll have to make the best of it.” Til tell you what I'm going todo. T'll tell ou in three words. It's to tell you that. that ve come here tonight to tell you what I mean to do, and to ask for your assistance.” “Well, go on, go on,” I prompted ashe pa ‘Yes, smash it. I'm going to take a crow- bar and shove it under the general's feet and give ita tiltand topple the whole thing over onto the floor, where it will lie, a shapeless mass of clay. Then I'm going to sit down and Perjure my sou! by writing to the commitice and telling them & whacking bang. I'm going to tell that owing to some unsuspected weak- ness of the interior supports my statue has fallen, kerflop' and is a hopeless wreck: then I shall ask them for a year’s extension of time, which to do it over again. They can’t refuse it in the face of such a terrible calamity. Then Tl model a new figure. and, with God's help, one that I shan't be ashamed of. That's what { ph! Rather heroic treatment,” said I. “Two years’ work thrown away. Mighty few would ever have the pluck te do it.” “Heroic treatment? pa glomt know. ia De eases desperate grown by desperate appliances are relieved or not at all he quoted." “As for throwing away the work of two years, it comes hard. I can't deny, but that’ my misfortune. I'd rather throw it away tha let it stand if I know it's bad, wouldn't I? No, Tye thought it all over, and I've made up my mind. It's the only way out of my difficulty. It's got to be done, and it’s got to be done to- night, for the casters are coming tomorrow. Te had a tussle to bring myself to the int of recognizing the necessity; but now ‘s over, and I'm ready for the fray.” He spoke cheerfully, almost lightly, but his face was as white as wax, his eyes burned and his voice shook a little. ‘By Jove, old man,” I cried, “I admire your pluck. No one but an artist could make such a resolution as that. Any other man would say, ‘Let it go for what it is.’ But that is art divini fire that differentiates it from every other form of human labor. in other trades men seek an approximate good: in art the good a man seeks ix absolute. No make- shift will content him. He can never say to himself, ‘Well, it might be better, but still it willdo.’ So long as he feels that it could be better he must work to make it so. Not till be believes it as good as human endeavor ca: render it is he able to call it finished. After- ward, of course, after it’s goue trom his hands, after it's got cold, then he realizes that it's riddled with imperfections, but he's got to think it right or be Can 'tleave it. don’t believe any one but an artist could understand your state of mind. “Oh, my state of mind be hanged, and be ed, too, all your high-falutin™ talk about artand artists. It'sa mere question of com- mou honesty and of common expediency. As an honest workman I can't deliver a botched job and pocket my employer's money, and a8 a man with his eyes open to the main chance I can't let a piece of work go out of my shop that will damage my reputation. Come, now, put on your overcoat. You've got to bear me com: 7 It'a got to be done tonight, and I con- fess I haven t quite the wtrengti of ‘mind to do italone. T've planned it all out, premeditated and prearranged it, just as I would a murder. But I find I lack the nerve for execution. I want “Look here, Nore; wait a bit. I wouldn't do it tonight, if I were you. I'd stop and think for a while first. Write to yourcasters and put them off fora week. Then lock up your studio aud take a vacation. Go out of towu. Amuse yourself. Then come back and look at the thing Perhaps with a fresh mind it will strike you differently. You may see a way to remedy it without destroying it Anyhow. I wouldn't take such an irrevocable step as the one youre contemplating without giving it nty of thought. 't be in a bi jon't precipitate. You're excited tonigl till you've cooled down. “Thought! Good God! What else do you suppose I've thought about for the last six months? I'll go mad if think about it any more. [ve got to act. It's to put an end to thinking that I've made up my mind to act. Perhaps after the thing is done I'll be able to tone sound night's sleep, and it'll be the iret in a dog’s age, too. Come. Will you come with we or not? “Ob. of course, Pl go to your studio with ‘the | You,” Lassented.’ “But when we're there you must let me have @ look at his generalship. Perhaps after «ll I can persuade you to think Detter of him. +f “That you can't do, but if you'recoming with me off. We buttoned our overcoats, lighted our ci rettes and mar out arm in arm into cold night air. ing dominoes with a customer, while his wife sat enthroned behind the bar. We took mn of a table, and Nore de- manded, “What will you have?” I deciared for beer, but for himself my friend ordered whisisy neat.’ He swallowed two large doses of it, taking his time over them, and glancing throngh Puck the while. At last, “Weil, forward, march,” he cried; and we pro- ceeded upon our journey. But’ at the very threshold of the studio building he called a halt again. “I dare say you'll think mo extremely chicken hearted,” he began, “but I'm not quite up to it yet. “Let's walk ae ee Tm ‘rewing my courage to the stic! pat SahorL by several nowohen sulk Pe So in silence we walked around tho block ‘and I could feel his hand trembling upon my arm. ‘Now,” he said, when we had regained the studio Building, “now come in.” He unlocked ‘bis door and we entered the g himself upon a sofa, and ‘a porticre at his right. “It's—it's he said in a sort of gasp. “Sit down and let us rest a bit.” Laat down and waited. He was leaning over, his hand supporting his forehead, his eyes fastened upon the floot. “Do you know what I feel like?” he asked mn My dea, a terrible moment for you. It's idle for me to tell you that I sym- pathize with vou.” No, sympathy won't do me much good. I man father about to take the life After that we did not speak for, I should think, five minutes. Then he started up ab- d exclaimed: “Oh, I'm ashamed of myself. Inever knew I was such a coward. Allons, pas de faiblesse! The sentence of the law has got to be carried out. Come. He brushed aside the portiere and we walked into his studio. Tt was dark and chilly, and the air was loaded with the damp odor of He lighted the ges and turned on the steam heat, which came With a succession of sharp explosions, like the burning of a package of firecrackers. Tn the middle of the floor on a movable plat- form stood his statue, swathed from head to foot in wet, clay-stained cloths. He climbed up on his workin ladder and began to peel the cloths off one by one, flinging them to the floor. At last the general ‘stood unveiled, an heroic figure twelve feet high, with sword raised, urg- ing his soldiers on to battle. I could not sup- press a cry of delighted admiration. Vhy, iny dear fellow, it's magnificent! It's superb!’ It's one of the best martial figures T've ever seen in my life.” He looked at it, smiling a sad, fond smil Bat pretty soon he sliook his head. - “Magni cent? Yes, so the committee told me,” he said, and broke into a bitter laugh. “But, Ni is, ‘The commi is T think I'm express an opinion, and I tell you the thing i a stun can't understand your dissatis- faction with it. It's well drawn, it's cor- rect anatomically, and for the rout, it fairly breathes.” “A stunner? Yes, exactl Just that sensatio: cretricioua quality, that dash, that go, I don't know what, which will make everybody call it a stunner when they first look at it.” But it has no Itwon't wear. Ithas no dignity, no repos it’s flashy, insincere. If you were to live with itevery day fora week you'd get as disgusted with itas I am. What merit it has is superfi- cial; it’s faults are radical, fundamental. It a failure, a failure. There's no excuse for it. Ob, my’ God!” ‘The last three words burst from him in a sudden passionate gust. ‘Well, all Leau say is, if you destroy that figure you're a raving maniac. You'll regret it to the last day of your life if you ever recover your reason and’ understand what you have done. Look at it, man. Look at the action of it. Why, it’s alive!” ‘All right. It will be dead enough in about five minutes,” he rejoined. ‘He went to a corner of the room and brought back a crowbar; the sight of it shiver, as if it had been a murderous wenpo ‘Then he stood still for a little, leaning on bis crow bar, and appeared to be looking the statue over from cap to toe. “Xwo years’ work,” he said, finally. “And, ood Lord, how I've worked at it! I hate the fing, and’ yet—well, I love it. It reprerents two years of my intensest life. Do you remem- ber ‘the supper I guve here in my studio two ears ago. just after I'd got tho order, to cele- brato uy luck? Who'd lave thought then that it would come to this!” longer he looked at it in silence. “Ah, well, it’s got to go,” he cried in the end. “if it were done, wien "twere done, 'twere well it were done’ quickly! You stand over there, out of the way. Now then!” He advanced toward the statue with his crowbar raised. But suddenly he let the bar drop with » re- sounding clang-clang to the floor, and fallin back a few steps, “No, can't do it,” he cried. “haven't got the sand. I must have some- thing more to drink. Go into the ante room and fetch men decanter of whisky you'll find on the shelf in the cupboard.” “Look here, Nore,” I began. T ask you to and For a minute or two “For God's sake’ do what don't dispute with me,” the poor fellow cried Passionately. I went off and fetched the whisky. He drank glass of it at one swallow. “There! I feel less like a woman no’ nnounced. He picked up his crowbar and again advanced upon the statue. “Good-bye, major general,” he called out, in im comedy; and he ran the point of thecrow- r through the soft clay of the general's feet until it struck upon the iron support within. At that he stood off for a moment and drew a deep breath. “Now then! Along pull and a strong pull!” he shouted, and he threw bi whole weight upon the free end of thebar. Th statue did not move, but we could heat nehing sound within it, whereby w Mt the iron support was loosened. It was rather a blood-curdiing sound, I con- fess. Poor Nore turned pale and fell back “70h, merciful “heavens, merciful !" he groune He turned his face eway and I could see that ody was shaken by sobs. 