The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Burning Wheel, by Aldous Huxley This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license Title: The Burning Wheel Author: Aldous Huxley Release Date: January 8, 2015 [EBook #47912] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURNING WHEEL *** Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) THE BURNING WHEEL BY ALDOUS HUXLEY Oxford B. H. Blackwell, Broad St. 1916 ADVENTURERS ALL A SERIES OF YOUNG POETS UNKNOWN TO FAME COME MY FRIENDS--'TIS NOT TOO LATE "TO SEEK A NEWER WORLD --IT MAY BE THAT THE GULFS WILL WAN US DOWN--IT MAY BE WE SHALL TOUCH THE HAPPY ISLES--YET--OUR PURPOSE HOLDS--TO SAIL BEYOND THE SUNSET. ULYSSES SPEECH FINELY FRAMED DELIGHTETH THE EARS OF THEM THAT HEAR THE STORY --II MACCAB. XV. My thanks are due to the Editor of the Nation for permission to reprint "The Mirror," "Variations on a theme of Laforgue" and "Philosophy." CONTENTS. The Burning Wheel Doors of the Temple Villiers de L'Isle-Adams Darkness Mole The Two Seasons Two Realities Quotidian Vision Vision The Mirror Variations on a Theme of Laforgue Philosophy Philoclea in the Forest Books and Thoughts Contrary to Nature and Aristotle Escape The Garden The Canal The Ideal found wanting Misplaced Love Sonnet Sentimental Summer The Choice The Higher Sensualism Sonnet Formal Verses Perils of the Small Hours Complaint Return to an Old Home Fragment The Walk THE BURNING WHEEL. Wearied of its own turning, Distressed with its own busy restlessness, Yearning to draw the circumferent pain-- The rim that is dizzy with speed-- To the motionless centre, there to rest, The wheel must strain through agony On agony contracting, returning Into the core of steel. And at last the wheel has rest, is still, Shrunk to an adamant core: Fulfilling its will in fixity. But the yearning atoms, as they grind Closer and closer, more and more Fiercely together, beget A flaming fire upward leaping, Billowing out in a burning, Passionate, fierce desire to find The infinite calm of the mother's breast. And there the flame is a Christ-child sleeping, Bright, tenderly radiant; All bitterness lost in the infinite Peace of the mother's bosom. But death comes creeping in a tide Of slow oblivion, till the flame in fear Wakes from the sleep of its quiet brightness And burns with a darkening passion and pain, Lest, all forgetting in quiet, it perish. And as it burns and anguishes it quickens, Begetting once again the wheel that yearns-- Sick with its speed--for the terrible stillness Of the adamant core and the steel-hard chain. And so once more Shall the wheel revolve till its anguish cease In the iron anguish of fixity; Till once again Flame billows out to infinity, Sinking to a sleep of brightness In that vast oblivious peace. DOORS OF THE TEMPLE. Many are the doors of the spirit that lead Into the inmost shrine: And I count the gates of the temple divine, Since the god of the place is God indeed. And these are the gates that God decreed Should lead to his house:--kisses and wine, Cool depths of thought, youth without rest, And calm old age, prayer and desire, The lover's and mother's breast, The fire of sense and the poet's fire. But he that worships the gates alone, Forgetting the shrine beyond, shall see The great valves open suddenly, Revealing, not God's radiant throne, But the fires of wrath and agony. VILLIERS DE L'ISLE-ADAM. Up from the darkness on the laughing stage A sudden trap-door shot you unawares, Incarnate Tragedy, with your strange airs Of courteous sadness. Nothing could assuage The secular grief that was your heritage, Passed down the long line to the last that bears The name, a gift of yearnings and despairs Too greatly noble for this iron age. Time moved for you not in quotidian beats, But in the long slow rhythm the ages keep In their immortal symphony. You taught That not in the harsh turmoil of the streets Does life consist; you bade the soul drink deep Of infinite things, saying: "The rest is naught." DARKNESS. My close-walled soul has never known That innermost darkness, dazzling sight, Like the blind point, whence the visions spring In the core of the gazer's chrysolite ... The mystic darkness that laps God's throne In a splendour beyond imagining, So passing bright. But the many twisted darknesses That range the city to and fro, In aimless subtlety pass and part And ebb and glutinously flow; Darkness of lust and avarice, Of the crippled body and the crooked heart ... These darknesses I know. MOLE. Tunnelled in solid blackness creeps The old mole-soul, and wakes or sleeps, He knows not which, but tunnels on Through ages of oblivion; Until at last the long constraint Of each-hand wall is lost, and faint Comes daylight creeping from afar, And mole-work grows crepuscular. Tunnel meets air and bursts; mole sees Men hugely walking ... or are they trees? And far horizons smoking blue, And chasing clouds for ever new? Green hills, like lighted lamps aglow Or quenching 'neath the cloud-shadow; Quenching