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A Short Bibliography American Bibliography Index

BIOGRAPHY

To any reader of the books of Joseph Conrad it must be at once plain that his immediate experiences and impressions of life have gone very directly to the making of his art. It may happen often enough that an author's artistic life is of no importance to the critic and that his dealing with it is merely a personal impertinence and curiosity, but with the life of Joseph Conrad the critic has something to do, because, again and again, this writer deliberately evokes the power of personal reminiscence, charging it with the burden of his philosophy and the creation of his characters.

With the details of his life we cannot, in any way, be concerned, but with the three backgrounds against whose form and colour his art has been placed we have some compulsory connection.

Joseph Conrad was born on 6th December 1857, and his birthplace was the Ukraine in the south of Poland. In 1862 his father, who had been concerned in the last Polish rebellion, was banished to Vologda. The boy lived with his mother and father there until his mother died, when he was sent back to the Ukraine. In 1870 his father died.

Looking for an instant at the dramatic contrast and almost ironical relationship of these three backgrounds--Poland, the Sea, the inner security and tradition of an English country-side--one can realise what they may make of an artist. That early Polish atmosphere, viewed through all the deep light and high shade of a remembered childhood, may be enough to give life and vigour to any poet's temperament. The romantic melancholy born of early years in such an atmosphere might well plant deeply in any soul the ironic contemplation of an impossible freedom.

Growing into youth in a land whose farthest bounds were held by unlawful tyranny, Conrad may well have contemplated the sea as the one unlimited monarchy of freedom and, even although he were too young to realise what impulses those were that drove him, he may have felt that space and size and the force of a power stronger than man were the only conditions of possible liberty. He sought those conditions, found them and clung to them; he found, too, an ironic pity for men who could still live slaves and prisoners to other men when to them also such freedom was possible. That ironic pity he never afterwards lost, and the romance that was in him received a mighty impulse from that contrast that he was always now to contemplate. He discovered the Sea and paid to her at once his debt of gratitude and obedience. He thought it no hard thing to obey her when he might, at the same time, so honestly admire her and she has remained for him, as an artist, the only personality that he has been able wholeheartedly to admire. He found in her something stronger than man and he must have triumphed in the contemplation of the dominion that she could exercise, if she would, over the tyrannies that he had known in his childhood.

He found, too, in her service, the type of man who, most strongly, appealed to him. He had known a world composed of threats, fugitive rebellions, wild outbursts of defiance, inefficient struggles against tyranny. He was in the company now of those who realised so completely the relationship of themselves and their duty to their master and their service that there was simply nothing to be said about it. England had, perhaps, long ago called to him with her promise of freedom, and now on an English ship he realised the practice and performance of that freedom, indulged in, as it was, with the fewest possible words. Moreover, with his fund of romantic imagination, he must have been pleased by the contrast of his present company, men who, by sheer lack of imagination, ruled and served the most imaginative force in nature. The wonders of the sea, by day and by night, were unnoticed by his companions, and he admired their lack of vision. Too much vision had driven his country under the heel of Tyranny, had bred in himself a despair of any possible freedom for far-seeing men; now he was a citizen of a world where freedom reigned because men could not perceive how it could be otherwise; the two sides of the shield were revealed to him.

The quiet atmosphere of the England that he had adopted made the final, almost inevitable contrast with the earlier periods. With such a country behind him it was possible for him to contemplate in peace the whole "case" of his earlier life. It was as a "case" that he saw it, a "case" that was to produce all those other "cases" that were his books. This has been their history.

In the north-east corner lies a spur from the Continental Divide, the Mummy Range, a tumbled majestic mountain mass which includes some of the loftiest peaks and one of the finest glaciers.

To the south of Longs Peak the country grows even wilder. The range is a succession of superb peaks. The southern park boundary unfortunately cuts arbitrarily through a superlative massing of noble snow-covered summits.

The west side, gentler in its slopes and less majestic in its mountain massings, is a region of loveliness and wildness diversified by splendid mountains, innumerable streams and lakes of great charm. Grand Lake, which has railroad connections nearby, is one of the largest natural lakes in Colorado and the deepest lake in this region.