'm surprised at my weekness,” he said, by and by, in a calmer voice, “but I'can't seem to overcome it, ‘The thing is as good ae done already; the backbone of it is broken; it can’t stand long; its own weight must bring it down sooner or later. ‘The sooner the better, only I can't doit. I'vedone all I canalrendy. It's your turn now. Throw yourself upon the old man, and finish what I have ou to do is to hasten the end and put me out of my agony. You know as well as I do that it ean’t stan now. Come. The general is mortally wounded, be merciful and dispatch him. My courage Ican't even look at the thing. Go ‘ood push and it will fall.’ kept his back turned toward it and me. After all, he was right. The figure could not stand, now that its interior support was broken. Tts downfall was only u question of time. And for his own sak said, the sooner it fell, and the tragedy better. “You're sure?” I asked. “Sure!” he answered. Ithrew my weight upon the crow bar, the next instant Nore's statue flattened itself out upon the floor, with ® shock that shook the ouse. sThank you,” he said quietly. “Now let's goand have some supper. I feel rather faint.” For some six weeks after this Nore lay vio- Jently ill in my rooms and it was three mon! before ho waa strong enough to go to work again. Meanwhile the committee had granted him an extension of time, the newspapers had reported the sud accident in a aculptor’s studio and alk the art world had shaken its head and said, “Poor fellow!” After which, for the most it had added, “But what an inspired idiot he must have been, in rigging up bis skel- gton, not to make it stout enough to sapport His second statue of Maj. Gen. Smith was | Pcople, gold unveiled on Decoration day in the following ear. Ho had done it in less than eight months. can't deny that it was immeasurably better than its predecessor. “ Will it add anything to the interest of this story if I say that it is no invention of mine, but a plain ‘narrative of facts? Such isthe truth. Ihave altered the dates a little, and my seulptor’s name was not Alvin Nore, and the Seats pecponte be Dramas oes es ee TONLE was m General Smith; but otherwise the story isan unvarnished of what actually haj Art is an exacting and ‘this episode illustrates in a way the sort of devotion her lovers must be prepared to give her. ees hee A Private Interview. From the Youth's Companion. as he was played out, perhaps the | *D' A PLACE OF GOLD. The Ancient Capital of Pera Founded by the First Inca, OLD-TIME MAGNIFICENCE. Statues, Friees and All the Appointments of the Temples Once Made of Solid Silver and Gold—Work in the Palaces of the Incas ‘Stil Shown in Modern Buildings. From The Star's Traveling Commismoner. Cuzco, Panu, 1891. HE PRINCIPAL CHARM OF THIS EX- tremely picturesque but uncomfortable city lies in its antiquity, and in the glamor which history and tradition have thrown around it. So many centuries ago that the date is lost in the mists of fable, this now comparatively empty portion of Peru was swarming with one of the richest and most powerful nations under the sun. Archwologists estimate that the enor- mous population once herded in these narrow valleys was far more numerous than that which today spreads over the whole area of the United States. Not only in the valley of Cuzco, but scattered over hundreds of miles in all direc- tions, may be seen the remains of towns and cities which, perhaps s thousand years ago, were much more populous than any that now exist in the country. A civilization was here leveloped which has left memorials of its genius d advancement carved in massive stone, and evidences of industry which their destroyers have nover imitated. FOUNDED BY THE FIRST IXCA. Tradition tells us thnt Gazco was founded by the first Inca—Manco Capac—a supernatural personage who came down from the sun heaven cn purpose to consolidate all the tribes of the surrounding country under one form of reiig- ious government; that he was accompanied and assisted by Mama Oella, his sister, who was also his wife, and that the pair were directed by their father, the sun, to make this the holy ity for his worship, as well as the royal capital the new nation. ‘The present Plaza Mayor, in the center of the modern city, is undoubtedly the same great central square of Manco’s day, though a portion of it has been built upon: ‘and long, narrow streets cross each other at right angles, the same as in ancient times. Two rivers that ran through it were inclosed by the earliest build- ers between high walls, crossed by numerous bridges formed of projecting stones. Those ancient walls have never been renewed and most of the bridges are yet in use, for modern engineers say they could not