and blazing turn by turn, Spring's great green signals fitfully burn. Mole travels on, but finds the steering A harder task of pioneering Than when he thridded through the strait Blind catacombs that ancient fate Had carved for him. Stupid and dumb And blind and touchless he had come A way without a turn; but here, Under the sky, the passenger Chooses his own best way; and mole Distracted wanders, yet his hole Regrets not much wherein he crept, But runs, a joyous nympholept, This way and that, by all made mad-- River nymph and oread, Ocean's daughters and Lorelei, Combing the silken mystery, The glaucous gold of her rivery tresses-- Each haunts the traveller, each possesses The drunken wavering soul awhile; Then with a phantom's cock-crow smile Mocks craving with sheer vanishment. Mole-eyes grow hawk's: knowledge is lent In grudging driblets that pay high Unconscionable usury To unrelenting life. Mole learns To travel more secure; the turns Of his long way less puzzling seem, And all those magic forms that gleam In airy invitation cheat Less often than they did of old. The earth slopes upward, fold by fold Of quiet hills that meet the gold Serenity of western skies. Over the world's edge with clear eyes Our mole transcendent sees his way Tunnelled in light: he must obey Necessity again and thrid Close catacombs as erst he did, Fate's tunnellings, himself must bore Through the sunset's inmost core. The guiding walls to each-hand shine Luminous and crystalline; And mole shall tunnel on and on, Till night let fall oblivion. THE TWO SEASONS. Summer, on himself intent, Passed without, for nothing caring Save his own high festival. My windows, blind and winkless staring, Wondered what the pageant meant, Nor ever understood at all. And oh, the pains of sentiment! The loneliness beyond all bearing ... Mucus and spleen and gall! But now that grey November peers In at my fire-bright window pane? And all its misty spires and trees Loom in upon me through the rain And question of the light that cheers The room within--now my soul sees Life, where of old were sepulchres; And in these new-found sympathies Sinks petty hopes and loves and fears, And knows that life is not in vain. TWO REALITIES. A waggon passed with scarlet wheels And a yellow body, shining new. "Splendid!" said I. "How fine it feels To be alive, when beauty peels The grimy husk from life." And you Said, "Splendid!" and I thought you'd seen That waggon blazing down the street; But I looked and saw that your gaze had been On a child that was kicking an obscene Brown ordure with his feet. Our souls are elephants, thought I, Remote behind a prisoning grill, With trunks thrust out to peer and pry And pounce upon reality; And each at his own sweet will Seizes the bun that he likes best And passes over all the rest. QUOTIDIAN VISION. There is a sadness in the street, And sullenly the folk I meet Droop their heads as they walk along, Without a smile, without a song. A mist of cold and muffling grey Falls, fold by fold, on another day That dies unwept. But suddenly, Under a tunnelled arch I see On flank and haunch the chestnut gleam Of horses in a lamplit steam; And the dead world moves for me once more With beauty for its living core. VISION. I had been sitting alone with books, Till doubt was a black disease, When I heard the cheerful shout of rooks In the bare, prophetic trees. Bare trees, prophetic of new birth, You lift your branches clean and free To be a beacon to the earth, A flame of wrath for all to see. And the rooks in the branches laugh and shout To those that can hear and understand; "Walk through the gloomy ways of doubt With the torch of vision in your hand." THE MIRROR. Slow-moving moonlight once did pass Across the dreaming looking-glass, Where, sunk inviolably deep, Old secrets unforgotten sleep Of beauties unforgettable. But dusty cobwebs are woven now Across that mirror, which of old Saw fingers drawing back the gold From an untroubled brow; And the depths are blinded to the moon, And their secrets forgotten, for ever untold. VARIATIONS ON A THEME OF LAFORGUE. Youth as it opens out discloses The sinister metempsychosis Of lilies dead and turned to roses Red as an angry dawn. But lilies, remember, are grave-side flowers, While slow bright rose-leaves sail Adrift on the music of happiest hours; And those lilies, cold and pale, Hide fiery roses beneath the lawn Of the young bride's parting veil. PHILOSOPHY. "God needs no christening," Pantheist mutters, "Love opens shutters On heaven's glistening. Flesh, key-hole listening, Hears what God utters" ... Yes, but God stutters. PHILOCLEA IN THE FOREST. I. 