Archive for December, 2014


In the letter to H.P. Lovecraft dated December 5, 1935, Howard gives his friend the rundown on the last leg of The Panhandle Trip and provides some background on one of the many places he lived before the family settled in Cross Plains:

Next morning we turned south, a hundred or so miles to San Angelo, traversing a rugged and rather barren country I hadn’t visited since we lived in that region, more than twenty years ago. We passed through Bronte, where we were living when the Orient railroad came through there, and which I, at least, hadn’t seen since we moved away. It was named for the noted author, when founded by a colony of English, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, but they starved out or were absorbed by the hard-bitten native settlers, who shortened the pronunciation to one syllable. We ate breakfast in San Angelo, which is about 105 miles from Cross Plains, and reached home shortly after noon, having driven nearly 1000 miles in about three days.

railroad_(Medium)_YU8IOThe Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway was completed through the area in 1907, though reportedly the first train did not run until 1909. I.M. Howard’s listing in the 1909 American Medical Directory gives his residence as Bronte. TGR blogger Rob Roehm and his dad are always on the hunt for bread-crumb trails left by the Howards as they moved around Texas during their “wandering years” while Howard was still a small boy. A visit by Rob and his dad to the Coke County Courthouse is recorded here.

Located in east central Coke County, Bronte was founded in the late 1880s and as Howard notes above, the town was named for the English novelist Charlotte Bronte. It all began when Cattle baron J.B. McCutchen drove a herd of cattle into the area from Santa Anna in 1889. Soon other hardy settlers followed, including Dr. W. F. Key, who actually founded the town. The town’s first buildings were built with lumber which was brought in on wagons from Ballinger.  Early on the town had two names before Bronte was selected — Oso and Bronco. However, the the post office nixed Bronco to avoid confusion with another town. By 1890 Bronte had a post office, two churches and a school. Its population was 213 in 1900. In conjunction with the completion of the railroad tracks in 1907, Bronte was moved a mile to be near the track so it could become a shipping point on the railroad line. It would be two more years before the first train came through. In September 1908 Howard was only two years when Doc Howard hung out his shingle in the town. They were only in Bronte for a little over a year before moving on again. By 1910 the town had grown to a population of 635, with a number of businesses, including two cotton gins, a bank, and a newspaper (the Enterprise, established in 1906). Today Bronte is a thriving little town — the size of Cross Plains — with a population of just under 1,000.

This family trip was a throwback of sorts to the “wandering years.” By all accounts, it was a pleasant diversion for the Howards and a brief respite from their day to day lives and worries. Little did they know time was running out for the family and that fateful day of June 11, 1936 was eleven months down the road.

Read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

This entry filed under H. P. Lovecraft, Howard's Texas, Howard's Travels.


“I do not forget faces. Somewhere I have seen yours – under circumstances that etched it into the back of my mind. But I am unable to recall those circumstances.”

“I was at Rhodes,” offered the German.

“Many men were at Rhodes,” snapped Suleyman.

“Aye,” agreed von Kalmbach tranquilly. “De l’Isle Adam was there.”

— Robert E. Howard, “The Shadow of the Vulture”

Gottfried von Kalmbach, the huge tawny-haired German knight of St. John, glowered pensively at the immense Turkish host drawn up against his Order. They were besieged on the island of Rhodes. The new Ottoman Sultan, Suleiman, still in his twenties, was determined to hurl the knights from their stronghold, and on his showing so far, if any man could do it, he could. Gottfried, as a German, stood with his countrymen at their post on the section of the ramparts just west of the Grand Master’s palace. The French knights had been stationed to the north. South of the Germans, and on around the fortifications, were the knights of Auvergne, Aragon, England (the English contingent the poorest of the Order, as that of France was richest) Provence, Italy, and Castile – the latter incorporating Portugal.

The knights had long been grouped in divisions (Langues) according to the tongues they spoke. Unity of language and tradition had been found good for morale. Nearly all the knights spoke more than one language, however. Gottfried, though no intellectual, had fluent French and fair English, with enough Turkish to manage a basic conversation – despite the fact that he seldom said anything more to Turks than “Yield!” or “Go to hell!”

YFAL1383-1The Order was fortunately led by a worthy Grand Master, the resolute and experienced Philippe Villiers de l’Isle Adam. His foresight had strengthened the already mighty fortifications of Rhodes, and brought a superb military engineer to the island – the Italian Gabriele Tadini, an asset beyond price to the beleaguered knights. Devout and skilful, Tadini had been admitted to the Order by de l’Isle Adam as a Knight Grand Cross, and made a Bailiff. Besides strengthening the walls and bastions in conventional ways, the inventive Tadini devised safeguards against one of the greatest dangers in any siege – tunnels dug by enemy sappers to undermine the walls.

Such tunnels in former centuries had been supported by timber baulks until the besiegers wanted to collapse them under the wall or tower they threatened. Then they had simply filled the tunnel with firewood and set it ablaze. By 1522 barrels of gunpowder had replaced firewood, to devastating effect – and the Turkish Empire, with its huge resources, could afford any amount of powder.

Tadini avoided the waste of the defenders’ strength involved in constantly digging counter-mines. He had deep, narrow shafts dug at the spots most likely to be threatened by Turkish tunnels. The main force of the sappers’ powder charge would then escape up the shaft, and the effect on the walls would be minimal.

Tadini also invented a device to detect the vibration of picks and crowbars within the earth as the enemy sappers advanced. It was simply a parchment drumhead with tiny, sensitive bells attached. Placed on the ground, it served as a reliable alarm for subterranean action. This spared the Order’s men much of the usual wearing labour and battles below the earth. They had enough to do above it.

