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 HOW TO READ A PRIMARY SOURCE

T his sourcebook is composed of sixty-seven primary sources. A primary source is any­

text, image, or other source of information that gives us a firsthand account of the past
by someone who witnessed or participated in the historical events in question. Although
such sources can provide significant and fascinating insight into the past, they must also be
read carefully to limit modern assumptions about historical modes of thought. Here are a
few elements to keep in mind when approaching a primary source.

AUTHORSHIP

Who produced this source of information? A male or a female? A member of the elite or of
the lower class? An outsider looking in at an event or an insider looking out? What profes-
sion or lifestyle does the author pursue, which might influence how he is recording his
information?

GENRE

What type of source are you examining? Different genres—categories of material—have

different goals and stylistic elements. For example, a personal letter meant exclusively for
the eyes of a distant cousin might include unveiled opinions and relatively trivial pieces of
information, like the writer’s vacation plans. On the other hand, a political speech in-
tended to convince a nation of a leader’s point of view might subdue personal opinions
beneath artful rhetoric and focus on large issues like national welfare or war. Identifying
genre can be useful for deducing how the source may have been received by an audience.

AUDIENCE

Who is reading, listening to, or observing the source? Is it a public or private audience?
National or international? Religious or nonreligious? The source may be geared toward the
expectations of a particular group; it may be recorded in a language that is specific to a

vii

00-Backman-FM.indd 7 24/09/15 1:53 PM

 viii how to read a primary source

particular group. Identifying audience can help us understand why the author chose a
certain tone or why he included certain types of information.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT

When and why was this source produced? On what date? For what purposes? What histori-
cal moment does the source address? It is paramount that we approach primary sources in
context to avoid anachronism (attributing an idea or habit to a past era where it does not
belong) and faulty judgment. For example, when considering a medieval history, we must
account for the fact that in the Middle Ages, the widespread understanding was that God
created the world and could still interfere in the activity of mankind—such as sending a
terrible storm when a community had sinned. Knowing the context (Christian, medieval,
views of the world) helps us to avoid importing modern assumptions—like the fact that
storms are caused by atmospheric pressure—into historical texts. In this way, we can read
the source more faithfully, carefully, and generously.

BIAS AND FRAMING

Is there an overt argument being made by the source? Did the author have a particular
agenda? Did any political or social motives underlie the reasons for writing the document?
Does the document exhibit any qualities that offer clues about the author’s intentions?

ST YLISTIC ELEMENTS

Stylistic features such as tone, vocabulary, word choice, and the manner in which the ma-
terial is organized and presented should also be considered when examining a source.
They can provide insight into the writer’s perspective and offer additional context for con-
sidering a source in its entirety.

Clifford Backman
Christine Axen
Boston University

00-Backman-FM.indd 8 24/09/15 1:53 PM

 C H A P T ER 1

WATER AND SOIL, STONE AND METAL:

THE FIRST CIVILIZATIONS

1.1. SHAMASH HYMN, ca. 2000 –1600 b ce

Shamash, the Babylonian sun-god of justice, is the subject of this two-hundred-line ode. Depicted
as the god of gods, Shamash rules everything, all the way from the lesser divinities to the daily
practices of mortal merchants. In fact, the density of economic references in this religious hymn
corresponds to an economic boom during this era. Consider how the hymn depicts the powerful
god’s concern for the moral welfare of his devotees.

Shamash, at your arising mankind bows down,
[. . .] every land.
Illuminator, dispeller of darkness of the vault of
heavens,
Who sets aglow the beard of light, the corn field,
the life of the land.
Your splendor covers the vast mountains,
Your fierce light fills the lands to their limits.
You climb to the mountains surveying the earth,
You suspend from the heavens the circle of the
lands.
You care for all the peoples of the lands,
And everything that Ea [god of wisdom], king of
the counselors, had created is entrusted to you,
Whatever has breath you shepherd without
exception,
You are their keeper in upper and lower regions.
Regularly and without cease you traverse the
heavens,
Every day you pass over the broad earth. . . .
In the underworld you care for the counselors of
Kusu, the Anunnaki,
Above, you direct all the affairs of men,
Shepherd of that beneath, keeper of that above,
You, Shamash, direct, you are the light of
everything. . . .
Among all the Igigi there is none who toils but
you,

From Nels M. Bailkey and Richard Lim, eds. Readings in Ancient History: Thought and Experience from Gilgamesh to St. Augustine,
7th ed. Andover: Cengage Learning, 2011, pp. 25–8.

01-Backman-Chap01.indd 1 9/14/15 10:51 PM

 2 wat er a nd soil , s t on e a nd m e ta l: t he f ir s t ci v il i z at ions
None who is supreme like you in the whole
pantheon of gods.
At your rising the gods of the land assemble;
Your fierce glare covers the land.
Of all the lands of varied speech,
You know their plans, you can scan their way.
The whole of mankind bows to you,
Shamash, the universe longs for your light. . . .
You stand by the traveller, whose road is
difficult,
To the seafarer is dread of the waves you give [. . .]
It is you who patrol the unseen routes,
You constantly tread paths which confront
Shamash alone.
You save from the storm the merchant carrying
his capital,
The [. . .] who goes down to the ocean you equip
with wings.
You point out settling-places to refugees and
fugitives,
To the captive you point out routes that only
Shamash knows. . . .
A man who covets his neighbor’s wife
Will [. . .] before his appointed day.
A nasty snare is prepared for him [. . .]
Your weapon will strike at him, and there will be
none to save him.
...
The merchant who practices trickery as he holds
the corn measure,
Who weighs out loans of corn by the minimum
standard, but requires a large quantity in
repayment,
The curse of the people will overtake him before
his time,
S T U DY Q U E S T I O N S
1. Which specific groups is Shamash enjoined to thwart? Why?
2. How might the hymn be read as a warning to the living lugals in Sumerian culture?
01-Backman-Chap01.indd 2
If he demanded repayment before the agreed
date, there will be guilt upon him. . . .
The honest merchant who weighs out loans
of corn by the maximum standard, thus
multiplying kindness,
It is pleasing to Shamash, and he will prolong
his life.
He will enlarge his family, gain wealth,
And like the water of a never failing spring his
descendants will never fail. . . .
The progeny of evil-doers will fail.
Those whose mouth says “No”—their case is
before you.
In a moment you discern what they say;
You hear and examine them; you determine the
lawsuit of the wronged.
Every single person is entrusted to your hands;
You manage their omens; that which is perplexing
you make plain.
You observe, Shamash, prayer, supplication, and
benediction,
Obeisance, kneeling, ritual murmurs, and
prostration.
The feeble man calls you from the hollow of his
mouth,
The humble, the weak, the afflicted, the poor,
She whose son is captive constantly and
unceasingly confronts you. . . .
Which are the mountains not clothed with your
beams?
Which are the regions not warmed by the
brightness of your light?
Brightener of gloom, illuminator of darkness,
Dispeller of darkness, illuminator of the broad
earth.
9/14/15 10:51 PM
 1.2. “POEM OF THE RIGHTEOUS SUFFERER,”
c a . 2000 –1600 b ce

This religious lament was recorded in cuneiform (a pictograph, or picture-based, language written
with a stylus in clay that was developed ca. 3000 bce) by the Babylonians, who dominated the
Near East in the 3rd and 2nd millennia bce. The concept of a broken bond between man and the
gods, which is mourned here, was absorbed from the great Sumerian culture that preceded
the Babylonian Empire. The poignant, bitter lament reveals an individual trying to comprehend
the absence and silence of the god Marduk, who promises prosperity and joy to those who pray to
him, despite the individual’s adherence to traditional religious rite.

My god has forsaken me and disappeared,
My goddess has failed me and keeps at a
distance.
The benevolent angel who walked beside me has
departed,
My protecting spirit has taken to flight, and is
seeking someone else.
My strength is gone; my appearance has become
gloomy;
My dignity has flown away, my protecting made
off. . . .
The king, the flesh of the gods, the sun of his
peoples,
His heart is enraged with me, and cannot be
appeased.
The courtiers plot hostile action against me,
They assemble themselves and give utterance to
impious words. . . .
They combine against me in slander and lies.
My lordly mouth have they held as with reins,
So that I, whose lips used to prate, have become
like a mute.
My sonorous shout is reduced to silence,
My lofty head is bowed down to the ground,
Dread has enfeebled my robust heart. . . .
If I walk the street, ears are pricked;
If I enter the palace, eyes blink.
My city frowns on me as an enemy;
Indeed my land is savage and hostile.
My friend has become foe,
My companion has become a wretch and a devil. . . .
As I turn round, it is terrible, it is terrible;
My ill luck has increased, and I do not find the
right.
I called to my god, but he did not show his face,
I prayed to my goddess, but she did not raise her
head.
The diviner with his inspection has not got to the
root of the matter,
Nor has the dream priest with his libation
elucidated my case.
I sought the favour of the zaqiqu-spirit, but he did
not enlighten me;
And the incantation priest with his ritual did not
appease the divine wrath against me.
What strange conditions everywhere!
When I look behind, there is persecution, trouble.
Like one who has not made libations to his god,
Nor invoked his goddess at table,
Does not engage in prostration, nor takes
cognizance of bowing down;

From Nels M. Bailkey and Richard Lim, eds. Readings in Ancient History: Thought and Experience from Gilgamesh to St. Augustine,
7th ed. Andover: Cengage Learning, 2011, pp. 20–2.

