Georges Jacques Danton - "Discours civiques de Danton"

H. Belloc - "First and Last"

Anon - "The Diary of a U boat Commander"

Sara Ware Bassett - "The Story of Glass"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Magic City

E >> Edith Nesbit >> The Magic City




And as they went down streets and past houses and palaces all of which
Philip could now dimly remember to have built at some time or other, Mr.
Noah went on:

'It is a very beautiful hall, but we have never been able to use it for
public amusement or anything else. The giant who originally built this
city placed in this hall a carpet so thick that it rises to your knees,
and so intricately woven that none can disentangle it. It is far too
thick to pass through any of the doors. It is your task to remove it.'

'Why that's as easy as easy,' said Philip. 'I'll cut it in bits and
bring out a bit at a time.'

'That would be most unfortunate for you,' said Mr. Noah. 'I filed only
this morning a very ancient prophecy:

'He who shall the carpet sever,
By fire or flint or steel,
Shall be fed on orange pips for ever,
And dressed in orange peel.

You wouldn't like that, you know.'

'No,' said Philip grimly, 'I certainly shouldn't.'

'The carpet must be _unravelled_, unwoven, so that not a thread is
broken. Here is the hall.'

They went up steps--Philip sometimes wished he had not been so fond of
building steps--and through a dark vestibule to an arched door. Looking
through it they saw a great hall and at its end a raised space, more
steps, and two enormous pillars of bronze wrought in relief with figures
of flying birds.

'Father's Japanese vases,' Lucy whispered.

The floor of the room was covered by the carpet. It was loosely but
difficultly woven of very thick soft rope of a red colour. When I say
difficultly, I mean that it wasn't just straight-forward in the weaving,
but the threads went over and under and round about in such a determined
and bewildering way that Philip felt--and said--that he would rather
untie the string of a hundred of the most difficult parcels than tackle
this.

'Well,' said Mr. Noah, 'I leave you to it. Board and lodging will be
provided at the Provisional Palace where you slept last night. All
citizens are bound to assist when called upon. Dinner is at one.
_Good_-morning!'

Philip sat down in the dark archway and gazed helplessly at the twisted
strands of the carpet. After a moment of hesitation Lucy sat down too,
clasped her arms round her knees, and she also gazed at the carpet. They
had all the appearance of shipwrecked mariners looking out over a great
sea and longing for a sail.

'Ha ha--tee hee!' said a laugh close behind them. They turned. And it
was the motor-veiled lady, the hateful Pretenderette, who had crept up
close behind them, and was looking down at them through her veil.

'What do you want?' said Philip severely.

'I want to laugh,' said the motor lady. 'I want to laugh at _you_. And
I'm going to.'

'Well go and laugh somewhere else then,' Philip suggested.

'Ah! but this is where I want to laugh. You and your carpet! You'll
never do it. You don't know how. But _I_ do.'

'Come away,' whispered Lucy, and they went. The Pretenderette followed
slowly. Outside, a couple of Dutch dolls in check suits were passing,
arm in arm.

'Help!' cried Lucy suddenly, and the Dutch dolls paused and took their
hats off.

'What is it?' the taller doll asked, stroking his black painted
moustache.

'Mr. Noah said all citizens were bound to help us,' said Lucy a little
breathlessly.

'But of course,' said the shorter doll, bowing with stiff courtesy.

'Then,' said Lucy, 'will you _please_ take that motor person away and
put her somewhere where she can't bother till we've done the carpet?'

'Delighted,' exclaimed the agreeable Dutch strangers, darted up the
steps and next moment emerged with the form of the Pretenderette between
them, struggling indeed, but struggling vainly.

'You need not have the slightest further anxiety,' the taller Dutchman
said; 'dismiss the incident from your mind. We will take her to the hall
of justice. Her offence is bothering people in pursuit of their duty.
The sentence is imprisonment for as long as the botheree chooses.
Good-morning.'

'Oh, _thank you_!' said both the children together.

When they were alone, Philip said--and it was not easy to say it:

'That was jolly clever of you, Lucy. I should never have thought of it.'

'Oh, that's nothing,' said Lucy, looking down. 'I could do more than
that.'

'What?' he asked.

'I could unravel the carpet,' said Lucy, with deep solemnity.

'But it's me that's got to do it,' Philip urged.

'Every citizen is bound to help, if called in,' Lucy reminded him. 'And
I suppose a princess _is_ a citizen.'

'Perhaps I can do it by myself,' said Philip.

'Try,' said Lucy, and sat down on the steps, her fairy skirts spreading
out round her like a white double hollyhock.