Suleiman’s artillery began pounding the citadel at the end of July. It went on day and night without pausing, except when he commanded his infantry to assault the walls. It was perilous work, for the knights of St. John were skilled gunners also. As any new Turkish cannon emplacement found the range and began to inflict damage, the Rhodian guns were promptly trained on it and undertook to shatter it. Turkish engineers directed the labour of a multitude of slaves to raise earthworks higher than the very walls of Rhodes, but that consumed much time.

Gottfried was tireless. Conspicuous always in the hand-to-hand fighting, he was as evident when the walls had been breached or weakened, working like a giant to fill the gaps with bundles of wood or baskets of earth. (Tadini made sure these were handy when required.)  Early in the siege, Suleiman concentrated his cannon fire and assaults against the post of a single langue at a time, but again and again this exposed his troops to crossfire from the posts on either side. They were slaughtered until the dry earth of Rhodes bore a carpet of their dead.

Turksish Soldiers_in_Ottoman_Hungary[1]A near-disaster occurred on the 4th of September. A mine was successfully exploded under the wall of the English post, and a forty-foot section of the wall did collapse. The janissaries, the dreaded Turkish slave-infantry, charged it, raising their dreaded battle-cry. Grand Master de l’Isle Adam himself led the resistance to their attack, with the English commander, Brother Nicholas Hussey. The knights at the other posts were required – and ordered – to stay where they were lest attacks be launched against their sections of the wall also. Gottfried, with the lack of discipline for which he was notorious, crossed to the English post anyway, knocking down two men who tried to stay him. He battled beside the English knights until evening.

The other German knights joined him as two further attacks followed. It had become clear that the situation was desperate. A great mound of Turkish dead lay before that section of the fortress walls, and even the plumed janissaries could not sustain their onslaught. They fell back.

Suleiman ground his teeth over these immense losses, but his shattering artillery fire and repeated assaults slowly weakened the defences of Rhodes through August and September. On the 24th, he launched his first mass attack upon the posts of several Langues at once – against the southern ramparts, from the post of Italy on the east, by the harbour, those of Provence and England, on the south, and that of Aragon, at the south-western corner. His gunners bombarded the entire front at dawn, with an intensity that made their previous cannonades seem like lovers’ kisses. Then the Sultan’s infantry attacked, in a relentless human wave. Again the shattered, and hastily repaired, bastions of the English post were forced to bear what seemed unbearable. Again Gottfried von Kalmbach towered among the bloody chaos, roaring his family name, fighting where the fray was thickest and be damned to orders. Slipping in blood, choking on smoke and dust, he battled for six long hours hand-to-hand beside the English knights and the Provencals, until at last the Turkish soldiers fell back. Not even the scourges of their officers could force them into the breaches again. The Sultan, choking in rage, had to accept that if Rhodes fell at all, it would not be before winter arrived to make his siege even more difficult.

Mustafa Pasha, the Sultan’s brother-in-law, who had commanded the Turkish attack, incurred Suleiman’s wrath for his failure. The Sultan sentenced him to death. Other senior officers pleaded with Suleiman for mercy, and finally he granted it, sparing Mustafa’s life. He was exceptionally lucky. Ottoman Sultans, when they ordered a city taken, did not listen to excuses. But Mustafa was replaced by Ahmed Pasha, an experienced siege engineer.

gedik-ahmet-pasaAhmed was apparently the Ottoman equivalent of Tadini. With him in charge, the Turks concentrated on undermining the walls while subjecting them to a continuous barrage from the Sultan’s cannon. As the walls of Rhodes generally rested on solid rock, and the tunnels driven by Ahmed’s sappers had strangely regular intervals between them, it is possible he had found the ancient Greek culverts of Rhodes, and taken advantage of them. Neither Tadini nor de l’Isle Adam could call upon outside resources. The Turkish army could … the resources of the greatest empire in the known world. But the Turks were flagging too.

The knights had superb artillerymen of their own. Suleiman had lost many precious cannon and valuable gun crews. The Turks raised massive earthworks opposite the posts of England and Aragon, until, finally, they overtopped the walls of Rhodes in that section. Suleiman had his remaining heavy cannon concentrated there, firing constantly down into the city to make a wide breach. The knights and their workmen toiled like maniacs to repair the breaches; the Turkish gunners opened them again.

Gabriele Tadini saw that those Turkish guns were almost the last of Suleiman’s heavy cannon. He proposed a desperate action, which was approved, and led two hundred knights on their battle chargers out through the no-man’s land between the battered walls of Rhodes and the enemy guns. They were committed to destroy them or die.

Gottfried von Kalmbach was among them. They charged the thousand Azabs (the equivalent of marines) guarding the Sultan’s batteries, in a terrible mass of flesh and steel, tipped with lance-heads. First they skewered the Azabs and rode them down, then finished the slaughter with their huge two-handed broadswords. The cannon had been aimed at the fortress walls and could not be aligned to blast the charging knights in time. Now, cutting down the gun crews, the knights set fire to the wooden gun-limbers. As their supports burned, the huge cannon rolled down into the ditches and lay there, useless. Gottfried rode back to the fortress with his comrades, roaring his great laughter.

Tens of thousands of Turkish soldiers lay dead around the citadel of Rhodes – literally. Not one had entered it, yet. Disease was spreading in the Turkish camp. Even the indomitable janissaries, the men whose only purpose was war for the glory of the Sultan and Islam, were gloomy and discouraged. Late in September, after two months’ arduous and bloody siege, the Knights of St. John still held out.

SiegeOfRhodes1480They could not hold out much longer, though. The fearful Turkish barrage had sorely reduced the bastions of England and Aragon. The janissaries charged the weak spots again, and again, and again, each time being hurled back, the bastions being lost, regained, lost again and then regained. Men on both sides wondered how human flesh and blood could stand it. October came, wore on in gore, death and agony, and gave way to November. Autumn had gone now, and winter had arrived. Cold gales and rain added to the Turks’ misery. Disease increased. Sickness, as always in any protracted campaign, killed more soldiers than the enemies’ weapons.