01-Backman-Chap01.indd 3 9/14/15 10:51 PM

 4 wat er a nd soil , s t on e a nd m e ta l: t he f ir s t ci v il i z at ions
From whose mouth supplication and prayer is
lacking,
Who has done nothing on holy days, and
despised sabbaths,
Who in his negligence has despised the gods’ rites,
Has not taught his people reverence and worship,
But has eaten his food without invoking his god,
And abandoned his goddess by not bringing a
flour offering,
Like one who has grown torpid and forgotten his
lord,
Has frivolously sworn a solemn oath by his god,
like such a one do I appear.
For myself, I gave attention to supplication and
prayer:
To me prayer was discretion, sacrifice my rule.
The day for reverencing the god was a joy to my
heart;
The day of the goddess’s procession was profit
and gain to me.
The king’s prayer—that was my joy,
And the accompanying music became a delight
for me.
I instructed my land to keep the god’s rites,
And provoked my people to value the goddess’s
name.
I made praise for the king like a god’s
S T U DY Q U E S T I O N S
1. In what sense has the lugal failed to fulfill his role as protector?
2. What is the responsibility of the gods to this worshipper, and what can he do if the gods
renege on the contract?
01-Backman-Chap01.indd 4
And taught the populace reverence for the palace.
I wish I knew that these things were pleasing to
one’s god!
What is proper to oneself is an offence to one’s
god,
What in one’s heart seems despicable is proper to
one’s god.
Who knows the will of the gods in heaven?
Who understands the plans of the underworld
gods?
Where have mortals learnt the way of a god?
He who was alive yesterday is dead today.
For a minute he was dejected, suddenly he is
exuberant.
One moment people are singing in exaltation,
Another they groan like professional mourners.
Their condition changes like an opening and
shutting the legs.
When starving they become like corpses,
When replete they vie with the gods.
In prosperity they speak of scaling heaven,
Under adversity they complain of going down to
hell.
I am appalled at these things; I do not understand
their significance.
9/14/15 10:51 PM
 C H A P T ER 2

L AW GIVERS, EMPERORS, AND GODS:

THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST 1

2.1. “TALE OF SINUHE,” EARLIEST MS

c a . 1800 BCE

This Egyptian story recounts the adventures of Sinuhe, a member of a princely entourage, who
flees his homeland yet longs to return. This tale, which may be a historical account, describes
Sinuhe’s departure; a copy of the kingly decree calling him home is repeated; and his safe return
culminates in the promise that he will be buried among his own people. Consider how Sinuhe’s
identity is intertwined with his proximity to his homeland.

... Then he gave me water,

I travelled southwards.
I did not plan to reach this Residence,
expecting strife would happen;
I did not think to live after him.
...
Thirst’s attack overtook me,
and I was scorched, my throat parched.
I said, “This is the taste of death.”
But I lifted up my heart, and gathered my limbs
together,
as I heard the noise of cattle lowing, caught sight
of Syrians,
and a leader of theirs, who had once been
in Egypt, recognized me.
while he boiled milk for me.
I went with him to his tribe,
and what they did was good.
Country gave me to country.
I set out for Byblos; I got to Qedem.
I had spent half a year there,
when Amunenshi carried me off.
He was the ruler of upper Retjenu,
and he told me, “You’ll be happy with me,
for you’ll hear the speech of Egypt.”
He said this, knowing my character
and having heard of my understanding,
and the Egyptians who were with him there
had vouched for me.

Parkinson, R. B. 1997. The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Poems 1940–1640 bc (Oxford World Classics). Oxford:
1

Oxford University Press.

02-Backman-Chap02.indd 5 9/14/15 10:52 PM

 6 l aw gi v e r s, e m pe ror s, a n d gods: t he a ncie n t n e a r e a s t
Then he said to me, “Why did you come here?
Has anything happened in the Residence?”
Then I said to him, “It’s that the Dual King
Sehotepibre
has gone to the horizon,
and how this all happened is unknown.”
But I spoke in half-truths.
“I have come from the expedition to the Libyan
land:
it was reported to me, and my heart failed
and carried me off on the ways of flight.
I had not been talked of, and my face had not
been spat upon;
I had heard no reproaches; my name had not
been heard in the herald’s mouth.
I do not know what brought me to this country—
it is like a plan of God.”
...
Now, he is a God who is peerless,
before whom no other exists.
He is a lord of understanding, excellent of plans,
effective of orders;
coming and going are by his command.
He subjugates the countries.
His father stayed within his palace,
and he reported to him that what he had
ordained was done.
Now he is a hero, active with his strong arm,
a champion without compare,
seen descending on barbarians, approaching the
combat.
He curbs horns, weakens hands;
his foes cannot marshall troops.
He is vengeful, a smasher of foreheads;
close to him no one can stand.
He is far-striding, destroying the fugitive;
there is no end for the man who shows him his
back.
He is firm-hearted at the moment of forcing
retreat.
He turns back again and again; he shows not his
own back.
He is stout-hearted, seeing the masses;
he allows no rest around his heart.
...
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 6
He is a lord of kindness, great of sweetness.
Through love he has conquered.
His city loves him more than its own members;
it rejoices at him more than at its God.
Men and women pass by, exulting at him.
He is a king, who conquered in the egg,
his eyes on it from birth.
He makes those born with him plentiful.
He is unique, God-given.
How joyful this land, since he has ruled!
He extends its borders.
...
And he said unto me, “Well, Egypt is certainly
happy,
knowing of his success.
But look, you are here,
and you will stay with me; I shall do you good.”
He placed me at the head of his children.
He joined me to his eldest daughter.
He had me make my choice of his country,
from the choicest of what was his,
on his border with another country.
It was a good land,
called Iaa.
Figs were in it, and grapes;
its wine was more copious than its water;
great its honey, plentiful its moringa-oil,
with all kinds of fruit on its trees.
Barley was there, and emmer, and numberless
were its cattle of all kinds.
Now, what came to me as a favourite was great.
He appointed me the ruler of a tribe
of the choicest of his country.
...
I spent many years there,
and my children became heroes,
each man subjugating his tribe.
...
in his heart I attained high regard;
he loved me, knowing my valour.
He placed me at the head of his children, having
seen the strength of my arms.
...
For now God has acted so as to be gracious to one
with whom He was offended,
whom He led astray to another country.
9/14/15 10:52 PM

Today, He is satisfied.
A fugitive takes flight because of his surroundings;
but my reputation is in the Residence.
A creeping man creeps off because of hunger; but
I give bread to my neighbour.
A man leaves his land because of nakedness; but
I have bright linen, white linen.
A man runs off because of lack of someone to
send; but I am plentiful of serfs.
Good is my house, spacious my dwelling place,
and memory of me is in the palace.
Whatever God fated this flight—be gracious, and
bring me home!
Surely You will let me see the place where my
heart still stays!
What matters more than my being buried
in the land where I was born?
This is my prayer for help, that the good event befall,
that God give me grace!
May He act in this way, to make well the end of
someone whom He made helpless,
His heart sore for someone He compelled to live
in a foreign country!
...
Copy of the Decree Brought to This Humble
Servant about His Being Brought Back to Egypt:
“Horus Living-of-Incarnations;
Two Ladies Living-of-Incarnations;
Golden Horus Living-of-Incarnations;
Dual King Kheperkare;
Son of Re Senwosret
—may he live for all time and eternity!
Royal Decree to the Follower Sinuhe:
Look, this decree of the king is brought to you
to inform you that your roving through countries,
going from Qedem to Retjenu,
country giving you to country,
was at the counsel of your own heart.
What had you done, that you should be acted
against?
You had not cursed, that your speech should be
punished.
You had not spoken in the officials’ council, that
your utterances should be opposed.
This idea carried off your heart—
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 7
2.1. “Tale of Sinuhe,” Earliest MS ca. 1800 bce 7
it was not in my heart against you.
...
Return to Egypt!
And you will see the Residence where you grew up,
kiss the earth at the Great Portal,
and join the Friends.
For today you have already begun to be old, have
lost your virility,
and have in mind the day of burial,
the passing to blessedness.
A night vigil will be assigned to you, with holy oils
and wrappings from the hands of Tayet.
A funeral procession will be made for you on the
day of joining the earth,
with a mummy case of gold,
a mask of lapis lazuli,
a heaven over you, and you placed in a hearse,
with oxen dragging you,
and singers going before you.
...
Your death will not happen in a foreign country;
Asiatics will not lay you to rest;
you will not be put in a ram’s skin when your
coffin is made.
This is too long to be roaming the earth!
Think of your corpse—and return!
...
This flight which your humble servant made—
I had not planned it. It was not in my heart.
I had not thought of it. I know not what parted
me from my place.
It was like the nature of a dream,
like a Delta man seeing himself in Elephantine,
a man of the marshy lagoons in Southern Egypt.
I had no cause to be afraid; no one had run
after me.
I had heard no reproaches; my name had not
been heard in the herald’s mouth.
Only—that shuddering of my limbs,
my feet hastening,
my heart overmastering me,
the God who fated this flight dragging me away!
I was not presumptuous before,
for a man respects him who is acknowledged by
his land,
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 8 l aw gi v e r s, e m pe ror s, a n d gods: t he a ncie n t n e a r e a s t

