Pane 4
THE NEBRASKAN
Janet Gordon . . .
Revolutions
Quelling revolutions bis long
been the obligation of great na
tions. And when a nation lacks an
uprising at home, it often extends
its obligation to Involve quelling
any accessible revolutions occur
ring at the time.
This neighborly attitude
most prevalent following an era
of revolts. So it was during the
enlightened nineteenth cen
tury. All of the great powers of
that century were well aware of
the horrors of revolution and they
felt disposed to direct their friend
ly assistance toward France.
For it seemed only yester
day that the gay Parisians had
become somewhat incensed at the
caprices of their legitimate rulers.
The great powers also recalled
how the Paris populace had delib
erated and finally decided to lower
the guillotine upon the neck of
their legitimate king, Louis XVI
and his dainty queen, Marie Antoinette.
After Louis' mishap, it took only
a half-hearted coup d'etat to seat
Napoleon I upon the French throne
A refreshing interlude pf general
wars instigated by Napoleon fol
lowed before Europe was again
able to concern herself with revol
utions. Then, a coalition to combat fu
ture local uprisings was to be
formed. In 1820, Russia, Prussia
and Austria signed the Troppau
Protocol in which they pledged
themselves to intervene (by armed
force if necessary!) in any state
rent by a menacing revolt and to
restore the legitimate govern
ment to power if it had been over
thrown. That insolent isle, Great Britain,
refused to have anything to do
with this document. "We do not
want Cossacks bivouacked on Pic
adilly Circus," was the popular
English sentiment.
And so the Britishers helped
their own rebels assert the Mon
roe Doctrine. Despite the absence
of American and British signa
tures, the Troppau Protocol was a
brilliant success as a means of
combatting liberalism and main
taining the status quo.
All Europe would now certainly
be kept calmly conservative: all
Europe, that is, with the exception
of the Frenchmen and their wom
en. After the stimulating Napoleon
ic Era, the French could not help
but be bored with the static gov
ernment of Louis Phillippe and
his bourgeois bureaucrats.
Louis had shown some promis
ing qualities in 1830 when be had
slipped the throne of France out
from beneath Charles V's dignity.
At the sound of the muskets that
had heralded Charles' exit from
Paree, the unprepared Protocolists
had begun trembling as if they
had heard their butlers whistling
the Marseillaise.
And when the news of a new
French Revolution reached St. Pet
ersburg, Nicholas I had cried,
"Saddle your horses, gentlemen;
France is in revolution again."
But even with such an uproarious
ascent, Louis Philippe, the "citi
zen king," was unable to satisfy
his subjects.
In 1848, therefore, a revolution
occurred in France. Paris was gay
once again, for the nephew of Na
poleon the Great (if legitimate)
was emperor. Napoleon III, in ord
er to assure his subjects freedom
from boredom, attempted to emu
late his uncle. He immediately de
stroyed the French Republic and
shouted, "The Empire is Peace."
Napoleon's motto was a bit dis
heartening to his countrymen. But
tht industrial boom that began in
1850 and lasted for a decade seem
to be somewhat of a compensa
tion for peace.
And later, Napoleon was . con
siderate enough to involve his na
tion in the Crimean and Italian
Wars which brought sufficient ex-
citement and profit to his people
to keep them from desiring any
action at home.
But Napoleon's Mexican and
Franco-Prussian Wars failed to be
so entertaining and the Legislative
Assembly deposed Emperor Na
poleon in.
Two Jules (Favre and Ferry)
and Leon Gambetta proclaimed the
existence of the Third Republic
of France on September 4, 1870
Peace threatened to reign in
France once again.
The legitimate - government en
thusiasts mourned with the fiery
French for the better days. But,
happily, peace cannot endure in a
nation lorever. Ana, too, since
France was quiet for the moment,
the interventionists could console
themselves by trekking with the
shepherd to fresh woods and pas
tures new.
A Few Foreign Phrases .'. .
By CONNIE BERRY
Have you ever noticed how many
people are inclined to throw for
eign phrases about in their con
versations? Somehow, I instinct
ively distrust this kind of person.
Perhaps my dislike for another
language is just another result of
growing old. I remember, when I
was very young, I was impressed
by a distinguished gentleman in
our town, Colonel Breakaday Ber
ry, who had lived several months
in Mexico and could speak Spanish
fluently.