Immense as the odds against them were, the knights might not have been forced to yield, and the Sultan might have had to withdraw in failure and shame. But every besieged fortress has its traitor, and Rhodes was no exception. An appalling discovery was made towards the end. The Grand Chancellor of the Order, Andrea d’Amaral, had been smuggling information to the Turkish camp throughout the siege. He had betrayed the weak points of the defenses, and given information about the knights’ inner councils. His motive may have been rivalry and pride. He had been eager for the position of Grand Master, and sorely disappointed when de l’Isle Adam was chosen instead. He was brought before the council of the knights and condemned.

He and his manservant, who had aided him, were executed on the 5th of November.

Finally, in December, the Sultan made a greater concession than he had remotely conceived he would, when the siege began. If de l’Isle Adam would surrender Rhodes, he, all his knights and soldiers, the mercenaries, the citizens, would be spared and allowed to depart unmolested. Otherwise – no quarter. The citadel was in ruins, the knights and people alike, starving.

The Grand Master accepted.

The knights took their sacred relics, including a piece of the True Cross, and exchanged the red cloaks they wore in battle for the black ones that distinguished them in normal times. Then they left Rhodes, under Suleiman’s safe conduct. The island had been their stronghold for two hundred years, ever since the loss of Acre in the early fourteenth century. Now it was lost. No Christian monarch in Europe had sent a force to break the siege and succour the knights.

images5FYTTNF7Gottfried got colossally drunk in his grief. That was nothing new, and he never needed the excuse of anguish. While drunk, however, he overheard two Portuguese knights cursing the Grand Master for his execution of d’Amaral. They were claiming he had trumped up the charges to excuse his loss of the fortress. Gottfried von Kalmbach rose to his feet, roaring, and called them perjured liars.

The result was a ferocious brawl. Gottfried seriously wounded one of his adversaries, and killed the other. That was the end of his career in the Order. His reasons for getting into the fight hardly mattered; it was one more instance of his notorious drunken indiscipline, and one too many, especially at that time. Before the end of January, 1523, Gottfried was thrown out of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem. He went his way unrepentant, a vagabond hell-raiser on the ancient soil of Sicily.

But Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent had not seen the last of him.

Read Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

This entry filed under Howard's Fiction.

frank_frazetta_atlantis In Part One, I detailed my discovery of the 1923 Little Blue Book (or LBB), Theosophy in Outline, by Frederick Willis and how it appeared to be source for Howard’s use of theosophical themes in some of his early works, like “Men of the Shadows,” rather than the previously proposed source, W. Scott-Elliot’s book The Story of Atlantis. This LBB also appeared to be the source for a 1923 letter to Tevis Clyde Smith in which Howard discusses Atlantis and reincarnation.  After I shared the LBB with Patrice Louinet, he noted some similarities with the 1923 untitled Bran Mak Morn story that also deals with reincarnation (Howard, “Untitled”)

But then Patrice noticed a potential problem with the chronology. Howard mentions writing the untitled reincarnation story in an October 5, 1923 letter (Collected Letters i:24), which dates it very securely. Theosophy in Outline, however, was part of the Little Blue Book’s Pocket Series, which did not begin publication until that same month: October of 1923 (Gibbs, “Dating”). Further research on the Library of Congress’s online database indicated that Theosophy in Outline was published on November 9, making it too late to have influenced either the untitled story or the Smith “Atlantis” letter.

Still intrigued by the apparently coincidental similarities, I contacted historian Jake Gibbs, the foremost authority on the chronology of the Haldeman-Julius LBB publications to find out if there could have possibly been an earlier version of Outline. Gibbs confirmed the November 9 publication date, but he also pointed out that the material in the LBBs was often published earlier in one of several newsletters—all of which were exceedingly rare (Personal communication). Gibbs indicated that the publications Life and Letters and Know Thyself were the two that most often printed material from forthcoming Little Blue Books; of these two, the latter, which dealt primarily with philosophy and psychology, seemed like the most likely venue for a theosophy article.

I then contacted Randy Roberts, the head of special collections at the Pittsburg State University library where the largest and most complete collection of Haldeman-Julius publications is housed. Roberts graciously conducted a search of all of the newsletters for 1923 looking for references to Willis or to theosophy. Unfortunately, he was only able to locate two editorial mentions of the forthcoming Outline LBB by Haldeman-Julius himself , but with little detail beyond a brief biographical sketch of Willis (Roberts). The first of these is from Haldeman-Julius Weekly no. 1424 (March 17, 1923), 1:

I am preparing for me a booklet to be entitled “A Guide to Theosophy,” which is being written especially for the Pocket Series by F.Milton Willis, who promises delivery of the manuscript within a few weeks. The matter will be treated impartially and scientifically. We all know, of course, that the fanatical propaganda spirit is quite lacking in the real students of theosophy, just as it is in the students of any other philosophy. E. Haldeman-Julius.

The second is from Haldeman-Julius Weekly no. 1432 (May 12, 1923), 1:

I have already told my readers about Dr. F. Milton Willis agreeing to write a book for the Pocket Series which is to be known by the name of “An Outline of Theosophy.” The manuscript is in my hands and it is scheduled for early publication. Dr. Willis has long been a member of the world-wide Theosophical Society, whose headquarters is at Adyar, Madras, India. He has held prominent positions in the Society in America. He has written extensively for theosophical magazines and is accepted as a correct interpreter of these doctrines. E. P. Dutton and Company are publishing a series of his books, a fact which speaks for itself. Captain Russell Lloyd Jones, who conducts what is known as the Philosophers Book Shop, 26 West 43rd Street, New York City, writes me that he fully endorses Dr. Willis as an accurate writer on Theosophy. ‘I am myself a member of the Theosophical Society and a student of Theosophy,’ writes Captain Jones. ‘I might add that the only original work in theosophical research is being done by members of this society, of which Mrs. Annie Besant is President and of which Mr. C. W. Leadbeater is an invaluable members, a man who might be characterized as the Pythagoras of modern times.’

