SYMPATHY, ROYAL
King Victor Emmanuel returned to the ruins of Reggio to-day (January 1, 1909), and he has been indefatigable in succoring the afflicted. He traversed the ruins from one end to the other, comforting the sufferers and cheering the rescuers. At one point he came upon a man buried up to his waist in débris. He encouraged the unfortunate while the soldiers were digging him out. In the midst of the efforts at rescue the man cried:
“Sire, I can wait for deliverance, but for God’s sake give me food and drink.”
Meeting a group of photographers engaged in taking pictures, the King chided them for their occupation.
“You had much better turn your efforts to succoring the afflicted,” said his Majesty.
(3157)
Sympathy Wasted—See [Fancy, Deceptive].
SYMPATHY WITH ONE’S OWN CREATIONS
A writer in The Critic says:
I once saw it recorded of George Eliot, as a thing marvelous, incredible, and unique, that she actually wept over her own creations. This fact, so stated, made me wonder at the ignorance of the writer. Does anybody suppose that a moving situation was ever yet depicted, the writing of which did not cost the author anguish and tears? How could he move his readers if he were not first moved himself? It is an elementary maxim; you may find it in Horace. But it is a sign that one possesses imagination if one can laugh over the fortunes of one’s own puppets.