DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Polaris, v. 1, issue 2, March 1940

Transcribe
Translate

Polaris, v. 1, issue 2, March 1940

Page 8

8     POLARIS

for the nostalgic beckoning of old centuries there is no assuagement. I would like so much to fill out the gap of years which binds us to the past, when men built that old city; and to know the hues and forms of a life vanished utterly. But there are only ruins on to which to speculate, fragments of a life existing nowhere, and the people of that place are lonely in the desolate grave of night. A rain of centuries has obliterated most of the traditions about them and all that I may ever recapture is as nothing when it is weighed against the ignorance of our time. Forest and wooded glen, and tales of ancient huntings are the joys of my race.
There are two ruins which even yet hold for me the greatest lure, and I saw them both, that day, now likewise gone into the forgotten abyss of time. The first is that Gargantuan tower of slim embracing pillars, whose foundation--jagged on the sky--seemed to my childish eyes much like a crows of vultures, and the other, a metal bridge farther on the way, seen only as one nears the city. The bridge is not so great in height as the tower must have been, but it spans a great sluggish river. Men have used it forever when they wished to go into the place of ruins, and wild things scurry over the perilous span in darkness. Sometimes apes and bears are tracked across the old bridge, and slain upon it, though since my youth these are grown scarce.
We came to it later, when the broken tower was out of sight. It was lost overhead in the perspective and darkness, and I beheld the corroded girders with a vague fear. The end near us was choked with trees, and beneath it the river flowed green, with spots of diseased yellow. There were five arches upon pillars of old brick, for the river is wide in that part, and had been that way even when the city was built. The weedy stream forms a lagoon where great rushes and lilies grow, and there is only a stirring of the tired water. It is a vivid and chromatic scene that I remember--the dead green surface and the vague glitter of the bridge at dusk--though years have gone since I was there last.
I looked about as we started across the ruinous structure, and saw a few pale stars where a girder had fallen away overhead. They watched like indifferent eyes, through the faint evening, from a timeless vantage point. Vague emotions moved in me, and I felt again the regret that ruins must lie unpeopled and forgotten. It was a brief sensation that the noises of a dying thing might arouse; not pity, for pity is then of no use, but an ineffable emotion as near to sorrow as the mist is to rain. It was not sharp enough to analyze, but I have kept the memory of a child who felt, beyond the netted, broken girders, the regard of those unseeing stars.
There was only in places a floor, so for the most part we walked on iron beams. In the blackness under us water rustled past some obstruction which I did not see, and on the curving shores was a cluster of stooping trees. The far end of the bridge was in shadow, but I knew from my mother's words that we should come out between the metal ankles of a guarding statue into the vast silent ruins of a city. Tottering in the gloom the old bridge was like a man whose ribs are sharped by the years. As we traversed it, I looked up in apprehension, and saw that above us tons of insecure metal swayed like a broken spider web. I feared that it would fall, but it had been suspended in that fashion before memory, and yet the cables are intact and the girders whole.
Then we came into the city, passing below the mute colossus,

Saving...

8 POLARIS for the nostalgic beckoning of old centuries there is no assuagement. I would like so much to fill out the gap of years which binds us to the past, when men built that old city; and to know the hues and forms of a life vanished utterly. But there are only ruins on to which to speculate, fragments of a life existing nowhere, and the people of that place are lonely in the desolate grave of night. A rain of centuries has obliterated most of the traditions about them and all that I may ever recapture is as nothing when it is weighed against the ignorance of our time. Forest and wooded glen, and tales of ancient huntings are the joys of my race. There are two ruins which even yet hold for me the greatest lure, and I saw them both, that day, now likewise gone into the forgotten abyss of time. The first is that Gargantuan tower of slim embracing pillars, whose foundation--jagged on the sky--seemed to my childish eyes much like a crows of vultures, and the other, a metal bridge farther on the way, seen only as one nears the city. The bridge is not so great in height as the tower must have been, but it spans a great sluggish river. Men have used it forever when they wished to go into the place of ruins, and wild things scurry over the perilous span in darkness. Sometimes apes and bears are tracked across the old bridge, and slain upon it, though since my youth these are grown scarce. We came to it later, when the broken tower was out of sight. It was lost overhead in the perspective and darkness, and I beheld the corroded girders with a vague fear. The end near us was choked with trees, and beneath it the river flowed green, with spots of diseased yellow. There were five arches upon pillars of old brick, for the river is wide in that part, and had been that way even when the city was built. The weedy stream forms a lagoon where great rushes and lilies grow, and there is only a stirring of the tired water. It is a vivid and chromatic scene that I remember--the dead green surface and the vague glitter of the bridge at dusk--though years have gone since I was there last. I looked about as we started across the ruinous structure, and saw a few pale stars where a girder had fallen away overhead. They watched like indifferent eyes, through the faint evening, from a timeless vantage point. Vague emotions moved in me, and I felt again the regret that ruins must lie unpeopled and forgotten. It was a brief sensation that the noises of a dying thing might arouse; not pity, for pity is then of no use, but an ineffable emotion as near to sorrow as the mist is to rain. It was not sharp enough to analyze, but I have kept the memory of a child who felt, beyond the netted, broken girders, the regard of those unseeing stars. There was only in places a floor, so for the most part we walked on iron beams. In the blackness under us water rustled past some obstruction which I did not see, and on the curving shores was a cluster of stooping trees. The far end of the bridge was in shadow, but I knew from my mother's words that we should come out between the metal ankles of a guarding statue into the vast silent ruins of a city. Tottering in the gloom the old bridge was like a man whose ribs are sharped by the years. As we traversed it, I looked up in apprehension, and saw that above us tons of insecure metal swayed like a broken spider web. I feared that it would fall, but it had been suspended in that fashion before memory, and yet the cables are intact and the girders whole. Then we came into the city, passing below the mute colossus,