be improved upon. Certainly their substantial character is attested by the fact that the winds and rains of many centuries have failed to injure them. At frequent intervals along the walls stone steps lead down to the water, which are worn into deep hollows by the fect of generations gone to dust. . CYCLOPEAN TERRACES. Boing built on unequal ground, the original architects were compelled to make many ter- races in order to provide suitable sites for their immense structures. They walled the terraces after the fashion called “Cyclopean,” with stones of irregular shape and size, all carefully fitted together like the scraps of a crazy quilt; and sone of these walla outline the streets to- day. The poorer dwellinge of the common people of ancient times jong since disappeared, ut the conquerors converted many of the tem- les and palaces into churches aud convents. ‘The old-time gateways wore retained, and though most of the better buildings now to be seen are of comparatively recent origin, ouesinds everywhere parts of Inca walls and stramgely- carved portals incorporated i the newer houses, Francisco Pizzaro s casa is an example of this patch-work style of architecture, having an imposing portal that far antedates his own rather distant time. THE GREAT CATHEDRAL. Cuzco’s great cathedral occupies the site of the ancient building which the eighth Inca dedicated to the festivals of the people and which the early chroniclers tell us wes large enough for an entire regiment to exercise un- derits roof. It wat in this building that the invaders, under Gonsalo Pizzaro, barricaded themaclves for that last bettlo with the Peru- vians which they knew would decide the fate of their campaign, avdefeat meant death to every one of them, “According tae Jegend clabor- ately carved over the main doorway of the cathedral the Spanish victory was due to San Jago (St. James), who appeared at the critical moment upon a milk-whive horse and took part in the contiict for the overthow. of the “heathen.” ‘THE CONVENT OF BANTA CATALINA. ‘The present convent of Sante Catalina was established upon the site of the palace (or prison) of the Virgins of the Sun, and Catholic nuns take their daily airing in the very foot- steps of long-dead vestals. Part of the walls of the Inca Huascar’s were retained, and enough remains of the old building to give a good idea of how it must have looked early in the twelfth century. In short, the carved and lished stones of the splendid palaces of the Ynea nobility that once crowded their capital have ever siuce werved as an inexhaust- ible quarry for the descendants of those who overthrew them. As Consul Miller states in his “Memoirs:” “The great size of these stones, the infinite varicty of their shapes and the in- imitable workmanship they display give to the city that interesting air of antiquity and ro- mance which fills the mind with pleasing thought aud painfui veneration.” THE TEMPLE OF THE SUX. Besides the central plaza there area dozen other spacious squarer, wherein the old-time population were accustomed to celebrate the curious festivals of their religion and where the people of today hold their iestas and public amusements, Being the “holy city.” pi from the farthest borders of the empire came here to worship in the great Temple of the Sun, Som go from all accounts, must hay been the most magnificent structure in new world and probably contained more treas- ure than any single edifice in the old. a3 the historian: “The most renowned of the ruvian temples, the pride of the capital and the wonder of the empire, was at Cuzco, where, under the manificence of successive sovereigns, it became so enrichod that it received the name of Coricancha or “place of gold;” and the noonday sun in all its glory—of which {t was in- tended to be a reprosentation—could not eur- pass it in brilliancy.” It consisted of a princi- palbuilding and several chapels, covering « ge extent of ground in the hi of the cit) completely encompassed by a high is stones, work a also of cut and "The was #0 finely exccuted that an early 8 de- clared that he could call to mind but two edi- fices in all Europe which would bear any com- parison to it. LITERALLY A MINE OF GOLD. The interior of the temple was Hterally a mine of gold. On its western wall was em- blazoned a reminder of the sun god—en enor- ‘hs | Mous figure of the human face, made of pure old, from which golden rays darted in all Sirections. ‘The massive plate of gold was thickly powdered with diamonds, emeraids and other procious stones, and so situated in front of the great eastern that the was er Part of the Entartor his temple giowed urnished studs a8 olden face were Adjoining ipal eral smaller temples—one to the moon, one to Near Be Piceten, ote $0 Sora ie ant ii re PEaa erence and awe, while the elements, the wind, ‘ the air, mountains, rivers— impressed them with ideas of ‘or which exercised weal or woe of man, came in for 5 sbare of worship. They also adopted s notion not unlike that professed