According to Claremont colleague Dave Reaboi, Angelo Codevilla has passed away.
A fine scholar, writer and patriot, he will be greatly missed--especially now. May he rest in peace.
And in Year Zero News, Ford's Theatre has some revisionist thoughts about its most famous attendee.
I have some thoughts of my own, the most printable involve increasing disgust and impatience with living in an era where moral and mental Lilliputians run the show.
I will let Leo Tolstoy have the last word:
“If one would know the greatness of Lincoln one should listen to the
stories which are told about him in other parts of the world. I have
been in wild places, where one hears the name of America uttered with
such mystery as if it were some heaven or hell. I have heard various
tribes of barbarians discussing the New World, but I heard this only in
connection with the name of Lincoln. Lincoln as the wonderful hero of
America is known by the most primitive nations of Asia. This may be
illustrated through the following incident:
“Once while travelling in the Caucasus I happened to be the guest
of a Caucasian chief of the Circassians, who, living far away from
civilized life in the mountains, had but a fragmentary and childish
comprehension of the world and its history. The fingers of civilization
had never reached him nor his tribe, and all life beyond his native
valleys was a dark mystery. Being a Mussulman he was naturally opposed
to all ideas of progress and education.
“I was received with the usual Oriental hospitality and after our
meal was asked by my host to tell him something of my life. Yielding to
his request I began to tell him of my profession, of the development of
our industries and inventions and of the schools. He listened to
everything with indifference, but when I began to tell about the great
statesmen and the great generals of the world he seemed at once to
become very much interested.
“‘Wait a moment,’ he interrupted, after I had talked a few
minutes. ‘I want all my neighbors and my sons to listen to you. I will
call them immediately.’
“He soon returned with a score of wild looking riders and asked
me politely to continue. It was indeed a solemn moment when those sons
of the wilderness sat around me on the floor and gazed at me as if
hungering for knowledge. I spoke at first of our Czars and of their
victories; then I spoke of the foreign rulers and of some of the
greatest military leaders. My talk seemed to impress them deeply. The
story of Napoleon was so interesting to them that I had to tell them
every detail, as, for instance, how his hands looked, how tall he was,
who made his guns and pistols and the color of his horse. It was very
difficult to satisfy them and to meet their point of view, but I did my
best. When I declared that I had finished my talk, my host, a
gray-bearded, tall rider, rose, lifted his hand and said very gravely:
“‘But you have not told us a syllable about the greatest general
and greatest ruler of the world. We want to know something about him.
He was a hero. He spoke with a voice of thunder; he laughed like the
sunrise and his deeds were strong as the rock and as sweet as the
fragrance of roses. The angels appeared to his mother and predicted that
the son whom she would conceive would become the greatest the stars
had ever seen. He was so great that he even forgave the crimes of his
greatest enemies and shook brotherly hands with those who had plotted
against his life. His name was Lincoln and the country in which he lived
is called America, which is so far away that if a youth should journey
to reach it he would be an old man when he arrived. Tell us of that
man.’
“‘Tell us, please, and we will present you with the best horse of our stock,’ shouted the others.
“I looked at them and saw their faces all aglow, while their eyes
were burning. I saw that those rude barbarians were really interested
in a man whose name and deeds had already become a legend. I told them
of Lincoln and his wisdom, of his home life and youth. They asked me ten
questions to one which I was able to answer. They wanted to know all
about his habits, his influence upon the people and his physical
strength. But they were very astonished to hear that Lincoln made a
sorry figure on a horse and that he lived such a simple life.
“‘Tell us why he was killed,’ one of them said.
“I had to tell everything. After all my knowledge of Lincoln was
exhausted they seemed to be satisfied. I can hardly forget the great
enthusiasm which they expressed in their wild thanks and desire to get a
picture of the great American hero. I said that I probably could secure
one from my friend in the nearest town, and this seemed to give them
great pleasure.
“The next morning when I left the chief a wonderful Arabian horse
was brought me as a present for my marvellous story, and our farewell
was very impressive.
“One of the riders agreed to accompany me to the town and get the
promised picture, which I was now bound to secure at any price. I was
successful in getting a large photograph from my friend, and I handed it
to the man with my greetings to his associates. It was interesting to
witness the gravity of his face and the trembling of his hands when he
received my present. He gazed for several minutes silently, like one in a
reverent prayer; his eyes filled with tears. He was deeply touched and I
asked him why he became so sad. After pondering my question for a few
moments he replied:
“‘I am sad because I feel sorry that he had to die by the hand of
a villain. Don’t you find, judging from his picture, that his eyes are
full of tears and that his lips are sad with a secret sorrow?'"