and the Sungod has put respect for you in the midst of the pyramids.
throughout the land, The masons who construct the pyramid measured
and terror of you in every country. out its foundations;
Whether I am at home, the draughtsman drew in it;
whether I am in this place— the overseer of the works which are in the burial
it is you who veils this horizon of mine. grounds busied himself with it.
The sun shines for love of you; All equipment to be put in a tomb shaft—
the water of the river its share of these things was made.
is drunk when you wish; I was given funerary priests;
the air of heaven a funerary demesne was made for me,
is breathed when you say. with fields in it and a garden in its proper place,
... as is done for a Chief Friend.
I was given the house of a Governor, My image was overlaid with gold,
such as belongs to a Friend. and its kilt with electrum.
Many craftsmen were building it, It is his Majesty who has caused this to be done.
all its trees were freshly planted. There is no other lowly man for whom the like
Meals were brought to me from the was done.
palace, I was in the favours of the king’s giving,
three and four times a day, until the day of landing came.”
as well as what the royal children gave,
without making a moment’s ceasing. So it ends, from start to finish,
A pyramid of stone was built for me, as found in writing.

S T U DY Q U E S T I O N S

1. How does the document draw attention to international relations in Middle Kingdom Egypt
and the general view of outsiders in this culture?
2. Why do the gods of Egypt take special responsibility for the Nile, and in what terms do they
exercise that power?

2.2. “EPIC OF GILGAMESH,”

18TH CENTURY–7TH CENTURY b ce

A heroic epic about King Gilgamesh of Uruk (modern Iraq), this work is one of the earliest surviving
works of literature, from the origins of civilization in Mesopotamia. Accompanied by his friend
Enkidu, Gilgamesh embarks on adventures and interacts personally with the gods. After the death of
Enkidu as punishment for Gilgamesh’s rejection of the goddess Ishtar, the protagonist turns his focus
toward immortality. The Epic’s flood narrative is often compared with the Biblical tale of Noah.

From Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh, and Others. Ed. Stephanie Dalley. New York: Oxford University
Press, 1989, pp. 50–6, 71, 74, 77–84, 86–8, 95, 100–1, 107–19, 123–4.