'TWas I that leaned to Amoret With: "What if the briars have tangled Time, Till, lost in the wood-ways, he quite forget How plaintive in cities at midnight sounds the chime Of bells slow-dying from discord to the hush whence they rose and met. "And in the forest we shall live free, Free from the bondage that Time has made To hedge our soul from its liberty? We shall not fear what is mighty, and unafraid Shall look wide-eyed at beauty, nor shrink from its majesty." But Amoret answered me again: "We are lost in the forest, you and I; Lost, lost, not free, though no bonds restrain; For no spire rises for comfort, no landmark in the sky, And the long glades as they curve from sight are dark with a nameless pain. And Time creates what he devours,-- Music that sweetly dreams itself away, Frail-swung leaves of autumn and the scent of flowers, And the beauty of that poised moment, when the day Hangs 'twixt the quiet of darkness and the mirth of the sunlit hours." II. Mottled and grey and brown they pass, The wood-moths, wheeling, fluttering; And we chase and they vanish; and in the grass Are starry flowers, and the birds sing Faint broken songs of the dying spring. And on the beech-bole, smooth and grey, Some lover of an older day Has carved in time-blurred lettering One word only--"Alas." III. Lutes, I forbid you! You must never play, When shimmeringly, glimpse by glimpse Seen through the leaves, the silken figures sway In measured dance. Never at shut of day, When Time perversely loitering limps Through endless twilights, should your strings Whisper of light remembered things That happened long ago and far away: Lutes, I forbid you! You must never play... And you, pale marble statues, far descried Where vistas open suddenly, I bid you shew yourselves no more, but hide Your loveliness, lest too much glorified By western radiance slantingly Shot down the glade, you turn from stone To living gods, immortal grown, And, ageless, mock my beauty's fleeting pride, You pale, relentless statues, far descried... BOOKS AND THOUGHTS. Old ghosts that death forgot to ferry Across the Lethe of the years-- These are my friends, and at their tears I weep and with their mirth am merry. On a high tower, whose battlements Give me all heaven at a glance, I lie long summer nights in trance, Drowsed by the murmurs and the scents That rise from earth, while the sky above me Merges its peace with my soul's peace, Deep meeting deep. No stir can move me, Nought break the quiet of my release: In vain the windy sunlight raves At the hush and gloom of polar caves. "CONTRARY TO NATURE AND ARISTOTLE." One head of my soul's amphisbaena Turns to the daytime's dust and sweat; But evenings come, when I would forget The sordid strife of the arena. And then my other self will creep Along the scented twilight lanes To where a little house contains A hoard of books, a gift of sleep. Its windows throw a friendly light Between the narrowing shutter slats, And, golden as the eyes of cats, Shine me a welcome through the night. ESCAPE. I seek the quietude of stones Or of great oxen, dewlap-deep In meadows of lush grass, where sleep Drifts, tufted, on the air or drones On flowery traffic. Sleep atones For sin, comforting eyes that weep. O'er me, Lethean darkness, creep Unfelt as tides through dead men's bones! In that metallic sea of hair, Fragrance! I come to drown despair Of wings in dark forgetfulness. No love ... Love is self-known, aspires To heights unearthly. I ask less,-- Sleep born of satisfied desires. THE GARDEN. There shall be dark trees round me:--I insist On cypresses: I'm terribly romantic-- And glimpsed between shall move the whole Atlantic, Now leaden dull, now subtle with grey mist, Now many jewelled, when the waves are kissed By revelling sunlight and the corybantic South-Western wind: so, troubled, passion-frantic, The poet's mind boils gold and amethyst. There shall be seen the infinite endeavour Of a sad fountain, white against the sky And poised as it strains up, but doomed to break In weeping music; ever fair and ever Young ... and the bright-eyed wood-gods as they slake Their thirst in it, are silent, reverently ... THE CANAL. No dip and dart of swallows wakes the black Slumber of the canal:--a mirror dead For lack of loveliness remembered From ancient azures and green trees, for lack Of some white beauty given and flung back, Secret, to her that gave: no sun has bled To wake an echo here of answering red; The surface stirs to no leaf's wind-blown track. Between unseeing walls the waters rest, Lifeless and hushed, till suddenly a swan Glides from some broader river blue as day, And with the mirrored magic of his breast Creates within that barren water-way New life, new loveliness, and passes on. THE IDEAL FOUND WANTING. I'm sick of clownery and Owlglass tricks; Damn the whole crowd of you I I hate you all. The same, night after night, from powdered stall To sweating gallery, your faces fix In flux an idiot mean. The Apteryx You worship is no victory; you call On old stupidity, God made to crawl For tempting with world-wisdom's narcotics. I'll break a window through my prison! See, The sunset bleeds among the roofs; comes night, Dark blue and calm as music dying out. Is it escape? No, the laugh's turned on me! I kicked at cardboard, gaped at red limelight; You laughed and cheered my latest