He tried. He went back and looked at the great coarse cables of the
carpet. He could see no end to the cables, no beginning to his task. And
Lucy just went on sitting there like a white hollyhock. And time went
on, and presently became, rather urgently, dinner-time.

So he went back to Lucy and said:

'All right, you can show me how to do it, if you like.'

But Lucy replied:

'Not much! If you want me to help you with _this_, you'll have to
promise to let me help in all the other things. And you'll have to _ask_
me to help--ask me politely too.'

'I shan't then,' said Philip. But in the end he had to--politely also.

'With pleasure,' said Lucy, the moment he asked her, and he could see
she had been making up what she should answer, while he was making up
his mind to ask. 'I shall be delighted to help you in this and all the
other tasks. Say yes.'

'Yes,' said Philip, who was very hungry.

'"In this and all the other tasks" say.'

'In this and all the other tasks,' he said. 'Go on. How can we do it?'

'It's _crochet_,' Lucy giggled. 'It's a little crochet mat I'd made of
red wool; and I put it in the hall that night. You've just got to find
the end and pull, and it all comes undone. You just want to find the end
and pull.'

'It's too heavy for us to pull.'

'Well,' said Lucy, who had certainly had time to think everything out,
'you get one of those twisty round things they pull boats out of the sea
with, and I'll find the end while you're getting it.'

She ran up the steps and Philip looked round the buildings on the other
three sides of the square, to see if any one of them looked like a
capstan shop, for he understood, as of course you also have done, that a
capstan was what Lucy meant.

On a building almost opposite he read, 'Naval Necessaries Supply
Company,' and he ran across to it.

'Rather,' said the secretary of the company, a plump sailor-doll, when
Philip had explained his needs. 'I'll send a dozen men over at once.
Only too proud to help, Sir Philip. The navy is always keen on helping
valour and beauty.'

'I want to be brave,' said Philip, 'but I'd rather not be beautiful.'

'Of course not,' said the secretary; and added surprisingly, 'I meant
the Lady Lucy.'

'Oh!' said Philip.

So twelve bluejackets and a capstan outside the Hall of Public
Amusements were soon the centre of a cheering crowd. Lucy had found the
end of the rope, and two sailors dragged it out and attached it to the
capstan, and then--round and round with a will and a breathless
chanty--the carpet was swiftly unravelled. Dozens of eager helpers stood
on the parts of the carpet which were not being unravelled, to keep it
steady while the pulling went on.

The news of Philip's success spread like wild-fire through the city, and
the crowds gathered thicker and thicker. The great doors beyond the
pillars with the birds on them were thrown open, and Mr. Noah and the
principal citizens stood there to see the end of the unravelling.

'Bravo!' said every one in tremendous enthusiasm. 'Bravo! Sir Philip.'

'It wasn't me,' said Philip difficultly, when the crowd paused for
breath; 'it was Lucy thought of it.'

'Bravo! Bravo!' shouted the crowd louder than ever. 'Bravo, for the Lady
Lucy! Bravo for Sir Philip, the modest truth-teller!'

[Illustration: So, all down the wide clear floor, Lucy danced.]

'Bravo, my dear,' said Mr. Noah, waving his hat and thumping Lucy on the
back.

'I'm awfully glad I thought of it,' she said; 'that makes two deeds Sir
Philip's done, doesn't it? Two out of the seven.'

'Yes, indeed,' said Mr. Noah enthusiastically. 'I must make him a
baronet now. His title will grow grander with each deed. There's an old
prophecy that the person who finds out how to unravel the carpet must be
the first to dance in the Hall of Public Amusements.

'The clever one, the noble one,
Who makes the carpet come undone,
Shall be the first to dance a measure
Within the Hall of public pleasure.

I suppose public _amusement_ was too difficult a rhyme even for these
highly-skilled poets, our astrologers. You, my child, seem to have been
well inspired in your choice of a costume. Dance, then, my Lady Lucy,
and let the prophecy be fulfilled.'

So, all down the wide clear floor of the Hall of Public Amusement, Lucy
danced. And the people of the city looked on and applauded, Philip with
the rest.




CHAPTER VI

THE LIONS IN THE DESERT


'But why?' asked Philip at dinner, which was no painted wonder of wooden
make-believe, but real roast guinea-fowl and angel pudding, 'Why do you
only have wooden things to eat at your banquets?'

'Banquets are extremely important occasions,' said Mr. Noah, 'and real
food--food that you can eat and enjoy--only serves to distract the mind
from the serious affairs of life. Many of the most successful caterers
in your world have grasped this great truth.'

'But why,' Lucy asked, 'do you have the big silver bowls with nothing in
them?'