Unfortunately, while these passages provide some interesting background on the publication of the Theosophy in Outline LBB and on Willis himself, they offer no evidence that the content was published elsewhere. So, it appears that the similarities between Outline and Howard’s reincarnation writings from the fall of 1923 are merely coincidental, or that Willis published his material in an earlier as-yet unidentified publication, possibly one of the numerous theosophical periodicals, and that Howard encountered it there.

Caledonian-pictIn any case, given Howard’s interest in Little Blue Books and in concepts like reincarnation and lost civilizations, it is not at all unlikely that he would have acquired a copy of Outline sometime after its November 1923 publication. It still appears to be a probable source for much of the information on Root Races and on Atlantis and Lemuria that appears in “Men of the Shadows.”

In “Theosophy and the Thurian Age” I argued that much of the pre-cataclysmic geography described in “Men of the Shadows,” such as the west coast of North America being partially submerged (i.e. Howard’s Pictish Isles) was influenced in part by the maps in Scott-Elliot’s The Story of Atlantis (Shanks 60-62). Recently however, I completed a study of the surviving draft pages from “Men of the Shadows,” and discovered that, in fact, much of the geography of Howard’s pre-cataclysmic world probably came from another of his known sources, E. A. Allen’s Prehistoric World, Or Vanished Races (1885), rather than the maps from The Story of Atlantis (the results of this study will be published in a forthcoming article). The similarity between the prehistoric world described by Allen and the maps by Scott-Elliot are not a coincidence, however, as Scott-Elliot and Allen, writing only a decade apart, were themselves utilizing many of the same sources, such as geologist Alexander Winchell and ethnologist Hubert Bancroft.

If Howard did acquire Scott-Elliot’s The Story of Atlantis prior to 1928 there is little evidence he did more than skim it and look at the large fold out maps (and in truth the maps are the most interesting feature of the book) and even that is now questionable as it appears that most of the theosophical elements in his early works could have come from Theosophy in Outline or from Allen’s Prehistoric World. Howard’s depiction of Atlantis itself during this early period in “Men of the Shadows,” Exile of Atlantis,” and “The Shadow Kingdom” tends to follow Lewis Spence’s stone-age model of the lost continent rather than Scott-Elliot’s advanced Atlantean civilization (though the kingdom of Valusia in the last two stories does have similarities with Scott-Elliot’s Atlantis).

EPSON MFP imageIn 1928, however, Howard’s depiction of Atlantis and Atlanteans in his fiction begins to change significantly. With “Skull-Face,” Howard begins to incorporate tropes such as the advanced,  brown-skinned, “imperial” Atlanteans, as well as the idea of a “deep time” Atlantis hundreds of thousands of years old—tropes that do seem to have their origin with Scott-Elliot’s Story of Atlantis, and in particular Scott-Elliot’s description of the Atlantean sub-race, the Akkadians (Shanks 69-71). This new version of Atlantis would inform his next few stories on the subject in “Moon of Skulls” and “Gods of Bal-Sagoth.” The catalyst that prompted Howard to read The Story of Atlantis itself and go beyond Willis’s synopsis in Theosophy in Outline may have been the prominent mention of Scott-Elliot’s book in Lovecraft’s story “The Call of Cthulhu” (139), which was published in the February 1928 issue of Weird Tales.

The means by which Howard might have acquired a copy of Scott-Elliot’s book can be explained by Theosophy in Outline as well, as The Story of Atlantis is listed at the back of the LBB in a bibliography of suggested further reading (94). In the preface, Willis also informs the reader that they can order these books directly from the Theosophical Publishing Company and then provides the mailing address. Interestingly, Willis does not list Scott-Elliot’s second book, The Lost Lemuria. As I have noted previously, there is little or no evidence that Howard had seen or read The Lost Lemuria. This is significant as many editions of Scott-Elliot’s after 1925 had the two books combined in a single volume and Howard surely would have acquired this combined version if he had known about it.

While not conclusive, the evidence presented here suggests that Howard’s first introduction to theosophical ideas about prehistory and human evolution was not Scott-Elliot’s The Story of Atlantis, as I have argued previously, but rather the short synopsis of Scott-Elliot’s ideas in the 1923 Little Blue Book Theosophy in Outline by Frederick Milton Willis. Theosophy in Outline appears likely to have been Howard’s primary source for the theosophical ideas expressed in “Men of the Shadows” in particular. Willis’s booklet may have prompted Howard to acquire The Story of Atlantis, but the latter does not appear to have had a great impact on his work until 1928 when the manner in which Howard depicted Atlantis and Atlanteans changed dramatically. This Scott-Elliot-influenced vision of “brown” Atlanteans would remain the dominant one until Howard returned to Spence’s concept of a stone-age Atlantis with the creation of the Hyborian Age in 1932.

The identification and analysis of Howard’s influences and sources of inspiration like Willis, Scott-Elliot, Allen, and Spence in these early stories of prehistoric and antediluvian worlds, is crucial to furthering our understanding of Howard’s sub-creative methodology  and of his influential role as one of the first great world-builders of modern fantasy.


Allen, A. E. The Prehistoric World, or Vanished Races. Cincinnati: Central Publishing House, 1885. Print.

Gibbs, Jake. Personal Communication. November 2011. Email.

