“You should be with me. I haven’t even a kodak and I’m moving among the lordliest scenery in a wilderness of Indians, cow punchers, herds of horses wandering loose over the prairie, pink and blue cliffs, cascades, tunnels and snow clad mountains that would make your very camera’s mouth water with envy”. (Letters of Rudyard Kipling, edited by Thomas Pinney, 1990, vol. 1, pp. 326-327)In one scrapbook compiled by William M. Carpenter, the collector takes Kipling’s wish to heart and later attempts to re-create some of the North American leg of Kipling’s 1889 Sea to Sea trip, this time taking photographs himself.
“What know ye of "Plot and Passion"- as we took their meaning then?My colleagues and I are usually amazed and delighted, sometimes puzzled at the unusual materials we’re privileged to process at the Library of Congress. The Kipling Collections are no different in that regard. There is much rich material to use and much more to discover. Many items in LC’s collections may already be well known to many of you. As scholars, critics, and enthusiasts, going back and re-reading Kipling can always reveal fresh insights. It shouldn’t be any different that a library in reassessing, and reprocessing its collections wouldn’t also achieve similarly insightful results and turn up new items along the way, even unpublished ones. We welcome renewed traffic to our Kipling collections and hope you will make some new discoveries as we share our rediscoveries with you.
When our Goddesses were women, and our men were more than men;
When Life and Death were counters, and we slaked them boldly both-
And the guillotine might follow on a lover's broken oath,
When the "ladies from the Fauberg" broke the bank of Petiot
At Paris of the Empire in the days of long ago.
Yet I linger for a moment- mark the progress of your play;
Watch some guileless little gamin act the part of Desmarets.
But your woods have lost their passion,
And your speech is strange and cold,-
You can neither love nor hate Sires, as we did in days of old.
Ah me for jaded glories of "Le Petit Denisot."
Where I schemed and died at Paris in the days of long ago.”