02-Backman-Chap02.indd 8 9/14/15 10:52 PM

 2.2. “Epic of Gilgamesh,” 18th Century–7th Century bce
[Of him who] found out all things, I [shall te]ll
the land,
[Of him who] experienced everything, [I shall
tea]ch the whole.
He searched (?) the lands (?) everywhere.
He who experienced the whole gained complete
wisdom.
He found out what was secret and uncovered
what was hidden,
He brought back a tale of times before the Flood.
He had journeyed far and wide, weary and at last
resigned.
He engraved all toils on a memorial monument
of stone.
...
The story of that man, Gilgamesh, who went
through all kinds of sufferings.
He was superior to other kings, a warrior lord of
great stature,
A hero born of Uruk, a goring wild bull.
He marches at the front as leader,
He goes behind, the support of his brothers,
A strong net, the protection of his men,
The raging flood-wave, which can destroy even
a stone wall.
Son of Lugalbanda, Gilgamesh, perfect in
strength,
Son of the lofty cow, the wild cow Ninsun.
He is Gilgamesh, perfect splendor,
Who opened up passes in the mountains,
Who could dig pits even in the mountainside,
Who crossed the ocean, the broad seas, as far as
the sunrise.
Who inspected the edges of the world, kept
searching for eternal life,
Who reached Ut-napishtim the far-distant, by
force.
Who restored to their rightful place cult centres
(?) which the Flood had ruined.
There is nobody among the kings of teeming
humanity
Who can compare with him,
Who can say “I am king” beside Gilgamesh.
Gilgamesh (was) named from birth to fame.
Two-thirds of him was divine, and one-third
mortal.
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 9
9
...
He had no rival, and at his pukku
His weapons would rise up, his comrades have to
rise up.
The young men of Uruk became dejected in their
private [quarters(?)].
Gilgamesh would not leave any son alone for his
father.
Day and night his [behavior(?)] was overbearing.
He was the shepherd (?)[ ]
He was their shepherd (?) yet [ ]
Powerful, superb, [knowledgeable and expert],
Gilgamesh would not leave [young girls alone],
The daughters of warriors, the brides of young
men.
The gods often heard their complaints.
The gods of heaven [ ] the lord of Uruk.
“Did [Aruru (?)] create such a rampant wild
bull?
Is there no rival? At the pukku
His weapons rise up, his comrades have to
rise up.
Gilgamesh will not leave any son alone for
his father.
Day and night his [behaviour (?)] is
overbearing.
He is the shepherd of Uruk the Sheepfold,
He is their shepherd, yet [ ]
Powerful, superb, knowledgeable [and
expert],
Gilgamesh will not leave young girls [alone],
The daughters of warriors, the brides of
young men.
Anu often hears their complaints.”
They called upon great Aruru:
“You, Aruru, you created [mankind (?)]!
Now create someone for him, to match (?) the
ardour (?) of his energies!
Let them be regular rivals, and let Uruk be
allowed peace!”
When Aruru heard this, she created inside herself
the word (?) of Anu.
Aruru washed her hands, pinched off a piece of
clay, cast it out into open country.
She created a [primitive man], Enkidu the warrior:
offspring of silence (?), sky-bolt of Ninurta.
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 10 l aw gi v e r s, e m pe ror s, a n d gods: t he a ncie n t n e a r e a s t
His whole body was shaggy with hair, he was
furnished with tresses like woman,
His locks of hair grew luxuriant like grain.
He knew neither people nor country; he was
dressed as cattle are.
With gazelles he eats vegetation,
With cattle he quenches his thirst at the watering
place.
With wild beasts he presses forward for water.
...
Gilgamesh spoke to him, to the hunter,
“Go, hunter, lead forth the harlot Shamhat,
And when he approaches the cattle at the
watering place,
She must take off her clothes and reveal her
attractions.”
...
Then wild beasts arrived at the water; they
satisfied their need.
And he, Enkidu, whose origin is the mountain,
(Who) eats vegetation with gazelles,
Drinks (at) the watering place with cattle,
Satisfied his need for water with wild beasts.
Shamhat looked at the primitive man,
The murderous youth from the depths of open
country.
“Here he is, Shamhat, bare your bosom,
Open your legs and let him take in your
attractions!
Do not pull away, take wind of him!
He will see you and come close to you.
Spread open your garments, and let him lie
upon you,
Do it for him, the primitive man, as women do.
Then his cattle, who have grown up in open
country with him, will become alien to
him.
His love-making he will lavish upon you!”
Shamhat loosened her undergarments, opened
her legs and he took in her attractions.
She did not pull away. She took wind of him,
Spread open her garments, and he lay upon her.
She did for him, the primitive man, as women do.
His love-making he lavished upon her.
For six days and seven nights Enkidu was aroused
and poured himself into Shamhat.
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 10
When he was sated with her charms,
He set his face towards the open country of his
cattle.
The gazelles saw Enkidu and scattered,
The cattle of open country kept away from his
body.
For Enkidu had stripped (?); his body was too
clean.
His legs, which used to keep pace with (?) his
cattle, were at a standstill.
Enkidu had been diminished, he could not run as
before.
Yet he had acquired judgment (?), had become
wiser.
He turned back (?), he sat at the harlot’s feet.
The harlot was looking at his expression,
And he listened attentively to what the harlot
said.
The harlot spoke to him, to Enkidu,
“You have become [profound] Enkidu, you
have become like a god.
Why should you roam open country with
wild beasts?
Come, let me take you into Uruk the Sheepfold,
To the pure house, the dwelling of Anu and
Ishtar,
Where Gilgamesh is perfect in strength,
And is like a wild bull, more powerful than
(any of) the people.”
She spoke to him, and her speech was acceptable.
Knowing his own mind (now), he would seek for
a friend.
...
They stood at the edge of the forest,
Gazed and gazed at the height of the pines,
Gazed and gazed at the entrance to the pines,
Where Humbaba made tracks as he went to
and fro.
The paths were well trodden and the road was
excellent.
They beheld the Pine Mountain, dwelling-place of
gods, shrine of Irnini.
The pines held up their luxuriance even on the
face of the mountain.
Their shade was good, filling one with happiness.
Undergrowth burgeoned, entangling the forest.
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 2.2. “Epic of Gilgamesh,” 18th Century–7th Century bce
...
He struck (?) (his) head (?), and matched him [ ].
They stirred up the ground with the heels of their
feet,
Sirara and Lebanon were split apart at their
gyrations,
White clouds grew black,
Death dropped down over them like a fog.
Shamash summoned up great tempests against
Humbaba,
South Wind, North Wind, East Wind, West Wind,
Moaning Wind,
Gale, šaparziqqu-Wind, imhullu-Wind, . . . -Wind
Asakku, Wintry Wind, Tempest, Whirlwind,
Thirteen winds rose up at him and Humbaba’s
face grew dark.
He could not charge forwards, he could not run
backwards.
Thus the weapons of Gilgamesh succeeded
against Humbaba.
...
He washed his filthy hair, he cleaned his gear,
Shook out his locks over his back,
Threw away his dirty clothes and put on fresh
ones.
He clothes himself in robes and tied on a sash.
Gilgamesh put his crown on his head
And Ishtar the princess raised her eyes to the
beauty of Gilgamesh.
“Come to me, Gilgamesh, and be my lover!
Bestow on me the gift of your fruit!
You can be my husband, and I can be your
wife.
I shall have a chariot of lapis lazuli and gold
harnessed for you,
With wheels of gold, and horns of elmˉešu-
stone.”
...
Gilgamesh made his voice heard and spoke,
He said to Ishtar the princess,
“What could I give you if I possessed you?
I would give you body oil and garments,
I would give you food and sustenance.
Could I provide you with bread fit for gods?
Could I provide you with ale fit for kings?”
...
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 11
11
Which of your lovers [lasted] forever?
Which of your masterful paramours went to
heaven?
Come, let me [describe (?)] your lovers to you!
He of the sheep (?) [. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]
knew him:
For Dumuzi the lover of your youth
You decreed that he should keep weeping year
after year.
You loved the colourful allallu-bird,
But you hit him and broke his wing.
He stays in the woods crying “My wing!”
You loved the lion, whose strength is complete,
But you dug seven and seven pits for him.
You loved the horse, so trustworthy in battle,
But you decreed that he should gallop seven
leagues (non-stop),
You decreed that he should be overwrought and
thirsty,
You decreed endless weeping for his mother Sililu.
You loved the shepherd, herdsman, and chief
shepherd
Who was always heaping up the glowing ashes
for you,
And cooked ewe-lambs for you every day.
But you hit him and turned him into a wolf,
His own herd-boys hunt him down
And his dogs tear at his haunches.
You loved Ishullanu, your father’s gardener,
Who was always bringing you baskets of dates.
They brightened your table every day;
You lifted your eyes to him and went to him.
“My own Ishullanu, let us enjoy your strength,
So put out your hand and touch our vulva!”
But Ishullanu said to you,
“Me? What do you want of me?
Did my mother not bake for me, and did I
not eat?
What I eat (with you) would be loaves of
dishonor and disgrace,
Rushes would be my only covering against the cold.”
You listened as he said this,
And you hit him, turned him into a frog (?),
Left him to stay amid the fruits of his labours.
But the pole (?) goes up no more, [his] bucket
goes down no more.
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 12 l aw gi v e r s, e m pe ror s, a n d gods: t he a ncie n t n e a r e a s t
And how about me? You will love me and then
[treat me] just like them!”
When Ishtar heard this,
Ishtar was furious, and [went up] to heaven.
Ishtar went up and wept before her father Anu,
Her tears flowed before her mother Antu.
“Father, Gilgamesh has shamed me again and
again!
Gilgamesh spelt out to me my dishonour,
My dishonour and my disgrace.”
Any made his voice heard and spoke,
He said to the princess Ishtar,
“Why (?) didn’t you accuse Gilgamesh the
king for yourself,
Since Gilgamesh spelt out your dishonour,
Your dishonour and your disgrace?”
Ishtar made her voice heard and spoke,
She said to her father Anu,
“Father, please give me the Bull of Heaven,
and let me strike Gilgamesh down!
Let me . . . Gilgamesh in his dwelling!
If you don’t give me the Bull of Heaven,
I shall strike (?) [ ]
I shall set my face towards the infernal
regions,
I shall raise up the dead, and they will eat the
living,
I shall make the dead outnumber the living!”
...
At the snorting of the Bull of Heaven a chasm
opened up, and one hundred young men of
Uruk fell into it,
Two hundred young men, three hundred young
men.
At its second snorting another chasm opened up,
and another hundred young men of Uruk fell
into it,
Two hundred young men, three hundred young
men fell into it.
At its third snorting a chasm opened up,
And Enkidu fell into it.
But Enkidu leapt out. He seized the Bull of
Heaven by the horns.
The Bull of Heaven blew spittle into his face,
With its thick tail it whipped up its dung.
...
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 12
Then Gilgamesh, like a but[cher (?)] heroic and
[]
Plunged his sword in between the base of the
horns and the neck tendons.
When they had struck down the Bull of Heaven
they pulled out its innards,
Set them before Shamash,
Backed away and prostrated themselves before
Shamash.
Then the two brothers sat down.
Ishtar went up on to the wall of Uruk the
Sheepfold.
She was contorted with rage, she hurled down
curses,
“That man, Gilgamesh, who reviled me has
killed the Bull of Heaven!”
Enkidu listened to Ishtar saying this,
And he pulled out the Bull of Heaven’s shoulder
and slapped it into her face:
“If I could only get at you as that does,
I would do the same to you myself,
I would hand its intestines on your arms!”
...
Then daylight came. [And] Enkidu said to
Gilgamesh,
“O my brother, what a dream [I saw] last
night!
Anu, Elil, Ea, and heavenly Shamash [were in
the assembly].
And Anu said to Ellil, ‘As they have slain the
Bull of Heaven,
So too they have slain Huwawa, who [guarded]
the mountains pla[nted] with pines.’ ”
And Anu said, “One of them [must die].”
Ellil replied: “Let Enkidu die, but let Gilgamesh
not die.”
Then heavenly Shamash said to valiant Ellil,
“Was it not according to your word that they slew
the Bull of Heaven and Huwawa? Should now
innocent Enkidu die?”
But Ellil turned in anger to heavenly Shamash
saying,
“(The fact is), you accompanied them daily, like
one of their comrades.”
Enkidu lay down before Gilgamesh, his tears
flowing like streams.