One of the striking features of Rocky Mountain National Park is the easy accessibility of these mountain tops. One may mount a horse after early breakfast in the valley, ride up Flattop to enjoy one of the great views of the world, and be back for late luncheon. The hardy foot traveler may make better time than the horse on these mountain trails. One may cross the Continental Divide from the hotels of one side to the hotels of the other between early breakfast and late dinner or motor between these points via the Trail Ridge Road in 2 hours.

The Trail Ridge Road, which crosses the Continental Divide, connects Estes Park on the east side with Grand Lake on the west side. The road reaches the unusual elevation of 12,183 feet above sea level. Another road leads from the village of Estes Park up the Thompson River Valley to the Bear Lake Entrance. It then follows up the valley of Glacier Creek and ends at Bear Lake at the foot of Hallett Peak and Flattop Mountain.

EASY TO STUDY GLACIAL ACTION

One of the remarkable features of Rocky Mountain National Park is the legibility of the record left by the glaciers during the ages when America was in the making. The evidences of glacial action, in all their variety make themselves apparent to even the most casual eye.

In fact, there is scarcely any part of the eastern side where some great moraine does not force itself upon the attention. One enormous moraine built up by an ancient glacier and rising with sloping sides nearly a thousand feet above the valley is so prominent that Moraine Park is named for it. From Longs Peak on the east side the Mills Moraine makes a bold curve which instantly draws questions from visitors.

There are several remnants of these mighty ice masses which can be seen at the present time. Three of the largest ice fields, Andrews, Rowe, and Tyndall Glaciers, are visited by many people each year, while the smaller glaciers such as Taylor and Spragues have interest and charm.

In short, this park itself is a primer of glacial geology whose lessons are so simple, so plain to the eye, that they immediately disclose the key to one of nature's scenic secrets.

LONGS PEAK

The greatest of all the mountains in the park, Longs Peak, has a massive square head. It is a real architectural structure like an enormous column of solid rock buttressed up on four sides with long rock ledges. On the east side a precipice of 1,200 feet drops sheer from the summit into the wildest lake that one can possibly imagine. It is called Chasm Lake and there is only one month in the year when its surface is not at least partially frozen. Mount Meeker and Mount Lady Washington enclose it on the south and north, and snow fields edge its waters the year round.

In 1820 Maj. S.H. Long first saw the mountain that now bears his name. The report of his expedition records that on June 30 of that year his party caught their first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains, and particularly noted one peak, which they referred to as "the highest peak." Long's expedition followed up the valley of the Platte River, and his closest approach to the peak was at a distance of about 40 miles. Fremont found that the name Longs Peak was in general use among the fur hunters and pioneers in 1842. The first recorded ascent was in 1868, when it was climbed by W.N. Byers, Maj. J.W. Powell , and five other men.

NATURAL BEAUTIES

A distinguishing feature of Rocky Mountain National Park is its profusion of precipice-walled canyons lying between the very feet, so to speak, of the loftiest mountains. Their beauty is romantic to a high degree. Like all the other spectacles of this favored region, they are readily accessible from the valley villages by trail, either afoot or on horseback.

Usually several lakes are found, rock embedded, in such a gorge. Ice-cold streams wander from lake to lake, watering wild-flower gardens of luxuriance and beauty. However, the entire park is a garden of wild flowers. From early June to late September, even into October, the gorges and the meadows, the slopes, and even the loftier summits, bloom with colors that change with the season. Blues, lilacs, and whites are the earlier prevailing tints; yellow predominates as autumn approaches.

There are few wilder and lovelier spots, for instance, than Loch Vale, 3,000 feet sheer below Taylor Peak. Adjoining it lies Glacier Gorge on the precipitous western slope of Longs Peak and holding in its embrace a group of lakelets. These, with lesser gorges cradling romantic Bear Lake, picturesque Dream Lake, beautiful Fern Lake, and exquisite Odessa Lake, and still others yet unnamed, constitute the Wild Gardens of the Rocky Mountain National Park, lying in the angle north of Longs Peak; while in the angle south lies a little known wilderness of lakes and gorges called Wild Basin.