———. ” Dating Little Blue Books. []” Haldeman-Julius: Pocket Series and The Little Blue Books. March 2009. Web. November 2011.

Howard, Robert E. The Collected Letters of Robert E. Howard. 3 Vols.. Ed. Rob Roehm. Plano, TX: The REH Foundation Press, 2007. Print.

———. “The Gods of Bal-Sagoth.” The Black Stranger and Other American Tales. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005. 110-  145. Print.

———. “Men of the Shadows.” Bran Mak Morn: The Last King. New York: Del Rey, 2005. 1-30. Print.

———. “The Moon of Skulls.” The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane. New York: Del Rey, 2004. 99-170. Print.

———. “The Shadow Kingdom.”  Kull: Exile of Atlantis. New York: Del Rey, 2006. 13-51. Print.

———. “Skull-Face.” Tales of Weird Menace. Plano, TX: Robert E. Howard Foundation Press, 2010. 3-94. Print.

———. “Untitled.” Bran Mak Morn: The Last King. New York: Del Rey, 2005. 289-320. Print.

———. “Untitled Story (Previously published as ‘Exile of Atlantis’).” Kull: Exile of Atlantis. New York: Del Rey, 2006. 3-9. Print.

Louinet, Patrice. Personal communication. November 2011. Email.

Lovecraft, H. P. “The Call of Cthulhu.” The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories. New York: Penguin, 1999. 139-169. Print.

Roberts, Randy. Personal communication. December 2011. Email.

Scott-Elliot, William. The Lost Lemuria. London: Theosophical Publishing Company, 1904. Print.

———. The Story of Atlantis. London: Theosophical Publishing Society, 1896. Print.

Shanks, Jeffrey. “Theosophy and the Thurian Age: Robert E. Howard and the Works of W. Scott-Elliot.” The Dark Man 6:1-2 (2011). Print.

Spence, Lewis. The Problem of Atlantis. London: William Rider and Son. 1924. Print.

Willis, Frederick Milton. Theosophy in Outline. Little Blue Book No. 477. Girard, Kansas: Haldeman-Julius Company, 1923. Print.

This entry filed under Howard's Fiction, Tevis Clyde Smith.


I’m curious to know how the readers will like Gottfried von Kalmbach …  A more dissolute vagabond than Gottfried never weaved his drunken way across the pages of a popular magazine: wastrel, drunkard, gambler, whore-monger, renegade, mercenary, plunderer, thief, rogue, rascal – I never created a character whose creation I enjoyed more.

— Letter to H.P. Lovecraft, March 6th, 1933

Red Sonya of Rogatino’s comrade in arms, Gottfried, among his varied qualities, was German.  A coming series of posts from myself and Deuce Richardson is going to be devoted with serious intent (damn’ well told) to another noteworthy German created by REH – von Junzt, author of Nameless Cults.  The latter was born in 1795, and it’s my contention that he had von Kalmbachs among his ancestors.  Not Gottfried, though, or not directly at any rate.  Gottfried was a footloose, debauched black sheep who doubtless died drunk or in battle, or both, and never married.

The von Kalmbachs were not merely noble.  They belonged to the “Uradel” or Old Nobility, those with ancestors of free and knightly birth before the mid-fourteenth century.  The families ennobled after that time, by imperial letters patent, were known as the “Briefadel”.  There were also the Imperial Knights, a class of their own, responsible to the Emperor only and the backbone of his army.

charlemagne-1-sizedGottfried von Kalmbach would have been a younger son.  I assume he was born in 1498 – almost exactly three centuries before von Junzt – and had two older brothers as well as a sister.  The von Kalmbachs were a Bavarian family with a castle near Regensburg (Ratisbon).  They were said to be descendants of Charlemagne through Arnulf of Carinthia (who died at Regensburg in December 899 CE).  The town had been a free imperial city with its own mayor and council since the Emperor Frederick II granted it those rights in 1245.

Von Kalmbachs had fought in the Crusades and been members of the Teutonic Order in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, subjugating the pagan Balts.  The family had also become related by marriage to the Dukes of Bavaria, the Wittelsbachs, by 1500.   The Kalmbach coat of arms was “per pale purpure and argent, a chief and bear passant counterchanged”.  The crest was a gauntleted hand grasping the hilt of a broken sword.

Gottfried was exceptionally large and strong by the time he was fourteen.  Tawny-haired and blue-eyed, he was a born rebel, brawler and hell-raiser.  He demonstrated it even at that early age, as the undisputed leader of a gang of other nobly-born but rambunctious boys, some of them years older than he.  They drank, whored, engaged in highway robbery for amusement, and wrecked a dozen taverns in Regensburg during their free-for-alls.  Flogging at the hands of their fathers, or on a couple of occasions the law, never mended their ways.

At seventeen, Gottfried killed a man in a fight over a peasant girl.  German aristocrats in those days were allowed plenty of leeway in their amusements, but the man was a rich burgher’s son, and that made a difference even though he had been no better than young von Kalmbach.  Gottfried’s father decided his youngest son was unsafe to have around, and pulled strings to have him accepted into the Order of St. John of Jerusalem (the Hospitallers), telling him roundly that if no-one else could discipline him, the knights of the white eight-pointed cross certainly would.  As a German, Gottfried would have joined the Teutonic Knights if born two centuries before, but that Order had lost its main purpose when Lithuania became a Christian land, and in 1515 – the very year Gottfried von Kalmbach overstepped the mark too far – the Emperor Maximilian I had made a marriage alliance with Poland-Lithuania.  The German Empire ceased to support the Teutonic Order against Poland after that, and the Order’s decline – already far advanced — accelerated.  The Order of St. John offered better prospects.

knights-of-st-johnIt was rather like the way aristocratic ne’er-do-wells were sent out to the colonies from England in Queen Victoria’s time, or misfits and drifters found their way into the French Foreign Legion.  Gottfried didn’t mind too much, knowing as he did that the Knights of St. John were great seamen (and pirates) sworn to fight the Turks.  He would as soon have fought Turks as anybody else.