This fact alone made him very
distinguished, for none of the other
inhabitants in our town had ever
been out of the state. But he was
also the mayor.
Whenever any episode of any
importance occurred, Colone) Ber
ry was always appointed to give
the speech. Most of his talks were
about Mexico.
I would sit enthralled listening
Griselda Morton ...
Meditation On Eternity
Chat Of The Topics ...
With sugar-tanged tongues In a Haviland clatter,
Tbey chat of the topics always to matter
Ta never fade:
Of Aristotelian matter and shape,
(The terrible shape of Mrs. Blade)
The cultural value of Mexican jade,
The metrical foot of the Light Brigade,
(The nnsymmetrlcal feet af the maid)
But wn turned en the radio?
Somewhere hones ef children
Run throngh skin
Of nylon thinness.
And men faes
Firing squads In rows
As straight as any rhinestone
Lines.
Most tragically at" all
Are men wot can diftinguWh
Nemesis from mambe bands.
Tbey are the helpless anes.
Their thinking has goneeat of style
Like God
' And ostrich plumes.
They suffer mere than the suffering,
For they have answers,
But manicured minds cannot evea sea
Problems. -
" They live the hardest lives.
But snap off that noise like yea snap shut your purse .
It curdles my coffee, and what's evea worse,
We cant he bothered by petty details
Of truth with unfUcd fingernails
Whea probing the depths of the Elvers..
The hostess, wishing te salvage her cake.
Rushes est on the erses of William Blake.
(They really dent Interest ma quite
As much as his life.)
Would the frectlng took better la yellow er white?
And gradually a3 of the' ladles come dowa
From their grandstands of knowledge with hesitant sounds
Ta meet then- men with the coffee-break frowns. .
New eat ta face the ignorant world
- (Remember next week te have my hair carted)
Glenna Berry
limt IhkH ON CAMPUS
rt1
by Dick Bibler
reopie nave always torn me
that I should be glad to have an
elder sister to pave life's thorny
way for me, but I would like
them to know that this situation is
more than one bifc bed of Penste
mon fruticlsus.
Michelle Denise, like the Grecian
Urn, had fair attitude and Attic
shape, but all I had was attic
clothes. Everything was hand-me-down
from my scuffed brown loaf
ers with a hole in the right sole
to my scarlet and cream, "Let's
go north," University of Nebraska
football pennant.
What's more, I even had a sec-ong-hand
personality, whereas
Michelle Denise, was talented, gay
and vivacious.
She tossed off witticisms with
the ease of a cocker spaniel shak
ing out rain drops from his coat
(or maybe it would be easier for
a fox terrier), and I am expected to
be equally clever. Actually, I am
about as witty as a sack of po
tatoes practicing Bach inventions,
but what I lack in this virtue, how
ever, I have always been able to
compensate for with perseverence.
I used to spend hours sewing
spontaneous remarks on the hems
of handkerchiefs and printing
wise proverbs on the soles of my
shoes with indelible ink. When
someone asked my opinion on a
philosophical point, I merely had to
take off my shoe, demurely place
it in my lap and profoundly reply,
"A stitch in time saves nine."
They would be stunned by my in
tellect. It was quite difficult to tell an
entire joke, a the procedure would
involve an intricate system of shoe
switchings, handkerchief flippings
and even one or two watch-band
twistings.
I usually confined my wit, there
fore, to short, hilarious retorts.
(My most successful seemed to be,
"Go on, Big Red, you just kill
me," although the equally riotous,
"I'll chalk one up for you, you
killer-diller, you." always gained
its rightful share of chuckles.)
As an advancement of my system.
I took up smoking. What could be
a more ideal medium than ciga
rettes? I prepared them before
hand and then snapped them out
during conversational pauses.
As I grew in intellect, I began
to incorporate foreign phrases into
my repertoire. (You have no idea
how effective "et tu, Brute, could
be at the proper intervals, or con
sider the excellence of a coquett
ishly intoned, "habeas campus.")
Once I made a mistake and
read, "Lucky Strike Means Fine
Tobacco." Everyone laughed
though, so maybe it wasn't such
a noticeable flop after all.
