Life — February 22, 1894 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

118 explosion. and a green light fills the room. When it fades out into white, Dr. Jekyll is seen alone, sitting in his armed chair, with an expression of horror on his face, as though he had just seen and dreaded the return of an awful vision). Scene Il: The heart of the forest of Grune: wald. Prince Otto and Princess Sevaphina seated on a fallen tree by the edge of a pool into which a white cascade is plunging. PRINCESS SERAPHINA: In this forest we awoke from our dream of Power, and found Love ; we lost a. principality and found cach other. “We FLED FROM AMBITION.” Prince Otto: We fled from ambition and discovered happiness. SeRAPHINA: And now to the world we appear to be only poor refugees—you a hunter and I a housewife—all our glory gone, and nothing to live for! Orto: But like Stevenson's ‘+ Lantern- Bearers" we carry out of sight, near our hearts, the hidden light which glorifies it all. Serapuiva: What an illuminating fable of his that is! The “mound of mud” in which ordinary people seem to dwell is nothing to him; he is interested only in the golden chamber, at the heart of which each dwells delighted. Orto: him with such joy. We know that he will take us on a chase after the “ incommunicable delight of life.” Serariiva: Itis what Henry James calls the perpetual boy in him—the glorious zest of living. Orto: The song of the nightingale which lured the monk into the woods, and shen he retumed he found that half a century had passed as a day ! SeRArHINA: I fear Stevenson does not always take us after the nightingale’s song. There is a hint of following a bird of prey now and then—a suggestion of carrion which 1 don't quite like. Otto: Oh, but remember that with him it’s always on the way to the nightingale’s - LIFE: song, If you follow him long enough the path ends in beauty. SERAPHINA: But he ought to make a detour round the carcasses. 1 should not mind a few briars by the way, but nothing disagree- able. Oh, the awful gore of chapters in ** The Wrecker. Otto: Thatis spoken like a woman—it is the physical image of it that repels you. You lose sight of the great passions portrayed in such chapters. Serapuixa: He is an avowed disciple of idealism, of romance—a votary of beauty— and he should not spoil his pages, dedicated to beauty, with repellant images. The real} joy of life does not lie in that direction. I don't want the smoke and smell of the lantern (to use his own image). I only want to feel its warmth near my heart, and to flash its ray of light into the darkness, now and then. Otto; That is always the woman's point of view. But for the boys on the links (and the men they prefigure), the pungent odor of the blistering tin of the lantern under their coats is an essential part of that series of sensations which sends their imagination soar- ing away to the Elysian fields. A man often must build his Castle in Spain on piles that are driven into the mud. SeRAPHINA: For me the real Stevenson is the author of your story, ‘ Prince Otto," of “Underwoods," “A Child's Garden of Verses,” * Virginibu: “Will o° the Mill" and “*An Inland Voyage.” They are builded so far above the mire. Orto: And for me he is the author of “Treasure Island,” “Kidnapped,” “The Mas- * The Wrecker,” and ‘* David Balfout Between the two groups is almost the whole range of the imagination—from the purely idyllic to the most complex passions. He plays upon this wonderful organ, with words for notes—and, oh, the music of them ! SERAPHINA: You get very near the secret of his skill as a writer when you say that, It “Tne Sone or tHe Nicwtixcaue.” “I, in These Tropic Isves."" is the love of lovely words” which leads him on and on, through ‘wet woods and miry lane,” till at last you can almost hear his song in the water-fall yonder : “ Where hath fleeting beauty led ? To the doorway of the dead. Life is over, life was gay ; We have come the primrose way EPILOGUE. Tur Sox oF TeMBINoKA, KING oF APEMAMA. Sing my warriors, sing ! men of the sharklike race! Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face. He from the cold, gray North, I, in these tropic isles, Meet as brothers and bards, with eloquent songs and smiles— Meet as brothers, though singing words that are strange and proud— Pale and wan in his face, while mine is a thunder-cloud, But the heart of a man is hidden by neither language nor skin— To love as a man anda brother maketh the whole world akin. The tales that he tells are of heroes who fought like braves to the death— Bone of our bone are these heroes, the very breath of our breath ! Then sing, my warriors sing! sharklike race, Sing of the poet'who came and greeted us face to face! Men of the Robert Bridges (Droch). NEW BOOKS. THE SONG OF THE SANDIVICH. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Illustrated by Oliver By Herford. New York : A Review of By Henry Russell Wray. Penfield. On Sunny whores. By Clinton Scollard. New York: Charles L, Webster. The Humour of Holland. Translated by A. Werner. New York: Imported by Charles Scribner's Sons. Geo. M. Allen Company. Etching in the United States. Philadelphia: R. C. comicbooks.com