by ‘some of the echools that And v8 on pete poatranigee noe deities of all the con wi were averted nations, whose tmeges trans- ‘TRE MOON IN SOLID SILVER. In the temple consecrated to the moon—the deity considered second in importance as be- ing the mother of the Incas—her offigy was rep- resonted in the same manner as that of the on a vast plate that covered nearly one side thebuilding. But this plate and all the other omnis Sate gold, as etter to - falgenco of that beautiful planet. One of the three other temples was dedicated to the host of stars that formed her bright court, another to thunder and lightning, and another to the rain- bow, There are several smaller edifices and in- sulated apartments within the temple walls for the accommodation of ‘mumerous priests who officiated in the various services. Alf the ornaments and utensils of Propriated to the uses of old or silver. Twelve immense vases of the ter motal stood on the floor of the great salon filled with grains of Indian corn grown in the temple gardens and on the nds of Lake ‘Titicaca, and a Spanish historian who saw these vasee asserts that “ouall wanas high se's good lance, and so large: that two men with out- spread arms could barely encompass them.” ALL APPOINTMENTS OF SILVER AND GOLD. The censers for the perfumes, the ewers which held the water for sacrifices, the pipes which conducted it through subterraneous | © channels into the buildings, the reservoirs that Teceived it, even the agricultural implements used in the gardens of the temples whore the sacred corn was cultivated, were all of silver gardens, like those belongi palaces, sparkled with silver ani gold and various jeweled imitations of the Vegetable kingdom. There were also statues in gold and silver, mainly those of animals, among which the liama, with golden fleece, was conspicuous. All this we have on the word of such renowned historians as Sarmiento, Pedro Pizarro, Garcilnsso, Herrera and others. Pres- cott adds: “If the reader sees in this fairy pic- ture onl: ¢ romantic coloring of some fabu- lous El Dorado, he must recall what has been written about the palaces of the Incas aud con- sider that these ‘houses of the Sun’ were the common reservoirs into which flowed the streams of public and private benefaction throughout the empire.” CARRIED AWAY BY THE CONQUERORS. Many of these costly articles were buried by the natives to keep them from the cupidity of their conquerors, but enough remained to ex- cite the Spaniards’ profoundest admiration and to stimulate their greed to the highest pitch. ‘They speedily removed everything portable, and even toro away the golden frieze and cor- nices. On the very ground once oceuvied by the gorgeous Coricancha now stands the statoly church of Saint Dominic, one of the handsom- est structures in the three Americas. Fields of corn and alfalfa now ripen in the templ» gar- dens which once glowed with golden statuary, and where the children of the sun celebrated their religions rites bare-footed friars chant Ave Marias. Inside the court yard of the St. Dominic monastery is still preserved an ancient fountain of Inca days, which has been conse- crated by the Romish church for baptismal purposes. [t stands in the center of an exten- sive patio, surrounded by long lines of arched nd ‘columned corridors, one story above an- other. It is uf solid stone, a long oval in shape, rising above ground about four feet and sunk into it aix feet or more. EVERYTHING HAD ITS TRADITION. @ great Sun Temple and its ad- were a lnrge number of inferior gious edifices scattered all over Cuzco und its environs, to the number of three or four hundred. An ancient writer says that every pathway, hall or fountain of the aancti- fied ‘city had its tradition and was regarded as holy mystery. Unfortunate, indeed, was the Indian noble, in whatever remote corner of the kingdom he’ resided, who could not at some period of his life make a pilgrimage to the Peruvian Mecor. At ‘“Coricancha” alone the sacerdota: order numbered more than four thousand. There wore inany other temples and religious houses in various parts of Incaland, some of them constructed on a scale of mag- nificence that almost rivaled those of Cuzco, and their attendants composed « vast army. Faxxre B. Wanp. Besi SULLIVAN'S “IVANHOE.” The Score Considered Simply as Music, and Its Value. From the London Telegraph. After Robert Schumann hfid read through the score of “‘Tannhauser,” he said to Men- dolseohn, “I declare that ha (Wagner) cannot write or imagine four consscutive bars that are melodius or even correct.’ Having witnessed s representation of the opera he remarked, “I must retract a good deal of what I wrote to you after reading the score. On the stage everything is very different.” When the ‘nd worn off he said, “Tho TEIEERD tron the ccie performance, is Prose downright amateurish, meaning. leas and repulsive.” From which it appoars that there are two ways of looking at the com. poser'a sbiaro in « lyric drama: first, as music impiy; next, as music forming part of a come plex creation. It is in the firet-hamed. light the second in due time—that wo now pro to examine the music of “Ivanhoe. Some eneral remarks are necessary at the outset. Sir Arthur Sullivan has broken ‘no new groud in this work, being of opinion, toemenia seem, that the composer of the “Goldes Legend” could meet all the requirements of an English tro stage by mean of the methods and qualitics shown in. that fascinating work, He might have considered a new departure needful in order to aigualize duly bs first serious opera; and plenty of excuse might have bee foubd for hit, considering the of example in tho’ caso, bad he adopted rinciples of modern opera as influenced by and given us the symphonic o a stage with strictly subordinate” mos interest, « whole museum of left-motiven, aud so forth, “Instead of this the composer is rep- Fesented throughout “Ivanhoe” in'the familinr and attractive guise he has worn all along, Roald ony ta linked extent by special cir cumstances while, without adopting the formal Hines of English Past, he has but, whenever vooul melody comes in, with which no substitute can be found. it is'given fair play. It bas overmastering rival in tf £E Fl aeetEe Monsters Which Walked the Earth and Swam the Sea Long Ago. A TALE WITR PROF. COPE OX THR SURJECT— REPTILES WHICH FED PPON OTHER REPTILES ‘THAT WEIGHED TWENTY TONS—SOME WITE HOLLOW BACKBONES AXD 2,000 TEXTH. “Reptiles as they are found in the world et the present day are but degenerate survivors of their kind as they existed in epochs long ago,” said Prof. Cope to a writer for Tax Stam “The first reptiles of the world made their ap- Pearance at the close of the paleozoic period, when the coal was in process of formation. ‘They were all land animale. Among then. there were no flying creatures, no marine swimmers, ne gigantio types and no expecially herbivorous nds. “‘At the close of the coal-forming period there eccurred a great emergence of land from the water, and roptilian life rapidly spread and . The re} which had previously ex- Not Always to Be Detected When Seen—The ‘Trade in Thom. From the Buffalo News. “Cost a big price, do they?” “Fes, the good ones do.” “Then there is a good deal of difference?” “Oh, yes. They range all the way from 50 cents to 850.” “Is there such a big demand for them?” “Larger than most people “Some of cur friends may be wearing one of those solid visual organs and we do not know it?” “Precisely. Pt soveral a det that sted were all of one kind. ir remains are | doc: found in this coun‘ the deposits in Iegoona ake cad ces ave ee ee gm — ir preservation. From this point of ime, however, what may ‘appro- riately' be calied the "oe Alleghanies and the Ural system were uplifted. Then began what is called “mesozoic epoch,’ during which the reptiles may be said to have run creation. That is to say, they were the highest order of beings at that time alive. What man is now the reptile was then—that is, lord of all existing things. Reptiles walked upon land, navigated the water, flew through air, and, in short, pursued every avenue of tence that is zoologically conceivable. ‘Early in the mesozoic epoch there appeared marine reptiles which, though derived from land species, became more and more aquatic through the’ necessity of living in water, de- veloping on that account swim! organs, &c. Land reptiles also began to develop in huge proportions. Why they grew eo big no one knows, but it may have been because they had no rivals in the struggle for existence; they had all they wanted to eat and naturally increased in bi comparable in size to these reptiles of ages ago. CLIMBING REPTILES. “What the mammalsare in the scale of creation today the reptiles were in the mesozoic epoch. They swam the seas, climbed trees and were most phenomenal jumpers. Some of them even flew. While some were herbivorous, living upon plants, others were carnivorous, preserv- ing exlstenco by devouring thelr vegetable: eating cousins. ‘Tho vegetasian reptiles were enormous beasts, oftenas much as seventy feet in length. They afforded food for the carnivorous reptiles, which were smaller than the herbivor- ous kind, just as lions and tigers nowzdays are smaller than oxen. Though bigger the vege- tarian creatures usually had not armor nor weapons to defend themselves with. ir most powerfu! defense was a kick, which, de- livered with a hind leg fifteen feet in length, was assuredly not by any means to be despised at. The herbivorous reptiles of that epoch were mainly of three descriptions: THe “cAMARASAURUS,” SEVENTY x: “First was the biggest of all animals known to the world from the beginning thereof to the Present day. Its name was the ‘camarasaurna.’ It went on all fours and the vertebrm compos- ing its backbone were hollow—mere shells in fact—filled with warm air from the langs. just is the case with the bones of some birds to- day. Undoubtedly it lived in the sea, walking along in water deep enough to cover ‘its back. It fed upon the vegetation along shore and its neck was long and crane-like. ther herbivorous reptiles of the same period had enormously long hind legs, on which they were able to wade far out into deep water after sea weeds and other food. ‘These creatures were particularly extraordinary in point of their dental equipment, inasmuch as each of them had about 2,000 grinders to chew arranged in magazines of 500 each, like ‘Another species of herbivorous reptiles lived upon land, but they were so powerfully armed that they were able to oppose a formid- able defense aguinst attack. Some of them had huge horns on their heads like bulls/ while others bore similar weapons above their noses, like the rhinoceri of today. So well able were they to defend themselves that they lived and multiplied in the same regions with the most ferocious of the carnivorous monsters. we AGATHAUMAS, FORTY FEET LONG. “Thus you will understand that there were three kinds of herbivorous giants in the meso- roie epoch. There was the ‘camarasaurns,’ which fed neck-deep along the seashore, it hollow backbone serving as a float and its solid lege and tail for anchors; next was the kan- garoolike ‘hadrosauras,” which waded out upon its long hind legs into deep water in search of ‘food, and, finally: there was the dangerous ‘agathaumas,” with enormous horns. “The carnivorous reptiles of that wonderful age were more uniform in their structure. They were mostly built in the kangaroo style and of lighter frame. Early in their history there were some of them with hollow bones, which were probably the greatest jumpers ever known among vertebrates. Certain varietios flying powers, with a trade in them, and » good ands ‘one, too.” “How is it we don't notice = glass eye in nn EES enough to keep still “Because about the matter, and wear the best eyes ob- tainable. In this way if notice enything at all peculiar about optics you imagine they haves squint or are cross-eyed. eerie JAPANESE PIPES, ‘Smoking Has Been Reduced toa Fine Art in the Land of the Mikado. ‘Str Edward Arnold in Scribner's Magazine. To be quite Japanese we will begin by taking from our girdle the little brass pipes and silken tobacco bags, filling the Kiseru and inhaling one or two fragrant whiffe of the delicate Jap- anese tobacco. In their use of the nicotian herb, asin many other things, the Japanese display supreme refinement. The rudest coolie, the coarsest farm laborer, equally with the lady of rank, the pretty geisha and the minister of state, are content with this tiny pipe, which does not hold enough to make even Queen Mab sneeze. They stuff a little rolled pill of the fine-cut leaf into « bowl smaller than the smallest acorn cup, thrust it in the glowing | charcoal aud inhele deep into the lungs just one fragrant whiff of the blue smoke, which the by mouth and nostrils. Then they shake one le burni into the bamboo receptaci and load we sy asecond ippuku, valuing only the first sweet purity of the lighted luxury, and always wondering how we can smokea great pipeful to the “bitter end,” or suck for a balf an hour ata huge Havana pura.“ shita ni doku arimas!” they say—“At the bot- tom of a pipe there lives poison.” Much fancy and fashion are displayed in the appurtenances of the pipe. Ladies carry them in little long embroidered sil eases, with silken pouches at- tached, fastened by an ivory, bronze, silver or jeweled clasp. Men wear stuck in’ their gir- dles. a pipe-sheath of carved ivory, bone or bamboo, and the pipe iteelf may bea «mall, commonplace article of reed and brass or an exquisite object in bronxe, silver or worked up with lovely ornament in lacquer or enamel. ———-0- —__—_ Nature of Electricity. From the Brooklyn Citizen. ‘The newspapers constantly keep the wonders of electricity in the public mind, and yet no one can give you a satisfactory answer to the simple question, What is electricity? One physicist says “electricity isa form of energy producing peculiar phenomene, and it may be converted into other forme of and all forms of energy may be con into it.” lectricity is = form of Other authorities say “ molecular motion.” All this is but as clear as very thick mud, and so we must accept the graatve reply of suthority, who says “several theories have been sdvanced, but none of them are satisfactory.” ‘The first death in the world,sofar as we know, from artificially ge: ty was that of Prof. Richman, of St. thusias: or the new and captivati He devised what was practically the first ning rod and was killed by it. From his oratory he ran an iron to the top of his house in present lightning-rod manner and then he 4 GRAVEYARD DANCE, A Ghostly Ceremony Witnessed in a Japances Cometery. ‘From the San Prenciace Chronicle. A fow nights ago a number of elderly and much-traveled gentlemen were grouped in © semi-circle around the big fireplace of a down- town hotel swapping rarns and telling experi- ences. Among them was Dr. @. H. Colton Sal ter, who for many years was United States con- short pause told the following