At timberline, where the winter temperature and the fierce icy winds make it impossible for trees to grow tall, the spruces lie flat on the ground like vines; presently they give place to low birches, which, in their turn, give place to small piney growths, and finally to tough, straggling grass, hardy mosses, and tiny alpine flowers. Grass grows in sheltered spots even on the highest peaks, which is fortunate for the large curve-horned mountain sheep which seek these high, open places to escape their special enemies, the mountain lions. Even at the highest altitudes gorgeously colored wild flowers grow in glory and profusion in sheltered gorges. Large and beautiful columbines are found in the lee of protecting masses of snow banks and glaciers.

Nowhere else is the timberline struggle between the trees and the winds more grotesquely exemplified or its scene more easily accessible to visitors of average climbing ability. The first sight of luxuriant Engelmann spruces creeping close to the ground instead of rising 150 feet or more straight and true as masts arouses keenest interest. Many trees which defy the winter gales grow bent in half circles. Others, starting straight in the shelter of some large rock, bend at right angles where they emerge above. Others which have succeeded in lifting their heads in spite of winds have not succeeded in growing branches in any direction except in the lee of their trunks, and suggest big evergreen dust brushes rather than spruces and firs.

Above timberline the bare mountain masses rise from one to three thousand feet, often in sheer precipices. Covered with snow in autumn, winter, and spring, and plentifully spattered with snow all summer long, the vast, bare granite masses, from which, in fact, the Rocky Mountains got their name, are beautiful beyond description. They are rosy at sunrise and sunset. During fair and sunny days they show all shades of translucent grays and mauves and blues. In some lights they are almost fairylike in their delicacy. But on stormy days they are cold and dark and forbidding, burying their heads in gloomy clouds from which sometimes they emerge covered with snow.

FAUNA AND FLORA

The national park is a sanctuary for wildlife. Animals and birds are protected from hunting. Living trees may not be cut or injured. Flowers may not be picked. The cooperation of visitors is requested, in order that the wildlife of the park may be protected, that the flowers may continue in their present abundance, and that the forests of the park may not suffer injury from fire or other cause.

ANIMALS

The lofty rocks are the natural home of the celebrated Rocky Mountain sheep, or bighorn. This animal is much larger than any domestic sheep. It is powerful and wonderfully agile. When fleeing from enemies these sheep, even the lambs, make remarkable descents down seemingly impossible slopes. They do not land on their curved horns, as many persons declare, but upon their four feet held closely together. Landing on some nearby ledge, which breaks their fall, they immediately plunge downward again to another ledge, and so on till they reach good footing in the valley below. They also ascend slopes surprisingly steep. They are more agile even than the celebrated chamois of the Swiss Alps, and are larger, more powerful, and much handsomer. A flock of a dozen or more mountain sheep making their way along the volcanic flow which constitutes Specimen Mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park is an unforgettable sight.

The beaver, whose dams and other structures, both old and new, found along most streams at middle altitudes, are rarely seen except at night or very early morning. Elk occur in numerous places, and deer which are widely distributed are commonly seen. Coyotes and brown or black bear are occasionally seen, but these, like the mountain lion, bobcat, and small carnivorous animals, are not only rare, but so wary that they are seldom seen by visitors.

Among smaller animals, the most familiar are the marmot or woodchuck, Freemont or pine squirrel, three kinds of chipmunks, and the interesting little cony or pika, which lives among the rocks on high mountains and is more often heard than seen. In all, over 60 species of mammals live in the park.

BIRDS

The commonest species are the western robin, the beautiful mountain bluebird, and, at middle elevations, the chickadee and junco. The hermit thrush and the solitaire, generally classed among the finest songbirds in the world, are both fairly common in suitable localities; and but little inferior to these in musical performance are the purple finch, ruby-crowned kinglet, western meadowlark, and rock and canyon wrens. The graceful violet-green swallow is unsurpassed in beauty of form and color, and the crested jay, magpie, and nutcracker are conspicuous for their handsome appearance and vigorous flight. Among birds particularly interesting because of curious and unusual habits are the broadtailed hummingbird, water ouzel, campbird, nuthatch, nighthawk, and the ptarmigan, pipit, and rosy finch of the high peaks.