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 2.2. “Epic of Gilgamesh,” 18th Century–7th Century bce
“O my brother, my brother is so dear to me.
But they are taking me from my brother.”
And: “I shall sit among the dead, I shall [ ] the
threshold of the dead;
Never again [shall I see] my dear brother with my
own eyes.”
...
He decided to curse the harlot too.
“Come, Shamhat, I shall fix a fate for you!
[Curses(?)] shall not cease for ever and ever.
I shall curse you with a great curse!
Straight away my curses shall rise up against
you!
You shall never make your house voluptuous
again,
You shall not release [ ] of your young bulls,
You shall not let them into the girls’ rooms.
Filth shall impregnate your lovely lap (?),
The drunkard shall soak your party dress
with vomit,
...
You shall never obtain the best cosmetic [oil (?),]
Bright silver, people’s affluence, shall not
accumulate in your house,
...
The crossroads (?) shall be your only sitting
place,
Waste ground your only lying place, the shade
of a city wall your only sitting place.
Thorns and spikes shall skin your feet,
The drunkard and the thirsty shall slap your
cheek,
...
Because you defiled me when I was pure,
Because you seduced me in the open country
when I was pure.”
Shamash heard the utterance of his mouth.
Immediately a loud voice called down to him
from the sky:
“Enkidu, why are you cursing my harlot
Shamhat,
Who fed you on food fit for gods,
Gave you ale to drink, fit for kings,
Clothed you with a great robe,
Then provided you with Gilgamesh for a fine
partner?
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 13
13
And now Gilgamesh, the friend who is a
brother to you
Will lay you to rest on a great bed
And lay you to resent on a bed of loving care,
And let you stay in a restful dwelling, the
dwelling on the left.
Prices of the earth will kiss your feet.
He will make the people of Uruk weep for
you, mourn for you,
Will fill the proud people with woe,
And he himself will neglect his appearance
after you(r death).
Clothed only in a lionskin, he will roam the
open country.”
Enkidu listened to the speech of Shamash the
warrior.
[His anger abated (?)]; his heart became quiet
(about 2 lines missing)
“Come, Shamhat, I shall change your fate!
My utterance, which cursed you, shall bless
you instead.
Governors and princes shall love you,
The single-league man shall smite his thigh
(for you),
The double-league man shall shake out his
locks (for you).
The herdsman shall not hold back for you, he
shall undo his belt for you.
He shall give you ivory, lapis lazuli, and gold,
Rings (and) brooches (?) shall be presents for
you.
...
Gilgamesh mourned bitterly for Enkidu his friend,
And roamed open country.
“Shall I die too? Am I not like Enkidu?
Grief has entered my innermost being,
I am afraid of Death, and so I roam open
country.
I shall take the road and go quickly
To see Ut-napishtim, son of Ubara-Tutu.
...
[Gilgamesh spoke to her, to Siduri the alewife],
“[How could my cheeks not be wasted, nor my
face dejected],
[Nor my heart wretched, nor my appearance
worn out],
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 14 l aw gi v e r s, e m pe ror s, a n d gods: t he a ncie n t n e a r e a s t
[Nor my grief in my innermost being],
[Nor my face like that of a long-distance
traveller],
[Nor my face weathered by cold and heat . . .],
[Nor roaming open country, clad only in a
lionskin?]
[My friend whom I love so much, who
experienced every hardship with me],
[Enkidu, whom I love so much, who
experienced every hardship with me—]
[The fate of mortals conquered him!] Six days
[and seven nights I wept over him],
[I did not allow him to] be buried, [until a
worm fell out of his nose].
[I was frightened and].
I am afraid of Death, [and so I roam open
country].
The words of my friend [weigh upon me].
[I roam open country] for long distances; the
words of my friend Enkidu weigh upon me.
I roam open country on long journeys.
[How, O how] could I stay silent, how, O how
could I keep quiet [ ]?
My friend whom I love has turned to clay:
Enkidu my friend whom I love [has turned to
clay.]
Am I not like him? Must I lie down too,
Never to rise, ever again?”
Ut-napishtim spoke to him, to Gilgamesh,
“Why do you prolong grief, Gilgamesh?
Since [the gods made you] from the flesh of
gods and mankind,
Since [the gods] made you like your father
and mother,
[Death is inevitable (?)] at some time, both
for Gilgamesh and for a fool,
But a throne is set down [for you (?)] in the
assembly [ ].
...
[Why (?)] have you exerted yourself? What
have you achieved (?)?
You have made yourself weary for lack of
sleep,
You only fill your flesh with grief,
You only bring the distant days (of reckoning)
closer.
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 14
Mankind’s fame is cut down like reeds in a
reed-bed.
...
Nobody sees Death,
Nobody sees the face of Death,
Nobody hears the voice of Death.
Savage Death just cuts mankind down.
Sometimes we build a house, sometimes we
make a nest,
But then brothers divide it upon inheritance.
Sometimes there is hostility in [the land],
But then the river rises and brings flood-water.
Dragonflies drift on the river,
Their faces look upon the face of the Sun.
(But then) suddenly there is nothing.
The sleeping (?) and the dead are just like
each other,
Death’s picture cannot be drawn.
The primitive man (is as any) young man (?).
When they blessed me,
The Anunnaki, the great gods, assembled;
Mammitum who creates fate decreed
destinies with them.
They appointed death and life.
They did not mark out days for death,
But they did so for life.”
...
Ut-napishtim spoke to him, to Gilgamesh,
“Let me reveal to you a closely guarded
matter, Gilgamesh,
And let me tell you the secret of the gods.
Shuruppak is a city that you yourself know,
Situated [on the bank of] the Euphrates.
That city was already old when the gods
within it
Decided that the great gods should make
a flood.
There was Anu their father,
Warrior Ellil their counsellor,
Ninurta was their chamberlain,
Enuugi their canal-controller.
Far-sighted Ea swore the oath (of secrecy)
with them,
So he repeated their speech to a reed hut,
“Reed hut, reed hut, brick wall, brick wall,
Listen, reed hut, and pay attention, brick wall:
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 2.2. “Epic of Gilgamesh,” 18th Century–7th Century bce
(This is the message:)
‘Man of Shuruppak, son of Ubara-Tutu,
Dismantle your house, build a boat.
Leave possessions, search out living things.
Reject chattels and save lives!
Put aboard the seed of all living things, into
the boat.
The boat that you are to build
Shall have her dimensions in proportion,
Her width and length shall be in harmony,
Roof her like the Apsu.’
I realized and spoke to my master Ea,
‘I have paid attention to the words that you
spoke in this way,
My master, and I shall act upon them.
But how can I explain myself to the city, the
men and the elders?’
Ea made his voice heard and spoke,
He said to me, his servant,
‘You shall speak to them thus:
“I think that Ellil has rejected me,
And so I cannot stay in your city,
And I cannot set foot in Ellil’s land again.” ’
...
When the first light of dawn appeared
The country gathered about me.
The carpenter brought his axe,
The reed-worker brought his stone,
...
On the fifth day I laid down her form.
One acre was her circumference, ten poles
each the height of her walls,
Her top edge was likewise ten poles all round.
I laid down her structure, drew it out,
Gave her six decks,
Divided her into seven.
Her middle I divided into nine,
Drove the water pegs into her middle.
I saw to the paddles and put down what was
needed:
Three sar of bitumen I poured into the kiln,
Three sar of pitch I poured into the inside.
Three sar of oil they fetched, the workmen
who carried the baskets.
Not counting the sar of oil which the dust (?)
soaked up,
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 15
15
The boatman stowed away two more sar of oil.
At the [ ] I slaughtered oxen.
I sacrificed sheep every day.
I gave the workmen ale and beer to drink,
Oil and wine as if they were river water
They made a feast, like the New Year’s Day
festival.
When the sun [rose (?)] I provided hand oil.
[When] the sun went down the boat was
complete.
[The launching was (?)] very difficult;
Launching rollers had to be fetched (from)
above (to) below.
Two-thirds of it [stood clear of the water line
(?)].
I loaded her with everything there was,
Loaded her with all the silver,
Loaded her with all the gold
Loaded her with all the seed of living things,
all of them.
I put on board the boat all my kith and kin.
Put on board cattle from open country, wild
beasts from open country, all kinds of
craftsmen.
...
When the first light of dawn appeared,
A black cloud came up from the base of the sky.
Adad kept rumbling inside it.
Shullat and Hanish were marching ahead,
Marched as chamberlains (over) (?) mountain
and country.
Erakal pulled out the mooring (?) poles,
Ninurta marched on and made the weir(s)
overflow.
The Anunnaki had to carry torches,
They lit up the land with their brightness.
The calm before the Storm-god came over the sky,
Everything light turned to darkness.
[]
On the first day the tempest [rose up],
Blew swiftly and [brought (?) the flood-weapon],
Like a battle force [the destructive kašūšu-weapon]
passed over [the people]
No man could see his fellow,
Now could people be distinguished from the sky.
Even the gods were afraid of the flood-weapon.
9/14/15 10:52 PM
 16 l aw gi v e r s, e m pe ror s, a n d gods: t he a ncie n t n e a r e a s t
They withdrew; they went up to the heaven of Anu.
The gods cowered, like dogs crouched by an
outside wall.
Ishtar screamed like a woman giving birth;
The Mistress of the Gods, sweet of voice, was
wailing,
“Has that time really returned to clay,
Because I spoke evil in the gods’ assembly?
How could I have spoken such evil in the gods’
assembly?
I should have (?) ordered a battle to destroy my
people;
I myself gave birth (to them), they are my own
people,
Yet they fill the sea like fish spawn!”
The gods of Anunnaki were weeping with her.
The gods, humbled, sat there weeping.
Their lips were closed and covered with scab.
For six days and [seven (?)] nights
The wind blew, flood and tempest overwhelmed
the land;
When the seventh day arrived the tempest, flood
and onslaught
Which had struggled like a woman in labour,
blew themselves out (?).
The sea became calm, the imhullu-wind grew
quiet, the flood held back.
I looked at the weather; silence reigned,
For all mankind had returned to clay.
The flood-plain was flat as a roof.
I opened a porthole and light fell on my cheeks.
I bent down, then sat. I wept.
My tears ran down my cheeks.
I looked for banks, for limits to the sea.
Areas of land were emerging everywhere (?).
The boat had come to rest on Mount Nimush.
...
When the seventh day I arrived,
I put out and released a dove.
The dove went; it came back,
For no perching place was visible to it, and it
turned around.
I put out and released a swallow.
The swallow went; it came back,
For no perching place was visible to it, and it
turned round.
02-Backman-Chap02.indd 16
I put out and released a raven.
The raven went, and saw the waters receding.
And it ate, preened (?), lifted its tail and did not
turn round.
Then I put (everything ?) out to the four winds,
and I made a sacrifice,
Set out a surqinnu-offering upon the mountain
peak,
Arranged the jars seven and seven;
Into the bottom of them I poured (essences of ?)
reeds, pine, and myrtle.
The gods smelt the fragrance,
The gods like flies gathered over the sacrifice.
...
As soon as Ellil arrived
He saw the boat. Ellil was furious,
Filled with anger at the Igigi gods.
“What sort of life survived? No man should have
lived through the destruction!”
Ninurta made his voice heard and spoke,
He said to the warrior Ellil,
“Who other than Ea would have done such a
thing?
For Ea can do everything?”
Ea made his voice heard and spoke,
He said to the warrior Ellil,
“You are the sage of the gods, warrior,
So how, O how, could you fail to consult, and
impose the flood?
Punish the sinner for his sin, punish the criminal
for his crime,
But ease off, let work not cease; be patient,
let not [ ]
Instead of your imposing a flood, let a lion come
up and diminish the people.
Instead of your imposing a flood, let a wolf come
up and diminish the people.
Instead of your imposing a flood, let famine be
imposed and [lessen] the land.
Instead of your imposing a flood, let Erra rise up
and savage the people.
I did not disclose the secret to the great gods,
I just shows Atrahasis a dream, and thus he heard
the secret of the gods.”
Now the advice (that prevailed) was his advice.
Ellil came up into the boat,
9/14/15 10:52 PM
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Spellbinders
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Spellbinders

