Evening star., 1943-10-27
|rked Corsicon OfficioI, Awakened at 2A.M.,
plays Joke on Writer That Doesn't Pan Out

reads regularly all the reports from
the Carnegie's Mount Wilson OBJ
servatory. His specialties are as
tronomy and mathematics. Many
years ago, it seems, he was an honor
student at the Sorbonne. His inti-
mates were among the great names
in these sciences.
Something had happened. He had
buried himself away in this lonely
mountain town, all the time keeping
up with the current literature of his
favorite sciences. There were &C.
tualy tears in the old gentleman
eyes as told of visits to the great
scientific institutions of America, es-
pecially Mount Wilson.
But he had made the best of his
exile in Eccia Suarella, he said. He
had made it the most cultured place
IN Corsica. During the winter he
gave lectures on astronomy. Some
times he was able to persuade some
former colleague, now great name
In the scientific world, to lecture
there for old times sake. And he
had arranged series of concerts
there every winter, he said. There
Is town orchestra. He is vio-
linist.
Learned English to Read Poe.
When he was young man, he
told me, he learned English for the
sole purpose of reading Edgar Aller
Poe in the original He was not
satisfied with the French transla-
ton, by one of his professors, Of
what he believed the most wonder
ful verse ever written.
But now the day Is past, he sale
with a sigh, when any one man car
hope to encompass all knowledge
1t must have been fine 200 year,
ago, he said, when a real scholar
could know everything about every.
thing. Now he must die with Sc
much OF the worlds literature un.
read, SO much great music unheard
so much current science undigested
1 saw his white head disappearing
over the hill in the rain, still clutch
ing in his hand, as if it were q
precious treasure, the battered copy
of the mysterious Universe"
I have met many colorful. dra
matte figures in this war. Prof. BIZ
anchetti appeals to me as the most
colorful of them all.
Beside us sat an Italian soldier
He listened intently to our conversa-
ton, but said nothing. His face was
pale. One of his legs was SWathed
IN bandages. He would groan when
the truck went over bad rut in the
road.
Soldiers Mother Belgian.
After Prof. Bianchetti left the
soldier told me his story. Born in
Italy of an Italian father and a
Belgian mother, he had been taken
to Brussels as an infant and had
grown up there. All his associates
were Belgian. He never thought of
himself as anything else. At the
outbreak of the war he was a med
lcal student at the University of
Brussels. There he knew Ralph
Scholdajer, son of an old neighbor
OF mine in Washington and brother
ln-law Of War Correspondent H. R
Knickerbocker.
Suddenly, in 1910, he had found
to his astonishment that he was not
a Belgian after all and had no rights
to Belgian hospitality. He was de-
ported to Italy and forced into II
Duce's army. All his comrades spoke
a strange tongue. In four years he
has pretty we'll mastered it, he says.
Shrapnel outside Bastia ended the
war for him.
His leg grew worse as the day wore
on and the road got rougher. His
cheeks flushed with fever. There
wasn't much could do for him. I
gave him my last American ciga-