Mr. Noah sighed. 'The bowls are for dessert,' he said.

'But there isn't any dessert _in_ them,' Lucy objected.

'No,' said Mr. Noah, sighing again, 'that's just it. There is no
dessert. There has never been any dessert. Will you have a little more
angel pudding?'

It was quite plain to Lucy and Philip that Mr. Noah wished to change the
subject, which, for some reason, was a sad one, and with true politeness
they both said 'Yes, please,' to the angel pudding offer, though they
had already had quite as much as they really needed.

After dinner Mr. Noah took them for a walk through the town, 'to see the
factories,' he said. This surprised Philip, who had been taught not to
build factories with his bricks because factories were so ugly, but the
factories turned out to be pleasant, long, low houses, with tall French
windows opening into gardens of roses, where people of all nations made
beautiful and useful things, and loved making them. And all the people
who were making them looked clean and happy.

'I wish we had factories like those,' Philip said. 'Our factories _are_
so ugly. Helen says so.'

'That's because all your factories are _money_ factories,' said Mr.
Noah, 'though they're called by all sorts of different names. Every one
here has to make something that isn't just money or _for_
money--something useful _and_ beautiful.'

'Even you?' said Lucy.

'Even I,' said Mr. Noah.

'What do you make?' the question was bound to come.

'Laws, of course,' Mr. Noah answered in some surprise. 'Didn't you know
I was the Chief Judge?'

'But laws can't be useful and beautiful, can they?'

'They can certainly be useful,' said Mr. Noah, 'and,' he added with
modest pride, 'my laws are beautiful. What do you think of this?
"Everybody must try to be kind to everybody else. Any one who has been
unkind must be sorry and say so."'

'It seems all right,' said Philip, 'but it's not exactly beautiful.'

'Oh, don't you think so?' said Mr. Noah, a little hurt; 'it mayn't
_sound_ beautiful perhaps--I never could write poetry--but it's quite
beautiful when people do it.'

'Oh, if you mean your laws are beautiful when they're _kept_,' said
Philip.

'Beautiful things can't be beautiful when they're broken, of course,'
Mr. Noah explained. 'Not even laws. But ugly laws are only beautiful
when they _are_ broken. That's odd, isn't it? Laws are very tricky
things.'

'I say,' Philip said suddenly, as they climbed one of the steep flights
of steps between trees in pots, 'couldn't we do another of the deeds
now? I don't feel as if I'd really done anything to-day at all. It was
Lucy who did the carpet. Do tell us the next deed.'

'The next deed,' Mr. Noah answered, 'will probably take some time.
There's no reason why you should not begin it to-day if you like. It is
a deed peculiarly suited to a baronet. I don't know why,' he added
hastily; 'it may be that it is the only thing that baronets are good
for. I shouldn't wonder. The existence of baronets,' he added musingly,
'has always seemed to the thoughtful to lack justification. Perhaps this
deed which you will begin to-day is the wise end to which baronets were
designed.'

'Yes, I daresay,' said Philip; 'but what is the end?'

'I don't know,' Mr. Noah owned, 'but I'll tell you what the _deed_ is.
You've got to journey to the land of the Dwellers by the Sea and, by any
means that may commend itself to you, slay their fear.'

Philip naturally asked what the Dwellers by the Sea were afraid of.

'That you will learn from them,' said Mr. Noah; 'but it is a very great
fear.'

'Is it something we shall be afraid of _too_?' Lucy asked. And Philip at
once said, 'Oh, then she really did mean to come, did she? But she
wasn't to if she was afraid. Girls weren't expected to be brave.'

'They _are_, here,' said Mr. Noah, 'the girls are expected to be brave
and the boys kind.'

'Oh,' said Philip doubtfully. And Lucy said:

'Of course I meant to come. You know you promised.'

So that was settled.

'And now,' said Mr. Noah, rubbing his hands with the cheerful air of one
who has a great deal to do and is going to enjoy doing it, 'we must fit
you out a proper expedition, for the Dwellers by the Sea are a very long
way off. What would you like to ride on?'

'A horse,' said Philip, truly pleased. He said horse, because he did not
want to ride a donkey, and he had never seen any one ride any animal but
these two.

'That's right,' Mr. Noah said, patting him on the back. 'I _was_ so
afraid you'd ask for a bicycle. And there's a dreadful law here--it was
made by mistake, but there it is--that if any one asks for machinery
they have to have it and keep on using it. But as to a horse. Well, I'm
not sure. You see, you have to ride right across the pebbly waste, and
it's a good three days' journey. But come along to the stables.'