Author: Margaret Culkin Banning

Release date: December 22, 2023 [eBook #72473]

Language: English

Original publication: NYC: George H. Doran Company, 1922

Credits: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK

SPELLBINDERS ***
 SPELLBINDERS
—————
MARGARET CULKIN BANNING

SPELLBINDERS
BY
MARGARET CULKIN BANNING
AUTHOR OF “HALF LOAVES,” “THIS MARRYING,” ETC.

NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1922,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE METROPOLITAN PUBLICATIONS, INC.

SPELLBINDERS. II

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO MY FATHER
 WILLIAM E. CULKIN

WHO HAS TAUGHT ME OF POLITICS

AND PHILOSOPHY
 CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I AT THE BROWNLEYS’ 11
II FREDA 30
III ON THE STUMP 36
IV CITY MICE 45
V A HUSBAND 64
VI MARGARET 76
VII AN UGLY GLIMPSE 87
VIII ADVENTURE 97
IX WORK FOR FREDA 108
X THE CLEAN WIND 116
XI NEWSPAPER CUTS 126
XII GREGORY LECTURES 135
XIII LIFE ENTRUSTED 141
XIV WHAT WAS TO BE EXPECTED 152
XV THE CONVENTION 174
XVI MR. SABLE STARTS SOMETHING 188
XVII GAGE FINISHES IT 207
XVIII IN HOSPITAL 220
XIX MENTAL SURGERY 229
XX BARBARA BREAKS LOOSE 243
XXI WALTER’S SOLUTION 259
XXII THE MOURNERS 272
XXIII RESPITE 278
SPELLBINDERS
 CHAPTER I

AT THE BRONWLEYS’

