THE KILLING OF MARMION 



crouched in corners ; scurrying termites ran hither 

 and thither. A slow-moving angleworm drew his 

 ophidian length along the ancient geologic reaches, 

 and an armoured pterodactyl, in the shape of a 

 dragon-fly, came in flaming gorgeousness like 

 Apollyon, and picked up an inhabitant or two. 

 Here was the oldest Nibelungen Lied going on 

 still, with real dragons amid the real elements in 

 this demiurgic workshop. Somehow I fancy that 

 Wagner, when he heard the eternal melodies, must 

 have been lying on his stomach and looking afc the 

 eternal animate forces. 



But what is the use of trying to get these child 

 like experiences over into literature ? One must 

 be a Thoreau to do it. When I interrogated the 

 mysteries like Hamlet, there was Charlie with his 

 round implicit face, and he seemed to say to me, 

 &quot;You want to know the secret of Nature; well, 

 you will have to become an obedient part of it, 

 then you will know, but you will lose the power 

 and the desire to tell it.&quot; That boy never makes 

 any demonstration over a sunrise, and he looks at 

 me wonderingly when I begin to cavort and effuse. 

 He seems to be more familiar with the processes 

 than I am. They are spectacles and episodes to 

 me. Heavens, it is always sunrise with him ; why 

 make such a fuss over it ? And that is always the 

 way with souls that live close to Nature. They 

 take it as a matter of course because they are a 

 part of it, and that is where Cooper made such a 

 mistake with his Natty Bumppo, who was always 

 going about attitudinizing and philosophizing 



37 