You know the kind of stables they would be? The long shed with stalls
such as you had, when you were little, for your little wooden horses and
carts? Only there were not only horses here, but every sort of animal
that has ever been ridden on. Elephants, camels, donkeys, mules, bulls,
goats, zebras, tortoises, ostriches, bisons, and pigs. And in the last
stall of all, which was not of common wood but of beaten silver, stood
the very Hippogriff himself, with his long, white mane and his long,
white tail, and his gentle, beautiful eyes. His long, white wings were
folded neatly on his satin-smooth back, and how he and the stall got
here was more than Philip could guess. All the others were Noah's Ark
animals, alive, of course, but still Noah's Arky beyond possibility of
mistake. But the Hippogriff was not Noah's Ark at all.

'He came,' Mr. Noah explained, 'out of a book. One of the books you used
to build your city with.'

'Can't we have _him_?' Lucy said; 'he looks such a darling.' And the
Hippogriff turned his white velvet nose and nuzzled against her in
affectionate acknowledgment of the compliment.

'Not if you both go,' Mr. Noah explained. 'He cannot carry more than one
person at a time unless one is an Earl. No, if I may advise, I should
say go by camel.'

'Can the camel carry two?'

'Of course. He is called the ship of the desert,' Mr. Noah informed
them, 'and a ship that wouldn't carry more than one would be simply
silly.'

So _that_ was settled. Mr. Noah himself saddled and bridled the camel,
which was a very large one, with his own hands.

'Let me see,' he said, standing thoughtful with the lead rope in his
hand, 'you'll be wanting dogs--'

'I _always_ want dogs,' said Philip warmly.

'--to use in emergencies.' He whistled and two Noah's Ark dogs leaped
from their kennels to their chains' end. They were dachshunds, very long
and low, and very alike except that one was a little bigger and a little
browner than the other.

'This is your master and that's your mistress,' Mr. Noah explained to
the dogs, and they fawned round the children.

'Then you'll want things to eat and things to drink and tents and
umbrellas in case of bad weather, and---- But let's turn down this
street; just at the corner we shall find exactly what we want.'

It was a shop that said outside 'Universal Provider. Expeditions fitted
out at a moment's notice. Punctuality and dispatch.' The shopkeeper came
forward politely. He was so exactly like Mr. Noah that the children knew
who he was even before he said, 'Well, father,' and Mr. Noah said, 'This
is my son: he has had some experience in outfits.'

'What have you got to start with?' the son asked, getting to business at
once.

'Two dogs, two children, and a camel,' said Mr. Noah. 'Yes, I know it's
customary to have two of everything, but I assure you, my dear boy, that
one camel is as much as Sir Philip can manage. It is indeed.'

Mr. Noah's son very dutifully supposed that his father knew best and
willingly agreed to provide everything that was needed for the
expedition, including one best-quality talking parrot, and to deliver
all goods, carefully packed, within half an hour.

. . . . . . .

So now you see Philip, and Lucy who still wore her fairy dress, packed
with all their belongings on the top of a very large and wobbly camel,
and being led out of the city by the usual procession, with seven bands
of music all playing 'See the Conquering Hero goes,' quite a different
tune from the one you know, which has a name a little like that.

The camel and its load were rather a tight fit for the particular
gateway that they happened to go out by, and the children had to stoop
to avoid scraping their heads against the top of the arch. But they got
through all right, and now they were well on the road which was really
little more than a field path running through the flowery meadow country
where the dragon had been killed. They saw the Stonehenge ruins and the
big tower far away to the left, and in front lay the vast and
interesting expanse of the Absolutely Unknown.

The sun was shining--there was a sun, and Mr. Noah had told the
children that it came out of the poetry books, together with rain and
flowers and the changing seasons--and in spite of the strange,
almost-tumble-no-it's-all-right-but-you'd-better-look-out way in which
the camel walked, the two travellers were very happy. The dogs bounded
along in the best of spirits, and even the camel seemed less a prey than
usual to that proud melancholy which you must have noticed in your
visits to the Zoo as his most striking quality.

It was certainly very grand to ride on a camel, and Lucy tried not to
think how difficult it would be to get on and off. The parrot was
interesting too. It talked extremely well. Of course you understand
that, if you can only make a parrot understand, it can tell you
everything you want to know about other animals; because it understands
_their_ talk quite naturally and without being made. The present parrot
declined ordinary conversation, and when questioned only recited poetry
of a rather dull kind that went on and on. 'Arms and the man I sing' it
began, and then something about haughty Juno. Its voice was soothing,
and riding on the camel was not unlike being rocked in a very bumpety
cradle. The children were securely seated in things like padded
panniers, and they had had an exciting day. As the sun set, which it did
quite soon, the parrot called out to the nearest dog, 'I say, Max,
they're asleep.'