From the beginning it was plain that his career in the Order would not lead to the Grand Master’s chair.  Gottfried was hardly suited by nature to observe vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.  Poverty he could accept with a shrug, chastity he could take or leave, but obedience was beyond him.  If he thought about it at all, he probably assumed his remarkable fighting prowess would ensure that his misdeeds were overlooked.  Coming from one of the noblest families in Germany ought to ensure exceptional tolerance, also.

Fabrizio del Carretto was Grand Master of the Order when Gottfried joined it.  The failure of the Crusades had pushed the knights from Jerusalem and the Levant to Cyprus, then from Cyprus to Rhodes, their present stronghold.  The Order was divided into eight langues, or tongues, one of them German.  Each, on Rhodes, was lodged in a separate inn, or auberge. Their ships were three-banked galleys armed with rams at the bow and small cannon, but the main striking power lay with the knights who manned them, in their plate suits, wielding their heavy broadswords.  Their usual tactic was to close and grapple with their enemies – or victims – and board in a red onslaught.  Gottfried von Kalmbach was in his element there.

Rhodes had a long, violent history, even then.  From the 15th century BCE it had been under the sway of Minoan Crete, and when the main Bronze Age civilizations collapsed before the migrating Sea Peoples, it fared as badly as Cyprus and the Levant.  In the 8th century the Dorians came to the island, and brought with them the worship of Athena and Helios.  The Persians later conquered Rhodes, but Athens beat the Persians and forced them out of the island in 478 BCE, after which the Rhodian cities joined the Athenian League.  After the war King Mausolus of Caria (whose tomb was one of the Seven Ancient Wonders) conquered Rhodes in his turn, though only briefly.  The Persians came back and conquered Rhodes again, but again their rule was short before Alexander the Great defeated them and added Rhodes to his dominions.

Alexander died, his generals struggled to control Rhodes, by then an important centre of commerce and culture, closely allied with Egypt.  Antigonus threw all his resources into a siege of the island to destroy that alliance.  He failed, and had to sign a peace agreement, leaving vast stores of military equipment and immense siege engines behind.  The Rhodians – chuckling and rubbing their hands, no doubt – sold it all and used the money to raise a gigantic statue in honour of their sun god, Helios, the famous Colossus of Rhodes.  It stood for less than sixty years before an earthquake snapped it at the knees.  The wreckage lay where it had fallen for centuries, and travellers marvelled to see it.  Then the conquering forces of Islam came to Rhodes, and the statue’s remnants – according to popular legend – were carted away and sold as just another graven image from the “days of ignorance”.

constantinopleBy Gottfried’s time the island was the best defended fortress in the Mediterranean.  The Knights of St. John had spent two hundred years making it impregnable, or as close to that as human powers could contrive.  Eight smaller islands surrounding Rhodes were under the sway of the knights, serving as important surveillance posts and ports.  They maintained a hospital – one of their order’s functions – and in theory protected Christian shipping from the depredations of Islamic corsairs.  In practice they were corsairs themselves, not only raiding Turkish vessels but also Venetian ones, on the ground that Venice traded and colluded with the Turks.  Before the Byzantine Empire fell to the Turks, the knights had raided Byzantine shipping too, the Order of St. John being Catholic and the Byzantines Greek Orthodox – heretical by the knights’ standards.

Gottfried became a skilled pirate and naval gunner while wearing the eight-pointed cross.  He had survived a number of ferocious sea-battles by the time he was twenty.  Once, against odds, he had distinguished himself in a fight with a squadron of galleys led by Khaireddin Barbarossa himself.

In 1520 a new Ottoman sultan, only four years older than Gottfried, came to the throne of Turkey.  He was Suleiman, who would be known in the west as “the Magnificent” and to his own people as “the Lawgiver”.  In his teens, to learn the business of ruling, he had been appointed by his father Selim the Grim as governor of Theodosia, Manisa, and briefly Adrianople.  Having become sultan, he began as he intended to go on, first crushing a revolt by the governor of Damascus, then leading his armies against the key fortress-city of Belgrade, to wrest it away from Hungary.  Through criminal, craven negligence, Belgrade had a garrison of only seven hundred, and worse yet, Hungary sent it no assistance.  Belgrade fell to the Turks in August 1521.

Suleiman might easily have advanced into Hungary then.  He chose not to.  He regarded taking Rhodes, headquarters of the Knights of St. John, as more urgent.  While he was taking Belgrade, a new Grand Master of the knights had been appointed, del Carretto having died.  The new man was the redoubtable Philippe Villiers de l’Isle Adam, who wasted no time making the fortifications of Rhodes even stronger.  He called all the knights of the Order to Rhodes and appealed to the monarchs of Christendom for help, but aside from some Venetian troops from Crete, no help arrived, in spite of the sinister lesson of Belgrade.  It wasn’t a new story.

De l’Isle Adam prepared to resist with all his power.

In June 1522, a mighty Turkish fleet of four hundred ships assailed Rhodes.

piechota_zaporoska_1Gottfried’s future comrade-in-arms and mistress, Sonya of Rogatino, was then eighteen years old by my reckoning.  She had already seen Crimean raiders attack her home town and carry off her sister Roxelana – later to be Suleiman’s favourite.  Sonya, in the aftermath of the raid, had become the adopted daughter of a hetman of the Zaporozhian Cossacks.  The wildest of those wild men had to admit she rode as hard and cut as deep as any.  She and Gottfried would meet, in seven years’ time, at the siege of Vienna.