knockabout. MISPLACED LOVE. Red wine that slowly leaned and brimmed the shell Of pearl, where lips had touched, as light and swift As naked petals of the rose adrift Upon the lazy-luted ritournelle Of summer bee-song: laughing as they fell, Gold memories: dream incense, childhood's gift, Blue as the smoke that far horizons lift, Tenuous as the wings of Ariel:-- These treasured things I laid upon the pyre; And the flame kindled, and I fanned it high, And, strong in hope, could watch the crumbling past. Eager I knelt before the waning fire, Phoenix, to greet thine immortality ... But there was naught but ashes at the last. SONNET. Were I to die, you'd break your heart, you say. Well, if it do but bend, I'm satisfied-- Bend and rebound--for hearts are temper-tried, Mild steel, not hardened, with the spring and play Of excellent tough swords. It's not that way That you'll be perishing. But when I've died, When snap! my light goes out, what will betide You, if the heart-breaks give you leave to stay? What will be left, I wonder, if you lose All that you gave me? "All? A year or so Out of a life," you say. But worlds, say I, Of kisses timeless given in ecstasy That gave me Real You. I die: you go With me. What's left? Limbs, clothes, a pair of shoes?... SENTIMENTAL SUMMER. The West has plucked its flowers and has thrown Them fading on the night. Out of the sky's Black depths there smiles a greeting from those eyes, Where all the Real, all I have ever known Of the divine is held. And not alone Do I stand here now ... a presence seems to rise: Your voice sounds near across my memories, And answering fingers brush against my own. Yes, it is you: for evening holds those strands Of fire and darkness twined in one to make Your loveliness a web of magic mesh, Whose cross-weft harmony of soul and flesh Shadows a thought or glows, when smiles awake, Like sunlight passionate on southern lands. THE CHOICE. Comrade, now that you're merry And therefore true, Say--where would you like to die And have your friend to bury What once was you? "On the top of a hill With a peaceful view Of country where all is still?"... Great God, not I! I'd lie in the street Where two streams meet And there's noise enough to fill The outer ear, While within the brain can beat Marches of death and life, Glory and joy and fear, Peace of the sort that moves And clash of strife And routs of armies fleeing. There would I shake myself clear Out of the deep-set grooves Of my sluggish being. THE HIGHER SENSUALISM. There's a church by a lake in Italy Stands white on a hill against the sky? And a path of immemorial cobbles Leads up and up, where the pilgrim hobbles Past a score or so of neat reposories, Where you stop and breathe and tell your rosaries To the shrined terra-cotta mannikins, That expound with the liveliest quirks and grins Known texts of Scripture. But no long stay Should the pilgrim make upon his way; But as means to the end these shrines stand here To guide to something holier, The church on the hilltop. Your heaven's so, With a path leading up to it past a row Of votary Priapulids; At each you pause and tell your beads Along the quintuple strings of sense: Then on, to face Heaven's eminence, New stimulated, new inspired. SONNET. If that a sparkle of true starshine be That led my way; if some diviner thing Than common thought urged me to fashioning Close-woven links of burnished poetry; Then all the heaven that one time dwelt in me Has fled, leaving the body triumphing. Dead flesh it seems, with not a dream to bring Visions that better warm immediacy. Why have my visions left me, what could kill That feeble spark, which yet had life and heat? Fulfilment shewed a present rich and fair: I strive to mount, but catch the nearest still: Souls have been drowned between heart's beat and beat, And trapped and tangled in a woman's hair. FORMAL VERSES. I. Mother of all my future memories, Mistress of my new life, which but to-day Began, when I beheld, deep in your eyes, My own love mirrored and the warm surprise Of the first kiss swept both our souls away, Your love has freed me; for I was oppressed By my own devil, whose unwholesome breath Tarnished my youth, leaving to me at best Age lacking comfort of a soul at rest And weariness beyond the hope of death. II. Ah, those were days of silent happiness! I never spoke, and had no need to speak, While on the windy down-land, cheek by cheek, The slow-driven sun beheld us. Each caress Had oratory for its own defence; And when I kissed or felt her fingers press, I envied not Demosthenes his Greek, Nor Tully for his Latin eloquence. PERILS OF THE SMALL HOURS. When life burns low as the fire in the grate And all the evening's books are read, I sit alone, save for the dead And the lovers I have grown to hate. But all at once the narrow gloom Of hatred and despair expands In tenderness: thought stretches hands To welcome to the midnight room Another presence:--a memory Of how last year in the sunlit field, Laughing, you suddenly revealed Beauty in immortality. For so it is; a gesture strips Life bare of all its make-believe. All unprepared we may receive Our casual apocalypse. Sheer beauty, then you seemed to stir Unbodied soul; soul sleeps to-night, And love comes, dimming spirit's sight, When body plays interpreter. COMPLAINT. I have tried to remember the familiar places,-- The pillared gloom of the beechwoods, the towns by the sea,-- I have tried to people the past with dear known faces, But you were haunting me. Like a remorse, insistent, pitiless, You have filled my spirit, you were ever at hand; You have mocked my gods with your new loveliness: Broken the old shrines stand. RETURN TO AN OLD HOME. In this wood--how the hazels have grown!