In the same way that she forced
me into smoking, Michell Denise
unknowingly but unerringly shaped
my whole career. When I was little
my new Easter bonnet was her
old one, discarded because of a
torn bow.
Because of the hand-me-down prin
ciple involved, I gradually develop
ed a complex as jagged as the
broken zipper on my first pair
of slacks.
My mother, who had also had an i
slder sister, used to tell me that
someday I might become bigger j
than Michelle Denise, and then
she would have to wear my clothes.
This seemed very logical to me,
since I always had had a shape
more substantial than the Prickly
Pear (even at five o'clock in the
morning), whole Michelle Denise
was slender and infinitely lovely.
Knowing that I had to grow in
height only, I studied all possible
measures of gaining on her.
I carried iron capsules (or as
more commonly known, Lextron
Ferrous Pulvules) with me at all
times, and popped one into my
mouth whenever I passed a park
fountain, sprinkling system or fire
hydrant. My blood count, by the
way, improved by leaps, platelets
and lymphocytes.
I used to take long, satisfying
draughts of cod-liver oil which
kept in a fifth bottle of whiskey so
none of my friends would sense
anything amiss and chide me
about it.
I came to know so much about
vitamins and foods, in fact, that I
was appointed assistant dietician in
the student union my first year of
college.
It was very deflating to know
that my greatest triumph in life
was caused indirectly by my elder
sister. I was so furious that
almost told the whole world about
her secret birthmark.
The contest was fierce and un
relenting, but I finally did out
grow Michelle Denise by the time
I was a senior in high school. By
that time she was a junior in col
lege, and I had the most joyful
visions of her goin through her
last year in old hand-me-downs,
while I entered the University as
elegantly dressed as Corinna going
a-Maying (although I really doubt
if Corinna did go a-Maying in Ber
muda shorts and argyle knee
socks, to say nothing of a white
beer-drinking cap.)
That would teach her to give me
her old broken shoe laces, when she
knew that I wore loafers anyway.
I began ruining my clothes on pur
pose. I made it a point to sit so
my skirts would develop wrinkles
in them. Then I pressed the wrink
les in with a steam iron when I got
home. Was that fun!
Worse yet, I would swallow vital
hooks and eyes when no one was
looking. My diabolical scheme was
paying off, and I was at the zenith
of my glory.
But you might know. Michelle
Denise, who could not stand to see
even her own sister derive plea
sure from life, played true to her
perfidious nature and got married.
Her husband was a football player
with a head is empty as an after
game stadium, although he did
have nice dimples.
I am already receiving hand-me-down
aprons, cookie cutters and
grocery lists. Michelle Denise now
has a small daughter, which means
that my first child will have second-hand
diapers, safety pins and
teething rings.
There seems to be absolutely no
way out of life's vicious circle,
parallelogram, rhombus or what-have-you.
I believe that I must
have been predestined to be a vic
tim of my sister's will.
Even when I go to heaven I am
sure that the pious St. Peter will
greet me with, "Oh, so you're
Michelle Denise's sister. Gad, what
a card. Keeps us laughing all day.
Heh, hen."
Then I will stare him in the eye,
and say with all the animosity I
can muster, "Heh, heh."
He will reply, "Yes, like you say,
heh heh. Oh, by the way, old sport.
we bought your sister a new halo
from Montgomery Ward's, beings
that we thought you would want
to wear her old one. "And I say,
old sport, do comt up for a spot of
celestial omnibus some time, won't
you?"
Then he will drive away in his
zither, and I will be left sitting in
my sister's old tattered cloud with
the inevitably missing buttons,
sadly meditating on eternity.
to Colonel Berry . talk about the
beautiful Mexican sencillos,
dressed in their colorful haciendas.
He would talk at great lengths
about the gay Spanish siestas with
the music and dancing, the gal
lantry of the Mexican pesos and
the costumes of the romantic ca
bellos. Whenever he was asked his
opinion of any extraordinary af
fair, Colonel Berry would exlaim,
"Unos dos tres!", and then dra
matically walk on. If the event
was extra extraordinary, Coolon
Berry might even say, "Unos dos
tresy manana'." which would
leave the bystanders breathless.
Unos dos tres soon .became the
byword at any great event, but we
commoners could never get the
nerve to say anything as forceful as
unos dos tres y manana.