G AGE FLANDON put his wife’s fur cloak around her and stood back,
watching her as she took a final glance into the long mirror in the hall.
“I’m quite excited,” she said. “Margaret always excites me and I do
want you to meet her. She really must come to stay with us, Gage.”
“If you like. I’m not so keen.”
“Afraid of strong-minded women?”
“It’s not their strong minds I’m afraid of, Helen.”
“Their alluring personalities?” She slipped an arm into his and led him to
the door.
“Not even that. Their horrible consciousness—self-consciousness. Their
nervousness. Their aggressiveness. Most of all, I hate the idea of their effect
on you.”
“You sound as if whole cohorts of strong-minded rapacious women were
storming the city instead of one old college friend of mine come to bolster
up the fortunes of your own political party.”
Flandon helped her into the automobile.
“You know what I mean,” he said briefly.
He stayed silent and Helen Flandon left him to it. But even in the
darkness of the car he could feel her excitement and his own irritation at it
bothered him. There was no reason, he told himself, to have conceived this
prejudice against this friend of Helen’s, this Margaret Duffield. Except that
he had heard so much about her. Except that she was always being quoted
to him, always writing clever letters to his wife, producing exactly that
same nervous excitement which characterized her mood to-night. An
unhealthy mood. He hated fake women, he told himself angrily, and was
angry at himself for his prejudice.
“It’s too bad to drag you out to meet her. But I couldn’t go to the
Brownleys’, of all places, alone, could I?”
 “Of course not. I don’t mind coming. I want to see Brownley anyway. I
don’t mind meeting your friend, Helen. Probably I’ll like her. But I don’t
like to see you excited and disturbed as she always makes you. Even in
letters.”
“Nonsense.”
“No—quite true. You’re not real. You begin by wondering whether
you’ve kept up to the college standard of women again. You wonder if
you’ve gone to seed and begin worrying about it. You get different. Even to
me.”
“How foolish, Gage.”
Her voice was very sweet and she slipped along the seat of the car until
she was pressed close beside him. He turned her face up to his.
“I don’t care what the rest of the fool women do, Helen. But I do so love
you when you’re real—tangible—sweet.”
“I’m always real, about five pounds too tangible and invariably sweet.”
“You’re utterly unreliable, anyway. You promised me you’d keep clear
of this political stuff at least for a while. You quite agreed with me that you
were not the kind of person for it. Then along comes this Duffield woman
to stir up things and you forget everything you said to me and are off in
Mrs. Brownley’s train.”
“I’m not in anybody’s train, Gage.” Mrs. Flandon straightened up. “And
I don’t intend to be in anybody’s train. But it’s a different thing to show
decent interest in what other women are thinking and doing. Perhaps you
don’t want me to read the newspapers either.”
“I merely want you to be consistent. I don’t want you to be one of these
—”
“Fake women,” supplied his wife. “You repeat yourself badly, dear.”
Entering the Brownley drawing-room a few minutes after his wife, Gage
found no difficulty in picking out the object of his intended dislike. She was
standing beside Helen and looked at him straightly at his entrance with a
level glance such as used to be the prerogative of men alone. He had only a
moment to appraise her as he crossed the room. Rather prettier—well, he
had been warned of that, she had carried the famous Daisy Chain in college,
—cleverly dressed, like his own wife, but a trifle more eccentric perhaps in
what she was wearing. Not as attractive as Helen—few women were that
and they usually paled a little beside her charm. A hard line about her
mouth—no, he admitted that it wasn’t hard—undeveloped perhaps. About
Helen’s age—she looked it with a certain fairness—about thirty-one or two.
She met him with the same directness with which she had regarded him,
giving him her hand with a charming smile which seemed to be deliberately
purged of coquetry and not quite friendly, he felt, though that, he quickly
told himself, must be the reflection of his own mood.
“And how do you find Helen?” he asked her.
“Very beautiful—very dangerous, as usual.”
“Dangerous?”
“Helen is always dangerous. She uses her power without directing it.”
He had a sense of relief. That was what he had been feeling for. That was
the trouble with Helen. But on that thought came quickly irritation at the
personal comment, at the divination of the woman he disapproved of.
“It is sometimes a relief,” he said, “to find some woman who is not
deliberately directing her powers.”
“You make my idea crystallize into an ugly thought, Mr. Flandon. It’s
hardly fair.”
There she was, pulling him into heavy argument. He felt that he had
been awkward and that it was entirely her fault. He took refuge in the
commonplaces of gallantry.
“Ugly thoughts are impossible in some company. You’re quite mistaken
in my meaning.”
She smiled, a half amused smile which did not so much reject his
compliment as show him how impervious she was to such things.
Deliberately she turned to Helen who had been enveloped by the ponderous
conversation of the host. Mr. Brownley liked to talk to Helen and Helen was
giving him that absorbed attention which she usually gave to any man.
Gage and Margaret joined them, and as if she wondered at the brevity of
their initial exchange, Helen gave them a swift glance.
“Well,” she said, “have the feminist and the anti-feminist found peace in
each other?”
“She refuses to be complimented,” grinned Gage, rather sheepishly,
immensely grateful to Helen for making a joke of that momentary
antagonism.
 “Have women given up their liking for compliments?” Mr. Brownley
beamed upon them beneficently, quite conscious of his ability to remain
gallant in his own drawing-room. “Not these women surely.”
Gage flushed a little. It was almost what he himself had said. It had been
his tone.
“We have been given so much more than compliments, Mr. Brownley,”
said Margaret Duffield, “that they seem a little tasteless after stronger
food.”
“Not tasteless to most of us. Perhaps to a few, like Margaret. But most of
us, men and women, will like them as long as we have that passion for
appearing to ourselves as we would like to be and not as we are.”
Over recovered ease of manner, Gage smiled at Helen. She had taken
that up neatly. She had penetration, not a doubt of it. Why did she try then
to subordinate herself to these other women, people like this Duffield girl,
these arrogant spinsters? He greeted his hostess, who came from the library,
where a group of people were already settled about the card tables.
“Will you make a fourth with the Stantons and Emily Haight, please,
Gage? You like a good game and Emily can furnish it.”
Mrs. Brownley was a tall, elaborately marcelled woman of about fifty.
Handsome, people said, as they do say it of a woman who commands their
eyes even when the sex attraction has gone. She had the ease of a woman
whose social position is of long standing, the graciousness of one who has
nothing to gain and the slight aggressiveness of one who has much to
bestow. Gage liked her. He remembered distinctly the time of her reign as
one of the “younger matrons”—he had been a boy home from college
when, at thirty-five, Mrs. Brownley, successfully the mother of two
children, was dominating the gayety of the city’s social life. Just as now—
her hair gray and marcelled, and her dancing vivacity cleverly changed into
an eagerness of interest in “welfare work” or “civic activity”—she released
energies more in keeping with her age.
“I’ll go anywhere you want me to,” he said, “I’ll play checkers or casino.
I’ll do anything—except talk to feminist females.”
“Well, Emily’s surely no feminist—go along then—”
It was a very small party, a dinner of ten to which the Flandons had not
been able to come because of a late afternoon meeting at Gage’s office. So
he and Helen had come along later, informally, to meet the guest of honor,
now sitting with Helen on a divan, out of the range of the card players.
“Have you begun operations yet?” Helen was asking.
“Oh, no. It’s a very vague job I have and you mustn’t expect too much. I
am not supposed to interfere with any local activities—just lend a hand in
getting new women interested, speaking a bit, that sort of thing, rousing up
women like you who ought to be something more than agreeable
dilettantes.”
“If I’m agreeable—” began Helen.
“I won’t be put off. You write that nonsense in your letters. Why aren’t
you interested in all this?”
“I truly am. Very noticeably. I’m secretary to this and treasurer to that—
all the women’s things in town. On boards of directors—no end.”
“And you care about them as much as your tone shows. Are you
submerged in your husband then?”
“He’d love to hear you say that. Love you for the suspicion and hate you
for the utterance. No—hardly submerged. He’s a very fascinating person
and I’d go almost any lengths—but hardly submerged. Where did you get
the word anyway? Ultra-modern for subjugated? Gage is good to me. Lets
me go and come, unchallenged—doesn’t read my letters—”
“Stop being an idiot. I’m not insinuating things against Gage. What I’m
trying to find out is what you are interested in.”
“I’m interested in so many things I couldn’t begin to tell you.
Psychoanalysis—novels—penny lunches—you—Mrs. Brownley’s career as
a politician—my beloved babies—isn’t that enough?”
“I’m not at all sure that it is enough.”
“Well, then you shall find me a new job and I’ll chuck the old ones. Tell
me about yourself. I hardly had a chance to hear the other day. So the great
Harriet Thompson sent you out to inspire the Middle West with love of the
Republican party? It’s hardly like you, Margaret, to be campaigning for
anything so shopworn as the Republican party.”
“I do that on the side. What I do primarily is to stir up people to believe
in women—especially women in women.”
“Then you don’t believe in the G. O. P.”
 “I’m not a campaign speaker, Helen. I’m an organizer. Of course I think
I’d rather have the Republicans in than the Democrats for certain obvious
reasons but if you mean that I think the Republican candidate will be a
Messiah—I don’t. Gage is a Republican—how about you?”
“Half Republican—half Socialist.”
“The extent of your Socialism is probably a subscription to a couple of
magazines.”
“About.”
“You ought to focus on something, I think.”
“Go on. It does me good. After years of hearing mouthing nonsense,”
Helen spoke with sudden heat, “of hearing people say ‘How wonderful you
are, Mrs. Flandon’ and ‘How do you manage to do so much, Mrs.
Flandon?’ and all sorts of blithering compliments, it’s wonderful to listen to
you. Though I’m not sure I could focus if I wanted to—at least for any
definite period. I do, for a while, and then I swing back to being very
desperately married or extremely interested in something else. You can’t put
Gage in a corner like some husbands, you know, Margaret.”
“I should imagine not.”
“Suppose,” said Mrs. Brownley, coming up to them, now that her other
guests were disposed of, “that we have a little talk while the others are busy
and plan our work a little. You don’t really mean to carry Miss Duffield off,
do you, Helen?”
“I must, Mrs. Brownley. I’ve been trying for years to get this young
woman to visit me and, now that she is in the city, I couldn’t let her stay
with any one else. I didn’t have any idea that she was going to be the
organizer sent by the Women’s Republican Committee.”
“I wouldn’t have been sent either, if Mrs. Thompson hadn’t been
dreadfully short of workers. But she was, and I know her very well and
though she knows I only go with her part way, I promised to do the best I
could to organize things for her and get the women interested, even if I
couldn’t speak in behalf of the party and its candidates. You see, Mrs.
Brownley, we’ve done so much organization for suffrage work among
women that it comes pretty naturally to us to do this other work, just as it
does to you.”
Mrs. Brownley nodded.
 “You’ll be an immense help, Miss Duffield. What I had sketchily
planned was a series of small meetings in the city, lasting over a period of a
couple of weeks and then a big rally of all the women. You assure yourself
of your audience for the big meeting by working up the small ones.”
“We must have some good speakers,” said Margaret, “I am sure the
National Committee will send us those from time to time.”
“The heavy work will be in the country districts.”
“I suppose so. The women there will have to be rounded up and we
should have some women of influence from the country districts to work
with us. Can you find some?”
“There are some,” answered Mrs. Brownley, “who’ve done a good deal
of club work. There’s a Mrs. Ellsmith and there’s a new district chairman
for the Federated Clubs who seems to be a bright little woman—a Mrs. Eric
Thorstad. She comes from Mohawk, about seventy miles out of the city. It’s
a Normal School town, quite a little center for the surrounding villages. We
might write to her.”
“We ought to see her,” answered Margaret, “it works better. The more
personal contact you get with the women now, the better. Why can’t we go
to Mohawk—is that what you called it?—and some of the surrounding
towns and do a little rounding up?”
“We could—very easily. Mr. Brownley would let us have the Etta—
that’s the special car on his railroad which runs through all that country.”
“I think it would be better not. That identifies us too much, if you don’t
mind my saying it, with the railroad. No—let’s take the regular trains. And
make this person come with us to do a little talking.” She indicated Helen
with a laugh.
“I’ll come,” said Helen, “of course.”
She sat back, as Margaret Duffield went on talking in her deft, sure way,
outlining the work to be done. It seemed to Helen that Margaret had hardly
changed in eight years. She had been just like this in college, eager,
competent, doing things for suffrage, talking feminism. Well, so had Helen,
herself. But something had changed her point of view subtly. Was it being
married, she wondered? She couldn’t rouse her enthusiasms really over all
this woman business any more. Was it laziness? Was it lack of inspiration?
Had she been making too many concessions to Gage’s ideas? She must
have Margaret at her house. She wanted to see her and Gage in action. How
they would row! She laughed a little to herself, thinking of Gage. The warm
little feeling crept over her that always returned as she thought of him. How
foolish Margaret was to miss all that—living with a man. Suddenly she felt
expanded, experienced. She wanted to do something to show that all her
discontents had vanished. She had been nervous and dissatisfied since
Margaret had come. Well, she had come, and Helen had measured herself
up beside her, fearful of shrinkage in her own stature. What was it that to-
night had reassured her, made her feel that Margaret had not really gone
beyond her, that she was not really jealous of Margaret’s kind of life?
The others were still talking of projected trips into the country. “Let’s go
then,” said Helen, leaning forward, “and get them so stirred up that we
leave all the old farmers gasping. Let’s start a rebellion of country women.
Let’s get them thinking!”
Margaret stared at her.
“That sounds more like you!” she exclaimed.
“I’m full of energy,” said Helen, on her feet now. “Margaret, you must
come to my house within three days or I’ll send a policeman for you. And
now I’m going to break up Gage’s bridge game.”
She could break it up. Gage was immediately conscious of her. As she
sat beside him, pretending quiet and interest, he could feel that she was
neither quiet nor interested. He was pleased that she had broken away from
the Duffield girl to come to him. He wanted to acknowledge it. To throw
down his cards and put his arms about her. Since he couldn’t do that he kept
on thinking of it.
“You bring us bad luck, Mrs. Flandon,” said Gage’s partner, with a
flavor of tartness.
She rose again, laying her hand lightly on her husband’s shoulder.
“Driven away from the serious minded everywhere. If I go into the
music room and shut the door tightly, may I play?”
That she knew would disturb Gage too. And she couldn’t help disturbing
him. She would play the things that held especial meanings for him and her.
She would play the things which she had used to play in college for
Margaret on Sunday evenings, set her by the ears too, startle her out of her
seriousness as she had used to startle her. She would arouse in Margaret
some of those emotions which couldn’t be dead. She would find out if she
had those emotions still.
 Then over the first notes she forgot what she meant to do. She was alone
with herself—she had forgotten the others. And because she had forgotten,
the things happened to the others as she had meant them to happen. Gage,
bidding deliberately to make his hand the dummy, left the card table and
outside the door of the music room found Margaret, also listening. They
took refuge in immediate conversation.
“So she keeps up her music,” said Margaret.
“Yes. She works several hours a day. And we have an excellent teacher
out here in the wilderness.”
With a formal excuse, he returned to his bridge game.