-- I left a treasure all my own Of childish kisses and laughter and pain; Left, till I might come back again To take from the familiar earth My hoarded secret and count its worth. And all the spider-work of the years, All the time-spun gossamers, Dewed with each succeeding spring; And the piled up leaves the Autumns fling To the sweet corruption of death on death.... At the sudden stir of my spirit's breath All scattered. New and fair and bright As ever it was, before my sight The treasure lay, and nothing missed. So having handled all and kissed, I put them back, adding one new And precious memory of you. FRAGMENT. We're German scholars poring over life, As over a Greek manuscript that's torn And stained beyond repair. Our eyes of horn Read one or two poor letters; and what strife, What books on books begotten for their sake! But we enjoy it; and meanwhile neglect The line that's left us perfect from the wrecked Rich argosy, clear beyond doubts to make Conjectures of. So in my universe Of scribbled half-hid meanings you appear, Sole perfect symbol of the highest sphere; And life's great matrix crystal, whose depths nurse Soul's infinite reflections, glows in you With now uncertain radiance... THE WALK. I. THROUGH THE SUBURBS. Provincial Sunday broods above the town: The street's asleep; through a dim window drifts A small romance that hiccoughs up and down An air all trills and runs and sudden lifts To yearning sevenths poised ... not Chopin quite, But, oh, romantic; a tinsel world made bright With rose and honeysuckle's paper blooms, And where the moon's blue limelight and the glooms Of last-act scenes of passion are discreet. And when the tinkling stops and leaves the street Blank in the sunlight of the afternoon You feel a curtain dropped. Poor little tune! Perhaps our grandmother's dull girlhood days Were fired by you with radiances of pink, Heavenly, brighter far than she could think Anything might be ... till a greater blaze Tinged life's horizon, when he kissed her first, Our grandpapa. But a thin ghost still plays In music down the street, echoing the plaint Of far romance with its own sadder song Of Everyday; and as they walk along,... The young man and the woman, deep immersed In all the suburb-comedy around ... They seem to catch coherence in the sound Of that ghost-music, and the words come faint:-- Oh the months and the days, Oh sleeps and dinners, Oh the planning of ways And quotidian means! Oh endless vistas of mutton and greens, Oh weekly mimblings of prayer and praise, Oh Evenings with All the Winners! Monday sends the clothes to the wash And Saturday brings them home again: Mon Dieu, la vie est par trop moche And Destiny is a sale caboche; But I'll give you heaven In a dominant seven, And you shall not have lived in vain. "In vain," the girl repeats, "in vain, in vain ..." Your suburb's whole philosophy leads there. The ox-stall for our happiness, for pain, Poignant and sweet, the dull narcotic ache Of wretchedness, and in resigned despair A grim contentment ... ashen fruits to slake A nameless, quenchless thirst. The tinkling rain Of that small sentimental music wets Your parching suburb: it may sprout ... who knows?... In something red and silken like a rose, In sheaves of almost genuine violets. Faint chords, your sadness, secular, immense, Brims to the bursting this poor Actual heart. For surging through the floodgates that the sense On sudden lightly opens sweeps the Whole Into the narrow compass of its part. He. Inedited sensation of the soul! You'd have us bless the Hire-Purchase System, Which now allows the poorest vampers To feel, as they abuse their piano's dampers, That angels have stooped down and kissed 'em With Ave-Maries from the infinite. But poor old Infinite's dead. Long live his heir, Lord Here-and-Now ... for all the rest Is windy nothingness, or at the best Home-made Chimera, bodied with despair, Headed with formless, foolish hope. She. No, no! We live in verse, for all things rhyme With something out of space and time. He. But in the suburb here life needs must flow In journalistic prose ... She. But we have set Our faces towards the further hills, where yet The wind untainted and unbound may blow. II. FROM THE CREST. So through the squalor, till the sky unfolds To right and