was filled with an acrid odour of burnt flesh. Groans and
death-cries arose in the midst of the flames, and on the edges of the
crumbling roofs monks ran in thousands like ants, and fell into the
valley. Yet Johannes Talpa kept on writing his Chronicle. The soldiers
of Crucha retreated speedily and filled up all the issues from the
monastery with pieces of rock so as to shut up the Porpoises in the
burning buildings. And to crush the enemy beneath the ruin they employed
the trunks of old oaks as battering-rams. The burning timbers fell in
with a noise like thunder and the lofty arches of the naves crumbled
beneath the shock of these giant trees when moved by six hundred men
together. Soon there was left nothing of the rich and extensive abbey
but the cell of Johannes Talpa, which, by a marvellous chance, hung from
the ruin of a smoking gable. The old chronicler still kept writing.

This admirable intensity of thought may seem excessive in the case of
an annalist who applies himself to relate the events of his own time.
However abstracted and detached we may be from surrounding things,
we nevertheless resent their influence. I have consulted the original
manuscript of Johannes Talpa in the National Library, where it is
preserved (Monumenta Peng., K. L6., 12390 four). It is a parchment
manuscript of 628 leaves. The writing is extremely confused, the letters
instead of being in a straight line, stray in all directions and are
mingled together in great disorder, or, more correctly speaking, in
absolute confusion. They are so badly formed that for the most part it
is impossible not merely to say what they are, but even to distinguish
them from the splashes of ink with which they are plentifully
interspersed. Those inestimable pages bear witness in this way to the
troubles amid which they were written. To read them is difficult. On the
other hand, the monk of Beargarden's style shows no trace of emotion.
The tone of the "Gesta Penguinorum" never departs from simplicity.
The narration is rapid and of a conciseness that sometimes approaches
dryness. The reflections are rare and, as a rule, judicious.

V. THE ARTS: THE PRIMITIVES OF PENGUIN PAINTING

The Penguin critics vie with one another in affirming that Penguin
art has from its origin been distinguished by a powerful and pleasing
originality, and that we may look elsewhere in vain for the qualities of
grace and reason that characterise its earliest works. But the Por