Scripps College - La Semeuse Yearbook (Claremont, CA)

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cost of a decent burial, for a Worthy cause. The amount neces- sary for any really good funeral would send any deserving young person through college. I was Ruskin's disciple long before I knew it. From Marcel Proust, a Stud in Decadencen Y DAPPIINIE FRASER P R OUST l S total omission of the moral will ftom his reckon- ings, then, and his assumption that man's nature is a series of movements and not a concentric pattern lie at the root of his decadence. Similar ideas have been devastatingly current since the begin- ning of the century. The old Gish in the social orders has gone, and nothing has come to replace it. The old standards have gone, and the old controls. The idea of a sentiment in an in- dividual With which his acts will be consistent has gone, re- placed by the gloomy tenets of naturalism. Faith in God has gone, along wich Raith in oneself: Futility reigns. Proust's success in being the spokesman of a decadent age, in interpreting its weariness, its lack of selflconfidence, is undeni- able.. His characters are amazingly true, although they lack a central spring. I-lis artistic sincerity is passionate, although his message is disillusionment. His failure is the failure of a great writer who accepts his age and interprets it, but fails to transcend it. We cannot forgive his Eiilure, because his very devotion to art is in contradiction to his thesis of fiitility. And our admiration for the perfection of his study of a decadent generation must not hide ftom us the Elct that he immersed himself in its current, and never rose above it. 23

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The slow moon drihs, lonely globule, bright As beaten silver gleaming with thin light Behind a fretted pattern of dark towers. . . The bells of Magdaleii chant the drifting hours. Then comes the change. The ever-deepening air Shudders and strains to silence, poised upon The apex of' a darkness lingers there Une aching moment, trembles, and moves on Turning eastward. Darkness get thee gone! . Across far worlds rings dawn,s triumphal cry As myriad motes of light rush down the sky. May morning-and the cool dew-silvered grass Of Magdaleii meadows gleams beneath pale skies. The High Street echoes as gay voices pass To throng the stately bridge. Hushed are the cries. I-Iigh from the tower, hint and clear, rings one Sweet Pagan anthem to the rising sun. ANN HOPKINS From 'SO11 Readin 'A o Forever' H g Y BETTY LOU SNIDER IT HAS always distressed me to see two hundred dollars, or more, spent for a coffin that can do no earthly good. Least of all will it help the corpse that is buried within. A thousand dollar tombstone is inexpensive as tombstones gog and yet admiring hordes do not troop to graveyards, here I think Mr. Ruskin would agree with me, to gaze upon slabs of granite and marble that are joys forever. It would be of greater benefit, and show more respect for the intelligence of the clear departed one, to spend the large sum of money, commonly used to cover the 22

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Farewell to Caesar fincident as in Shawls play, Caesar and Cleopatraj fTlJe wharf at Alexandria. Caesar and Cleopatra 5-land aloof from tlae Cleo. Caes. Cleo Caes. Cleo Caes. lmsqle of embarleingj Thou,lt leave me then. The dawning day brings naught To me but cheerless joy, a sunset dipped In grey despair of termination. Oh love, I-low dare you take from Cleopatra all You brought to her, her lik, her very smiles, And go away against her will? H H 'Tis true, Your woman's fancy, long intrigued by Caesar, That name of mine,-though not by me-has sought Too far for conquest to release with grace. And I, whose honour holds but Rome, whose Rome I-Iolds but my soul, I, the Caesar, fell. I . . . one whose strength must die before your youth. Not for tender spring, the frost of Eillf' I bid thee cease, nor will attend thy words! You speak as he who seeketh selgexcusel H Not selfiexcuse, my love, I wish to clear Those tears, so sweetly shed, from your eyes, By telling you my planf' Wl1at plan? CGreat gods, You will not take me then, away to RomePD H H QNO, my beauty, turn not Pale, thy Caesar, For all his passion, knows thy hearty I would Only bring all Rome for thee to lovef' 24