But first Gottfried fought at Rhodes, unaware that Sonya existed.  Coban Mustafa Pasha commanded the fleet that preceded the Sultan, and Suleiman himself arrived at the end of July to take charge in his own person, with an army of one hundred thousand men.  The Order prepared to withstand him with three hundred knights, the Venetian mercenary troops from Crete, and about four thousand Rhodian soldiers – five thousand men, six thousand at most, against the superbly trained, motivated and organized Turkish host, with the most advanced artillery in the world, of one hundred and seventy thousand.

The odds were a trifle heavy …

Read Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

This entry filed under H. P. Lovecraft, Howard's Fiction.


This essay is a follow up to my article, “Theosophy and the Thurian Age: Robert E. Howard and the Works of William Scott-Elliot,” that was published in the November 2011 issue of The Dark Man journal (Shanks). In that article I argued that the principle source for the theosophical elements identified by Rusty Burke and Patrice Louinet (350) in Howard’s 1926 story “Men of the Shadows” and his 1928 “Atlantis” letter to Harold Preece was the book The Story of Atlantis by William Scott-Elliot. This is important because “Men of the Shadows” is the first story in which we see Howard beginning to creat his fictional prehistoric world that would later evolve into the Thurian Age of Kull and the Hyborian Age of Conan.

I argued further that Scott-Elliot’s influence could be seen in other stories, particularly “The Shadow Kingdom,” “Moon of Skulls,” “Skull-Face,” “The Gods of Bal-Sagoth,” and “The Hyborian Age.” I also identified several specific themes that Howard seems to have taken from The Story of Atlantis, including the idea of a “deep time” antediluvian civilization existing hundreds of thousands of years ago, a later maritime Atlantean empire, a series of multiple geological cataclysms, and a sequence of races of mankind.

9781258170066_p0_v1_s260x420Not long after submitting that article I came across an item, which I had not realized existed, but that I now feel adds more information to our understanding of Howard’s interest in theosophical ideas about prehistory and human evolution. It also helps answer some of the lingering questions that I still had after my previous research. This item is Little Blue Book No. 477, Theosophy in Outline by Frederick Milton Willis, first published in 1923.

Willis was a theosophist and author of several books on reincarnation, Christian mysticism, and the like. His Theosophy in Outline is exactly what the title implies—a concise summary of the Theosophy movement and its principle ideas and beliefs. This includes a section discussing and summarizing Scott-Elliot’s version of antediluvian prehistory from The Story of Atlantis.

The Little Blue Books (or LBBs) were a series of small chapbooks published by editor, author, and social reformer E. Haldeman-Julius beginning in 1919 (Gibbs, “Dating”). They were designed as inexpensive, concise, popular works on a variety of topics such as politics, literature, history, science, philosophy, religion, and self-help. Howard seems to have been a fan of the LBBs and he mentions them and Haldeman-Julius in his letters on several occasions (Burke, “Bookshelf”). In Howard’s semi-autobiographical novel, Post Oaks and Sand Roughs, the narrator Steve (meant to represent Howard) calls the Little Blue Books “a godsend” (76). So it’s not at all unreasonable to suggest that the LBB Theosophy in Outline might have been one of Howard’s sources for the theosophical elements that we find in some of his stories.

The section that concerns us is located near the end of Willis’s booklet under the heading “Root Races and Sub-Races” and is worth quoting at length:

Seven root-types of men evolve on our Earth during this stage of its life. Theosophists call these types Root-Races, and each has its own special “Continent,” or configuration of land. The first two Root-Races have disappeared. Of the third, the Lemurian, which flourished on the continent of Lemuria, now beneath the Pacific Ocean for the most part, hardly a pure specimen remains; the negroes are its descendents from mixed marriages. The fourth, the Atlantean, spread over the Earth from the continent of Atlantis, which united western Europe and Africa with eastern America. It built some of the mightiest civilizations the world has known, and the greater part of the world’s inhabitants still belong to it. The fifth, the Aryan, leads humanity today. The sixth is in the womb of the future, but its continent is beginning its formation and will occupy, roughly, the Lemurian site; the islands now being thrown up in the northern Pacific are indications of the commencement of a work which will demand hundreds of thousands of years for its accomplishment. The seventh lies far, far ahead. (88)

Here we find represented many of the theosophical elements that appear in “Men of the Shadows,” such as the idea that the islands of the Pacific are the peaks of sunken Lemurian mountains. More significant is the discussion of the progression of Root Races. In the oft-quoted 1928 letter to Harold Preece discussing Atlantis, Howard summarizes the theosophical Root Race concept, but describes the first two Root Races as “unknown and unnamed”:

The occultists say that we are the fifth—I believe—great sub-race. Two unknown and unnamed races came, then the Lemurians, then the Atlanteans, then we. They say the Atlanteans were highly developed. I doubt it. (Collected Letters i:237)

In the sequence of the Races of Man in “Men of the Shadows,” he replaces the first two races with his own prehistoric Picts. As I noted previously, however, the first and second Root Races are not “unnamed,” but are referred to in a number of theosophical works as the Polarians and Hyperboreans respectively (Shanks 57–58). The fact that Theosophy in Outline gives no names or details on these two early races, lends credence to the idea that this may been one of Howard’s sources for the Root Race concept.

Willis continues his synopsis of Scott-Elliot’s ideas with a description of the sub-races of the Atlantean Root Race:

Each Root-Race divides into seven sub-races. We have the fourth Root-Race [i.e. the Atlanteans] divided into the Rmoahal, Tlavatli, Toltec, Turanian, Semitic, Akkadian and Mongolian sub-races. (89)

When I came across this passage it occurred to me that it may help resolve one of the nagging problems regarding Howard and his concept of Atlantis. A curious August 24, 1923 letter to Tevis Clyde Smith contains Howard’s earliest known mention of Atlantis. The letter is a little odd in that Howard, in a matter-of-fact way, discusses a past life as a Philistine soldier and goes into great detail about a number of civilizations and events from the Bronze Age Near East and Mediterranean (Collected Letters i:20-21). Almost in passing he mentions that Atlantis existed at that time and was a contemporary of the Mesopotamian civilization of Accad (an alternate spelling of Akkad).