Although widely distributed through the park, birds are more numerous along streams and near open marshes and meadows than in the dense forests. About 100 species are found regularly in summer, and nearly 150 have been recorded during the whole year.

FLOWERS

This park is especially notable for the presence of the blue columbine and many beautiful flowers of the gentian and primrose families; for the profusion of dwarf alpine plants on the meadows above timberline; and for the brilliance of certain species found in moist glades of the subalpine zone. Striking examples of the latter are the tall blue larkspur and monkshood, of many vivid hues, and the curious little red elephant.

Conspicuous and characteristic flowers of the lower altitudes are the mariposa lily, iris, wallflower, gaillardia, and numerous species of cinquefoil, pentstemon, and evening primrose. Among the less common groups, several delicate species of orchid, pyrola, violet, and anemone will delight the botanist. Over 700 distinct species of flowering plants have been collected within the park, and doubtless many more await discovery and identification by the careful student.

TREES

The principal trees are the Engelmann spruce, which forms extensive primeval forests in the subalpine region, the lodgepole pine, the prevailing tree of middle elevation, very common in second growth, and the ponderosa pine, a large spreading tree, occurring ng looking-glasses, for instance"--that captain who "did everything with an air which put your attention on the alert and raised your expectations, but the result somehow was always on stereotyped lines, unsuggestive, empty of any lesson that one could lay to heart"--that other captain in whom "through a touch of self-seeking that modest artist of solid merit became untrue to his temperament"--here are little sketches for those portraits that afterwards we are to know so well, Marlowe, Captain McWhirr, Captain Lingard, Captain Mitchell and many others. Here we may fancy that his eye lingers as though in the mere enumeration of little oddities and contrasted qualities he sees such themes, such subjects, such "cases" that it is hard, almost beyond discipline, to leave them. Nevertheless they have to be left. He has obtained his broader contrast by his juxtaposition of the curious muddled jumble of the human life against the broad, august power of the Sea--that is all that his present subject demands, that is his theme and his picture.

As other men write of the woman they have loved, so does Conrad write of his ships. He sees them, in this book that is so especially dedicated to their pride and beauty, coloured with a fine glow of romance, but nevertheless he realises them with all the accurate detail of a technician who describes his craft. You may learn of the raising and letting go of an anchor, and he will tell the journalists of their crime in speaking of "casting" an anchor when the true technicality is "brought up"--"to an anchor" understood. In the chapter on "Yachts" he provides as much technical detail as any book of instruction need demand and then suddenly there come these sentences--"the art of handling ships is finer, perhaps, than the art of handling men."... "A ship is a creature which we have brought into the world, as it were on purpose to keep us up to mark."

Indeed it is the ship that gives that final impression of unity, of which I have already spoken, to the book. She grows, as it were, from her birth, in no ordered sequence of events, but admitting us ever more closely into her intimacy, telling us, at first shyly, afterwards more boldly, little things about herself, confiding to us her trials, appealing sometimes to our admiration, indulging sometimes our humour. Conrad is tender to her as he is to nothing human. He watches her shy, new, in the dock, "her reputation all to make yet in the talk of the seamen who were to share their life with her."... "She looked modest to me. I imagined her diffident, lying very quiet, with her side nestling shyly against the wharf to which she was made fast with very new lines, intimidated by the company of her tried and experienced sisters already familiar with all the violences of the ocean and the exacting love of men."

Her friend stands there on the quay and bids her be of good courage; he salutes her grace and spirit--he echoes, with all the implied irony of contrast, his companion's "Ships are all right...."

He explains the many kinds of ships that there are--the rogues, the wickedly malicious, the sly, the benevolent, the proud, the adventurous, the staid, the decorous. For even the worst of these he has indulgences that he would never offer to the soul of man. He cannot be severe before such a world of fine spirits.

This book remains by far the easiest, the kindest, the most friendly of all his books. He has been troubled here by no questions of form, of creation, of development, whether of character or of incident.

It is the best of all possible prologues to his more creative work.

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