Then one day a rumor was spread
about town that someone was plan
ning to run away with all the
bank's 'money. The Town Council
asked Colonel Berry about this
rumor, but he just looked scorn
fully around the room and mutter
ed, "Unos dos tres!", and, without
saying another word, stalked out of
the room. This answer greatly re
lieved us all.
The next day Colonel Berry and
the bank's money were discovered
missing. Some detectives were
called in, but the only thing they
discovered was that unos dos tres
did not have the profound meaning
that we had thought it did. Colonel
Berry had been merely counting
mentally the money he had
planned to take.
The leper...
By MYRON
There is a leper loose in our
University Community!
While not afflicted with the dread
disease usually accredited to the
leper, this person is just as un
touchable and just as undesirable.
His actions and deportment are
totally uncalled for. He has
proved himself totally unfit to
claim membership in our campus
sphere.
He should be shunned at all
times, should never be spoken to
directly and in conversations
should be regarded to only in the
third person.
He is, to say the least, real bad.
Before ostracizing this demonic
ghoul from the cherished tower of
our collegiate world, gaze with
fear and anger on the time-honored
rules he has broken:
1. He does not now, nor never
has he ever, owned a pair of
rubber-soled white bucks.
2. His shirts do not have a
handy button on the back of the
collar, and his trousers are not
buckled In the back.
3. He drinks lemonade rather
than cokes in the crib, and be
doesn't like coffee. Rumor has it
he has never cut a class for a cof
fee break.
4. He hates rock-and-roll.
5. He stays awake in class, and
takes notes.
6. Last week he was seen driv
ing around the campus en n warm
day In a convertible with the top
up, and with less than eight peo
ple in the car. The radio was not
on full blast, and he did not honk
his horn at Bermuda-shorted coeds.
7. He writes his mother every
week.
8. He doesn't like George Gob I.
9. He has never even heard of
George Gobel.
10. If he evea knew who George
Gobel was, he would probably go
to the library, er listen to classical
records, or improve his mind, er
something.
11. The only time he ever went
in the Union activities office was
when he was looking for a phone
booth.
Some ideas are:
Burn his books, break his pen
cils, scratch bis long-playing rec
ords, put kerosene in his fountain
pen, tear up his library card, dress
him in ivy league clothes and
burn him at the stake in the mid
dle of Memorial Stadium.
After all, this person is a stu
dent, and there just isn't room for
that kind of person around here
anymore.
Somebody might get the wrong
idea about Our University.
Garilce's FabSss
By ANN GERIKE
The Penguin Who bidn't
Believe In Dragons
Roland, the Penguin, was born in the Far North as most
penguins are. except those who are born in the Far Sou. His
family lived in a village which was right on the edge of a cliff
and they had taught him from his childhood on that a dragon
lived over the edge of the cliff and that he must stay away from
U' They said that the steam coming up was the steam from
the mouth of the dragon, and the roaring was his roaring. They
told him that, if he wasn't good, the dragon would get him so he
always kept his distance from the cliff and behaved as well as a
young penguin could be expected to behave.
But one day, when he was fourteen years old, Roland
started to talk with a young penguin of the village who had
taken a two-day journey into the Other World and had come
back just loaded with knowledge.
"Son " the young penguin said, "don't believe everything
your lk's have told you. After all, they've been raised in an
outmoded society and they don't know about many of the
things that go on in the Outside World; the just close their
eyes to anything new.
"For instance, that business about the dragon. Have you
ever seen the dragon? Of course not! Well, do you know what
it really is? It's just a roaring river, and thewarm currents of
water make the steam that comes up here."
At first, Roland was' indignant. The very idea accusing
his parents of being old-fashioned and narrow-minded! But
the more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed.
He hadn't ever seen the dragon, and neither had anyone
else; all they had were these old books that told about him,
and they were probably just a bunch of fairy tales that someone
had dreamed up to scare his kids.
So, he started to say that it was just a river, too, and pretty
soon several penguins went up to the cliff and fell over. Of
course, thay never came back again, and all the towns-penguins
said that they had been seized by the dragon, but Roland knew
that they had just been seized by the Death Impulse and had
drowned themselves in the rushing river.