left its fringes, penned no more, A thin canal, 'twixt shore and ugly shore Of hovels, poured contiguous from the moulds Of Gothic horror. Town is left at last, Save for the tentacles that probe,... a squat Dun house or two, allotments, plot on plot Of cabbage, jejune, ripe or passed, Chequering with sick yellow or verdigris The necropolitan ground; and neat paved ways That edge the road ... the town's last nerves ... and cease, As if in sudden shame, where hedges raise Their dusty greenery on either hand. Their path mounts slowly up the hill; And, as they walk, to right and left expand The plain and the golden uplands and the blue Faint smoke of distances that fade from view; And at their feet, remote and still? The city spreads itself. He. That glabrous dome that lifts itself so grand, There in the marish, is the omphalos, The navel, umbo, middle, central boss Of the unique, sole, true Cloud-Cuckoo Land. Drowsy with Sunday bells and Sunday beer Afoam in silver rumkins, there it basks, Thinking of labours past and future tasks And pondering on the end, forever near, Yet ever distant as the rainbow's spring. For still in Cuckoo-Land they're labouring, With hopes undamped and undiscouraged hearts: A little musty, but superb, they sit, Piecing a god together bit by bit Out of the chaos of his sundered parts. Unmoved, nay pitying, they view the grins And lewd grimaces of the folk that jeer ... The vulgar herd, gross monster at the best, Obscenum Mobile, the uttermost sphere, Alas, too much the mover of the rest, Though they turn sungates to its widdershins ... And in some half a million years perhaps God may at last be made ... a new, true Pan, An Isis templed in the soul of man, An Aphrodite with her thousand paps Streaming eternal wisdom. Yes, and man's vessel, all pavilioned out With silk and flags in the fair wind astream, Shall make the port at last, with a great shout Ringing from all her decks, and rocking there shall dream For ever, and dream true ... calm in those roads As lovers' souls at evening, when they swim Between the despairing sunset and the dim Blue memories of mountains lost to sight But, like half fancied, half remembered episodes Of childhood, guessed at through the veils of night. And the worn sailors at the mast who heard The first far bells and knew the sound for home, Who marked the land-weeds and the sand-stained foam And through the storm-blast saw a wildered bird Seek refuge at the mast-head ... these at last Shall earn due praise when all the hubbub's past; And Cuckoo-Landers not a few shall prove. She. You have fast closed the temple gates; You stand without in the noon-tides glow, But the innermost darkness, where God waits, You do not know, you cannot know. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Burning Wheel, by Aldous Huxley *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURNING WHEEL *** ***** This file should be named 47912.txt or 47912.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/9/1/47912/ Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. *** START: FULL LICENSE *** THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at http://gutenberg.org/license). Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works 1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. 1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. 1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. 1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United States. 1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: 1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed: This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license 1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. 1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. 1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg-tm License. 1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. 1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided that - You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work. - You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. 1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. 1.F. 1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. 1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE. 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem. 1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. 1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. 1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life. Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official page at http://pglaf.org For additional contact information: Dr. Gregory B. Newby Chief Executive and Director gbnewby@pglaf.org Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS. The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit http://pglaf.org While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate. International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: http://www.gutenberg.org This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.