tale: ‘The many stories published during the past months about Indian ghost dances and the Mesmah craze remind me of one of the most remarkable inciderts [ have ever witnessed during my long carcer in the orient, and [em peans who have bad the opportunity te of which T am br dy tell, i, native of ance, Bast an ars asap SON ie as fall of eaperstition. Some of the ancient beliefs of the Buddhists are calculated frighten the faithful and vividly portray the | horrible punishment that awaits the «inful maa After be closes his earthly career. while others, with charming simplicity, show that the great ext aim of the Hinda religion is the from existence. The doctrine of the tranmigration of soule and a hope for a better fate in a future life are the principal foundations upon which dhism rests. Ni i, where I resided many years, was famed for the yalsin honor of Buddah, or Gautama, the founder of the religion. Owing to the work missionaries and the consequent Christianity in Japan, many of the fetes are no longer publicly observed, one of which I am about to za a spon in 1886, just It is called the Mateidri and_was beld the last week in August or the first September. continuing four dave, These day were set aside for the recep :ion of the «pirite tive dead, who, according to a legendary belief, return once a year to ir old homes. For Many weeks previous to the festival prepara- tions had been in progress. The houses of the believers had all been carefully swept, cleaned and polished, and the howe altara, which are to be found’ in every native house, had been redecorated and refurnished. The interior of allthe buildings had been with flowers, the strects had the wh. of every grave food of the daintiest kind spread ina tempting manner and quanti- ties sufficient to appease the appetites of an | army of the hungriest kind of ghosts. On mats spread about the graves wat all the living de- scendants of the person who bad been buried in that particular «pot. Not « single tomb waa neglected. If in the course of years the family ¥ one of the silent sleepers bad complet died ‘out his grave had been embellished an mp phed by strangers. spicite were supposed to arrive and de- part by water from the sea and for four days and nights the living commune with their | dead and were with them in spirit. The souls | of the departed were supposed Lo hover aroupd the tombs like «ubstantial visible beings and they were treated with every attention due to saczed and distinguished visitors from the other world. ‘The night of the second day was devoted to a grand terpaichorean entertainment or spirit dance and the gre! rd was transformed ‘or once into a ball room, where ghostly dancers were supposed to hold revelry. The scenes made a strong me. The night was perfect, the moon was at ite | full and the air was fragrant with the perfumes of thousands of flowers. M. flickering on the hillsides city and the colored lanterns swa; and fro, keeping time to the chim silvery bells in the temple tower, which fur- nished the music for the mystic entertainment. Around sm artificial lake in the center of the weyard the knelt in silent devotion, Sorehiping on ot dha, whoww emblem, the lotus flower, rose from the middie of the lake. Every one of the four days and nights brought new surprises and ceremonies, many of thelat- ter being held in the temple, the doors of which were closed and againet ited for a thunder storm. There was « ter-| bore near worked too well—and he by the side of it. But some most interesting and amusing ical ex- periments followed. puton a pair of woolen stockings over his silk ones on & cold winter day. At night he pulled the stock- ings off without separating them and was as- tonished by the crackling noise and even the sparks of electricity which followed. When he drew the silk stockings out of the woolen ones the electrical attraction was so manifest that the stockings would incline toward one another when held more than a foot apart. It hap- pened that the silk stockings were black and tho woolen ones of light but when he tried the experiment with both stockings of the same "color there was np electrical ap- experiment soor. got to be the fashionable (‘fad” in England. Ley- don Jere were charged by the stocking process and great fun was by gir it shocks to persons and domestic animals. utility of icity, however, begun with the construc- electricity, h tion of the first telegraph between Baltimore ‘and Washington. of these develo} ‘spread ct wing, f ouch ts aoe be toned, of twenty | both at feet from tip to tip. Some of these latter had were th, while others i HE iH pee t E é A if H | f F i it i cs iy . F : f f ft i i ihe t I Hl i FE it if f al r i rf i i; 4 [ lu i It was then pushed ont into the son and ing away was finally carried out of sight by tide. And so ended the last festival of - dri ever beld publicly in Nagasaki and most splendid religious celebrauon [ ever a ‘The Judge Smited at Last. ‘From the Pittsburg Dispatch. joke upon the one that was