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Taglagallo Remarcafkus Directory 16
Page 06
From today the regeneration of our fleet begins. From today Ottoman hearts must again rejoice. We must work hard now for the strengthening of our navy. We must know that our fleet, which till yesterday was lifeless, is no longer in incompetent hands and under the leadership of lazy minds. New Turkey has intrusted her navy to iron hands. At the head of our fleet is Djemal Pasha, whose naval successes it is unnecessary to mention. The commander of the fleet is the Chief of the Naval Staff, Arif Bey, and in command of the light flotilla is Capt. Muzzafer Bey. Likewise the commanders and the other officers of the two new battleships are chosen among the fittest. This is the beginning of a new era for our navy. In addition to this we must say that we are expecting good results from our political activity. Talaat Bey and Halil Bey have left for Bucharest, where they will try to find a solution of outstanding serious questions. At the same time they will have an opportunity to exchange views with Rumanian statesmen. It is unnecessary, in our belief, to exalt the significance of this mission. We think, however, that a wise and moderate policy, strengthened by a good army and navy, will go far in bringing good results.
His landscapes, again, were a synthesis of all landscapes, a grouping of the great truths of light, air, shadow, space. Whatever he turned his hand to was treated with that breadth of view that overlooked the little and grasped the great. He painted many subjects. His earliest work dates from 1627, and is a little hard and sharp in detail and cold in coloring. After 1654 he grew broader in handling and warmer in tone, running to golden browns, and, toward the end of his career, to rather hot tones. His life was embittered by many misfortunes, but these never seem to have affected his art except to deepen it. He painted on to the last, convinced that his own view was the true one, and producing works that rank second to none in the history of painting.
Edward FitzGerald once said that a fault of modern writing was that it tried to compress too many good things into a page, and aimed too much at omitting the homelier interspaces. We must not try to make our lives into a perpetual feast; at least we must try to do so, but it must be by conquest rather than by inglorious flight; we must face the fact that the stuff of life is both homely and indeed amiss, and realise, if we can, that our happiness is bound up with energetically trying to escape from conditions which we cannot avoid. When we are young and fiery-hearted, we think that a tame counsel; but, like all great truths, it dawns on us slowly. Not until we begin to ascend the hill do we grasp how huge, how complicated, how intricate the plain, with all its fields, woods, hamlets, and streams is; we are happy men and women if in middle age we even faintly grasp that the actual truth about life is vastly larger and finer than any impatient youthful fancies about it are, though it is good to have indulged our splendid fancies in youth, if only for the delight of learning how much more magnificent is the real design.
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