He couldn't see much sense in his making a thorough in
vestigation of the matter; after all, he had more important and
pleasant things to do. With a ready-made tux, who wants to
sit at home every night?
One evening he did have a little scare. He was out walking
near the cliff, and he thought that he saw a couple of eyes star
ing at him over the edge of it, while the steam poured up from
below and the roaring seemed louder than usual.
For a minute, he almost believed that the dragon was there,
but then he turned around to the village and decided that that
distilled tundra juice must have been a little stronger than he
had thought it was.
In the middle of January, the worst snowstorm the village
had ever seen came blowing down the Far, Far North. Roland
had been out to a Penguin Hop and had just taken his girl home
when the storm broke 5:22 a.m.
He thought that he was heading for home, but he was
actually heading for the cliff; and by the time he reached it,
leaned over it and saw the roaring mouth of the dragon with
the steaming nostrils and the fiery eyes, it was too late.
MORAL: You can fool all of the people some of the time,
and some of the people all of the time, but yon can't fool your
self forever.
The Octopuses Who Had
A Contest
One day a group of young college-age octopuses decided
to have a contest. They planned to go deep sea fishing,
and the one who could capture the most and the largest fish
would get the prize which was a pickled man in the Aquarium
of Natural Science.
They thought it would be great sport to spirit the pickled
man out of the museum under the eyes and tentacles of Old
Herman, the halfblind caretaker; and when they opened the
bottle, the man would be delicious, because he had been pre
served in fermented juice for at least 42 years and was prob
ably 160 proof by this time.
So, they told their instructors that they were going on a
morphology field trip and set out forlhe museum, where Joe,
the leader of the gang, wrapped his tentacles around the
pickled man and floated out with him while the others kept
Old Herman busy by disturbing the prize giant-crab exhibit.
Then, they put the pickled man in a safe place and set out
for the open sea.
What a glorious time they had. They took their girls with
them; the girls had told their instructors that they were
observing the schools of fish.
Every time a martin was caught, the girls cheered and
opened another can of seaweed beer. At 4 a.m. in the morning,
the affair was called to a halt, and they all swam, as well as
they could, back to the hiding place of the pickled man
to count their catches.
Joe had won the contest by a wide margin, so they gave
him the prize. He opened the jar, anticipating the alcoholic
flavor; but the smell drove them all out of the room. I guess
something had gone wrong with the preserving fluid.
MORAL: Te the victor belongs the spoiled.
Poem Five
To flee the cloudless corridors of awkward death
forever in this rock clad echo time.
To spill into the bay of frostwood stakes
the netless stakes of, one grey fisherman.
And run the chase of great white wings
from white grass shore to steaming bay
and pray to my love who is singing away
in the suiff of the black cowled steersman.
To be refused and in terrible grace
to sink moon hidden into my wake.
Frank English
They Shall Hunger Mo More . . .
G. Thomas Fairclough
HVl.TOLWA A6AIN I'LL t DOWN IN A MINUTE."
The fact that La Rochefoucauld
is a one-book man is sufficient to
make him suspect in the eyes of
those who want both quantity and
quality and who scorn the dile
ttante. The "Maxims" are isolat
ed sentences, which read easily
and contain no recondite allusions.
Their author spent his life as a
courtier and a frequenter of sa
lons. AH these facts combine to
confirm the casual reader in his
opinion that La Rochefoucauld was
a casual writer.
This is not so. La Rochefoucauld
lived his book thoroughly before
it existed even in his mind. From
his early youth until the age of
fifty, he was being prepared by
experience for authorship. It was
a long and painful schooling, with
the heart and mind of man the only
textbook.
This is not an easy text to
comprehend, nor does its compre
hension necessarily bring the stu
dent either happiness or success.
Certainly, La Rochefoucauld found
neither. His gift for choosing the
losing side in court intrigues found
him, at fifty, a man without any
outlet for his abilities.
It was in salon conversation that
La Rochefoucauld's maxims were
induced. They were designed to jar
the intellectual and spiritual com
placency of the noble ladies and
wits at these gatherings.
Tbey caused comment in conver
sation, more comment when pub
lished and they have never ceased
to excite discussion. La Roche
foucauld's life of failure had pre
pared him for a success more last
ing than his life.
