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."