[Illustration: On the top of a very large and wobbly camel.]

'I don't wonder,' said Max. 'But it's all right. Humpty knows the way.'

'Keep a civil tongue in your head, you young dog, can't you?' said the
camel grumpily.

'Don't be cross, darling,' said the other dog, whose name was Brenda,
'and be sure you stop at a really first-class oasis for the night. But I
know we can trust _you_, dear.'

The camel muttered that it was all very well, but his voice was not
quite as cross as before.

After that the expedition went on in silence through the deepening
twilight.

A tumbling, shaking, dumping sensation, more like a soft railway
accident than anything else, awakened our travellers, and they found
that the camel was kneeling down.

'Off you come,' said the parrot, 'and make the fire and boil the
kettle.'

'Polly put the kettle on,' Lucy said absently, as she slid down to the
ground; to which the parrot replied, 'Certainly not. I wish you wouldn't
rake up that old story. It was quite false. I never did put a kettle on,
and I never will.'

Why should I describe to you the adventure of camping at an oasis in a
desert? You must all have done it many times; or if you have not done
it, you have read about it. You know all about the well and the palm
trees and the dates and things. They had cocoa for supper. It was great
fun, and they slept soundly and awoke in the morning with a heart for
any fate, as a respectable poet puts it.

The next day was just the same as the first, only instead of going
through fresh green fields, the way lay through dry yellow desert. And
again the children slept, and again the camel chose an oasis with
remarkable taste and judgment. But the second night was not at all the
same as the first. For in the middle of it the parrot awakened Philip by
biting his ear, and then hopping to a safe distance from his awakening
fists and crying out, 'Make up the camp fire--look alive. It's lions.'
The dogs were whining and barking, and Brenda was earnestly trying to
climb a palm tree. Max faced the danger, it is true, but he seemed to
have no real love of sport.

Philip sprang up and heaped dead palm scales and leaves on the dying
fire. It blazed up and something moved beyond the bushes. Philip
wondered whether those pairs of shining things, like strayed stars, that
he saw in the darkness, could really be the eyes of lions.

'What a nuisance these lions are to be sure,' said the parrot. 'No, they
won't come near us while the fire's burning, but really, they ought to
be put down by law.'

'Why doesn't somebody kill them?' Lucy asked. She had wakened when
Philip did, and, after a meditative minute, had helped with the palm
scales and things.

'It's not so easy,' said the parrot; 'nobody knows how to do it. How
would _you_ kill a lion?'

'_I_ don't know,' said Philip; but Lucy said, 'Are they Noah's Ark
lions?'

'Of course they are,' said Polly; 'all the books with lions in them are
kept shut up.'

'I know how you could kill Noah's Ark lions if you could catch them,'
Lucy said.

'It's easy enough to catch them,' said Polly; 'an hour after dawn they
go to sleep, but it's unsportsmanlike to kill game when it's asleep.'

'I'm going to think, if you don't mind,' Lucy announced, and sat down
very near the fire. 'It's just the opposite of the dragon,' she said
after a minute. The parrot nodded and there was a long silence. Then
suddenly Lucy jumped up.

'I know,' she cried, 'oh--I really _do_ know. And it won't hurt them
either. I don't a bit mind killing things, but I do hate hurting them.
There's plenty of rope, I know.'

There was.

'Then when it's dawn we'll tie them up and then you'll see.'

'I think you might tell _me_,' said Philip, injured.

'No--they may understand what we say. Polly does.'

Philip made a natural suggestion. But Lucy replied that it was not
manners to whisper, and the parrot said that it should think not indeed.

So, sitting by the fire, all faces turned to where those strange twin
stars shone and those strange hidden movements and rustlings stirred,
the expedition waited for the dawn. Brenda had given up the
tree-climbing idea, and was cuddling up as close to Lucy as possible.
The camel, who had been trembling with fear all the while, tried to
cuddle up to Philip, which would have been easier if it had been a
smaller kind instead of being, as it was, what Mr. Noah's son, the
Universal Provider, had called, 'an out size in camels.'

And presently dawn came, not slow and silvery as dawns come here, but
sudden and red, with strong level lights and the shadows of the palm
trees stretching all across the desert.

In broad daylight it did not seem so hard to have to go and look for the
lions. They all went--even the camel pulled himself together to join the
lion-hunt, and Brenda herself decided to come rather than be left alone.

The lions were easily found. There were only two of them, of course, and
they were lying close together, each on its tawny side on the sandy
desert at the edge of the oasis.

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