II

At midnight Mrs. Brownley broke up the bridge by summoning the

players to the dining room where there were iced drinks and sandwiches.
Mrs. Brownley did that sort of thing extremely well. Men used to say with
gratitude that she knew enough not to keep them up all night, and her
informal buffet suppers closed the evening comfortably for them. It was a
“young” crowd to-night—not young according to the standards of the
débutante Brownleys but people between thirty and forty. The Stantons,
whom everybody had everywhere because they were good company and
perfectly fitting in any group. Emily Haight, who had become ash-blond
and a little caustic with the decreasing possibilities of a good marriage but
whom every one conceded had a good mind, who “read everything” and
played a master hand of bridge. She had sat next to Walter Carpenter at
dinner, as she inevitably was placed when they were in the same company,
because they had known each other so well and long and because it seemed
to be in the back of people’s mind that steady propinquity ought to produce
results in emotion. He was quite the person for Emily—about her age, well-
to-do, popular, keen-minded. But to-night at dinner he had devoted himself
almost pointedly to Margaret Duffield. They had rallied him afterwards at
the card table about his sudden interest in feminism and he had smiled his
self-controlled smile and let them have their joke. He had played cards with
Jerrold Haynes, another of Mrs. Brownley’s “intellectuals,” who had
written a book once, and had it published (though never another), and who
managed to concoct, with the help of Helen Flandon, almost all the clever
remarks which were au courant in their particular circle. He and Carpenter
had tried to make Margaret play bridge but she had told them that she
couldn’t, reducing them to a three-handed game which they were ready to
abandon at twelve o’clock.
Jerrold went as usual to Helen’s side. There was a friendship between
them which bathed in a kind of half-serious worship on his part and a
bantering comradeship on hers. They sat together in a corner of the long,
oak-paneled dining room and made conversation about the others,
conversation for the sake of clever words.
“Walter has made his way to the candle flame again. He seems to have
been captured,” said Jerrold.
Helen looked across the room curiously. Gage and Walter were both
talking to Margaret who was standing in a little glow of electric candle
light. Helen remembered that in college Margaret had done her hair that
same way, in a loose knot modeled after some sculptured Psyche.
“Don’t you think she is lovely?” she asked more in comment than
question.
“Do you mean beautiful?”
“Well—what do you think?”
“I don’t quite think of her as a woman.”
“Silly stuff—”
“No, truly. Most women you sense. They either try to use their sex to
allure or impress you or else they repress it for any one of a dozen reasons.
She—somehow seems to lack it.”
“It’s not so easy as that, Jerrold, you phrase-maker. I’ve known her a
long while and I have no idea whether she’s in love, has been in love,
yearns after or fights against it. You guess boldly, but probably not well.”
“Maybe not. You must tell me if I am right and you find it out.”
There was a sound of motors in the drive outside, then high pitched
voices, and Mrs. Brownley went out into the hall.
“Isn’t this early for the youngsters?” asked Gage.
They all laughed but though the conversation went on as before, an
anticipation rested on them all. Against the background of the chattering
voices in the hall, they seemed a little subdued, waiting.
 Allison Brownley pushed her escort in. He seemed to be reluctant but
she had her hands on his back and he came through the door, stumbling.
“We can come to the high brow party, can’t we?” cried Allison. “Can’t
we have some food? We’re perfectly starved and there wasn’t a table to be
had at the Rose Garden.”
“I knew you must have been driven out of everywhere to come home
this early,” called Gage, “though of course young men in the banking
business might benefit by somewhat earlier hours.”
The young man laughed awkwardly. He was a rather pale, small young
man, badly dwarfed by Gage’s unusual bulk and suggesting a consciousness
of it when he tried to draw Allison to the other end of the room. But she
preferred Gage for the moment. She was not a pretty girl though she made
that negligible. What was important about her was her vigor and her
insolent youngness. Her hair was cut just below her ears and curled under in
an outstanding shock and her scarlet evening dress and touches of rouge
made Margaret, as she stood beside her, seem paler, older, without vigor.
But she stood there only a moment, poised. Then the others, six of them,
had invaded the dining room. Giggling, spurting into noisy laughter at
unrevealed jokes, eating greedily, separating from the older people as if
nothing in common could be conceived among them, they went to the
farther end of the room, Allison with some youthfully insolent remark
hurled back at Gage.
The others seemed suddenly conscious that it was midnight—the time
when only extreme youth had a right to be enjoying itself. They took upon
themselves the preliminary airs of departure. But Helen, separating herself
from the group, went down the room to the young people.
They had settled into chairs and began to rise a little awkwardly but she
did not let them, sitting down herself on the arm of Allison’s chair and
bending to talk to them all. They burst into gales of laughter at something
she said. Gage and Jerrold watched her from the other end of the room.
It was wonderful, thought Gage, how even beside those young faces, her
beauty stood out as more brilliant. How her hair shone under those soft
lights! How golden, mellow, she was in every gesture!
Jerrold, in need of some one to whom to comment, isolated Margaret.
“Watch your amazing friend,” he said, “those children made us feel old
and stiff muscled. See how she is showing us that they are raw and full of
angles.”
“Is it important?” asked Margaret.
“I suppose not. Except that it is a time when youth seems to be pretty
securely on the throne of things. And I like to see it get a jolt.”

III

All the way home, Gage had wanted to say something to his wife,
something in appreciation of her beauty, something to still somehow the
desire to express his love. As they stood for a moment in their hallway he
sought for but could not find the words. There was in him a conflicting, a
very definite enmity to her consciousness of her powers. He did not want to
increase it. It seemed to him that to have her know her charm meant that she
would lose it. He had seen her lose it so. When he felt that she was
deliberate—
“You were very charming to-night, dearest.”
“The first duty of a woman,” she laughed, “is to be charming, if she
can.”
There it was. She had set him back. He felt it cruelly. Why hadn’t she
simply turned and thanked him, given him the caress he was waiting for?
Why had she made it all what he suspected? She had planned every move.
Probably planning now—he became stubborn, thwarted, angry.
“I didn’t care much for your friend,” he said, lighting his cigarette.
“No? But you won’t mind my having her here.”
“Well, as you know, I’d much prefer not. I don’t think that sort of
woman a healthy influence.”
“And yet you know, Gage, I might be getting a little tired of merely
healthy influences. The change might set me up.”
She too was strangely angry. She had been thrilled all evening by the
thought of this home-coming. She had been saving up emotions to throw
her into Gage’s arms. She wanted to feel—to tell him she loved him. He
was making it impossible.
They stood there, longing for each other, yet on guard mentally, afraid of
the other’s thrust, the other’s mockery.
“Of course I can’t refuse to let you have any friend of yours here at the
house. Only if she comes, I do wish you’d excuse me as much as possible. I