Today's Stichomancy for Andy Warhol

Still more profound are the contradictions to be seen in the author's personal character; and unfortunately they prevented him from completing his work. The trouble is that he made his art out of life, and when in his final years he carried his struggle, as Tolstoi did later, back into life, he repented of all he had written, and in the frenzy of a wakeful night burned all his manuscripts, including the second part of Dead Souls, only fragments of which were saved. There was yet a third part to be written. Indeed, the second part had been written and burned twice. Accounts differ as to why he had burned it finally. Religious remorse, fury at adverse criticism, and despair at not reaching ideal perfection are among the reasons given. Again it is

Dead Souls

about to follow it.

"This is senseless," said Harry impatiently. "I tell you I have examined this side, too; every inch of it."

"And the one ahead of us, at right angles to this?" I asked.

"That too, " he answered.

"And the other--the one to the right of the stream?"

"No. I--I didn't go there."

"Why didn't you say so?" I demanded.

"Because I didn't want to," he returned sullenly. "You can go there if you care to; I don't. It was from there that--it came."

I did not answer, but pushed forward, not, however, leaving

IV

"Coketown!" droned the porter, making his way through the slowing car.

Pescud gathered his hat and baggage with the leisurely promptness of an old traveller.

"I married her a year ago," said John. "I told you I built a house in the East End. The belted--I mean the colonel--is there, too. I find him waiting at the gate whenever I get back from a trip to hear any new story I might have picked up on the road."

I glanced out of the window. Coketown was nothing more than a ragged hillside dotted with a score of black dismal huts propped up against dreary mounds of slag and clinkers. It rained in slanting torrents,

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form a great party with you at its head, I shouldn't mind what you said. But you, with your little figure and your little voice, who will ever follow you? You will be left all alone; that is all the good that will ever come to you through it.'

"And he said, 'Oh my wife, have I not waited and watched and hoped that they who are nobler and stronger than I, all over this land, would lift up their voices and speak--and there is only a deadly silence? Here and there one has dared to speak aloud; but the rest whisper behind the hand; one says, 'My son has a post, he would lose it if I spoke loud'; and another says, 'I have a promise of land'; and another, 'I am socially intimate with these men, and should lose my social standing if I let my voice be heard.'