The "Maxims" in their published
form are the product of tireless
labor in composition and revision.
It is difficult to improve upon the
incisive statement, rythm and bal
ance of the "Maxims"; with most
of them, it is in fact impossible.
Take No. 171:
Lei vertus se perdent dans l'in
teret, comme les fleuves se per
dent dans la mer.
(Virtues are lost in self-interest,
as rivers re lost in the sea.)
Or a more complex example, No.
8:
Les passions sont les seuls ora
te urg qui persuadent toujours.
Elles sont comme un art de la
nature dont les regies sont in
faillibles; et lliomme le plus
simple, qui a de la passion, per
suade mieux que le plus elo
quent, qui n'en a point.
(The emotions are the only era
tors who ere always convincing.
Their art is that of nature, whose
rules are unchanging; and the
most simple man with a passion
persuades as more than the most
eloquent man who has none.)
I do not see how any alteration
in the wording of either maxim
could be made in the direction of
improvement. The flow of language
is smooth, the diction choice yet
simple.
La Rochefoucauld s style is an
illustration of No. 245: "The great
est art is that which conceals its
artistry."
No book that has survived the
centuries is more free from allu
sions to other books than are the
"Maxims." I can recall only one
reference to historical personages,
Antony; and I can remember no
mention of literature, classic or
modern.
La Rochefoucauld had no need
of allusions or annotations. His
subject was eternal man and his
eternal characteristics his loves,
bates, fears and pleasures. All
men are thus qualified to under
stand La Rochefoucauld.
To understand, but not to appre
ciate. Most readers recoil as from
the pit of hell itself, from such
statements as the following:
Onr virtues are often nothing
more than vices disguised. How
ever carefully we cloak our
emotions with piety and honor,
they always contrive to escape
their veils.
For La Rochefoucauld is inex
orable in his reduction of all hu
man actions to manifestations of
self-love and self-interest. "Self
interest speaks all tongues and
plays all parts, even that of un
selfishness." The emotions are our constant
guides and usually our only guides.
"We have not the strength of will
to follow our reason completely."
There is no glorification of man's
reason, and little enough of his
will. Man follows his self-interest
as far as he understands it, which
is not far.
So there is little comfort here
for the optimist and altruist. There
is also little to please the believer
in "enlightened self-interest" as a
recipe for success; for the phrase
is a contradiction in terms. Such
people will be either grieved or
angered by La Rochefoucauld.
La Rochefoucauld's own ideal of
human behavior is that of "l'hon
nete homme," a term which is
very ill served by a literal trans
lation. The truly honest man could
not get through a week of life
without being committed as a men
tal case.
It ;j "the correct man" who gets
along with the least pain to him
self and to others. He does not
strive; he accepts the universe.
He lives according to society's un
reasonable rules, with out reason
ing with society in an attempt to
change them. Always he keeps his
soul free, and in the secrecy of his
soul he reasons, judges and laughs.
This is probably not an inspiring
rule of life for the majority of
men. By the title which I have
chosen, I have tried to indicate
that the "Maxims" is not a com
forting book to read, because they
are great literature; they are great
literature in large part because
they were the product of the au
thor's love.
La Rochefoucauld must have en
joyed writing them; and to him
tbey did bring comfort. In the
"Maxims" he wrote himself free
of the bitterness of years.
The apostle of self-interest knew
that be was an artist with words,
an excellent pbrase-maker and it
pleased him to prove it. The writ
ing of the "Maxims gave a reasoi
and a design to La Rochefou
cauld's life; and any book power
ful enough to shape the course of
a single soul's existence is worthy
of study.
The Book of Job is not really
a pleasant book to d, not is
"Samson Agonistes;" and the
"Maxims" are worth reading for
the same reason.
They all are, or contain, stories
of salvation. The salvation which
Job, Samson, Milton (for the writ
ing of "Samson Agonistes" was
Milton's salvation)' and La Roche
foucauld found appears strange
and undesirable, if indeed we rec
ognize it as salvation. Yet, by
their experiences the souls of these
four men were restored to integ
rity. This is salvation; it is a noble
experience, and gives nobility to
books that describe it. "These are
they which came out of great trib
ulation . , . They shall hunger
no more, neither thirst any more."