AtlantisThis placing of Atlantis in the historical past is completely incongruous with the “deep time” Atlantis that we see later in his stories. Unlike Scott-Elliot, who places the lost continent far back in prehistoric times, Willis does not give any dates for Atlantis in Theosophy in Outline. If you didn’t know that Scott-Elliot uses the names of historic cultures (Toltec, Semitic, Turanian, Akkadian, etc.) as stand-ins for their supposed prehistoric antecedents, you might easily assume that Willis was making Atlantis contemporaneous with the historic versions of those cultures. If Howard was basing his comments in the Smith letter solely on the content of Theosophy in Outline it would explain this placement of Atlantis in the Bronze Age.

Another interesting point to consider is that earlier in Theosophy in Outline there is a section on reincarnation and how one can sometimes remember their past lives (51-57). Whether or not Howard truly believed the past life information that he was detailing in the letter to Smith or was simply having a bit of fun with his friend is impossible to say, but in either case it seemed reasonable that Howard’s reading of Outline might have inspired this letter.

Upon sharing a copy of this Little Blue Book with Patrice Louinet, he noticed similarities not only with the letter to Smith, but also the untitled Bran Mak Morn story that was discovered in 2001 (Howard, “Untitled”; Louinet). The story, which is essentially a sequence of past lives, contains the line “The Wheel turns and the cycles revolve forever. The Wheel turns and the souls of all things are bound to the spokes through all Eternity” (291). Patrice noted the similarity of that passage and the line from Outline referring to reincarnation: “Looking at this long-turning wheel of births and deaths” (54).

haggardHoward’s story also mentions a drug called Taduka, which when smoked allows the user to experience his past lives (291). Charles Rutledge has noted that Howard’s source for this is likely the “Taduki” plant in H. Rider Haggard’s The Ancient Allan, which has a similar effect (“Ancient Allison“), but it is worth noting that Outline also suggests that various drugs such as hashish, bhang, and opium can allow glimpses of the astral world (16).

Initially then, it seemed as though Willis’s LBB Theosophy in Outline might have been a source of inspiration for not only the theosophical material in “Men of the Shadows,” but also both the reincarnation story and the August 24 letter to Smith. But then, Patrice realized there was a problem—more on that in Part Two.



Burke, Rusty. “The Robert E. Howard Bookshelf. []” Robert E. Howard United Press Association. 1998. Web. November 2011.

Burke, Rusty, and Patrice Louinet. “Robert E. Howard, Bran Mak Morn, and the Picts.” Bran Mak Morn: The Last King. New York: Del Rey, 2005. 343-360. Print.

Gibbs, Jake. “Dating Little Blue Books. []” Haldeman-Julius: Pocket Series and The Little Blue Books. March 2009. Web. November 2011.

Howard, Robert E. The Collected Letters of Robert E. Howard. 3 Vols.. Ed. Rob Roehm. Plano, TX: The REH Foundation Press, 2007. Print.

———. “The Gods of Bal-Sagoth.” The Black Stranger and Other American Tales. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005. 110-145. Print.

———. “The Hyborian Age.” The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian. Eds. Rusty Burke and Patrice Louinet. New York: Del Rey, 2003. 381-398. Print.

———. “Men of the Shadows.” Bran Mak Morn: The Last King. New York: Del Rey, 2005. 1-30. Print.

———. “The Moon of Skulls.” The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane. New York: Del Rey, 2004. 99-170. Print.

———. Post Oaks and Sand Roughs. Hampton Falls, NH: Donald M. Grant Publishers, 1990. Print.

———. “The Shadow Kingdom.”  Kull: Exile of Atlantis. New York: Del Rey, 2006. 13-51. Print.

———. “Skull-Face.” Tales of Weird Menace. Plano, TX: Robert E. Howard Foundation Press, 2010. 3-94. Print.

———. “Untitled.” Bran Mak Morn: The Last King. New York: Del Rey, 2005. 289-320. Print.

Louinet, Patrice. Personal communication. November 2011. Email.

Rutledge, Charles R. “The Ancient Allison. [http://singular–]” singular– Singular Points. January 2011. Web. November 2012.

Scott-Elliot, William. The Story of Atlantis. London: Theosophical Publishing Society, 1896. Print.

Shanks, Jeffrey. “Theosophy and the Thurian Age: Robert E. Howard and the Works of W. Scott-Elliot.” The Dark Man 6:1-2 (2011). Print.

Spence, Lewis. Atlantis in America. London: Ernest Benn. 1925. Print.

———. The Problem of Atlantis. London: William Rider and Son. 1924. Print.

Willis, Frederick Milton. Theosophy in Outline. Little Blue Book No. 477. Girard, Kansas: Haldeman-Julius Company, 1923. Print.


It appears that most issues of The Junto started their way down the mailing list at the end of the month prior to the date on the cover; so, the July issue most likely started circulating at the end of June. As we saw last time, the June issue was “lost,” so the July edition is the first of new editor Lenore Preece’s issues that survive. On the cover is a poem by former editor Booth Mooney:

The Moths

A moth came flying.
It approached a lamp
And beat against it
And perished. . . .

And a fool said,
Verily, serenity is greater than force.

But many moths came
And beat against the lamp.
They labored mightily
And called to other moths.
The mass of moths grew larger—
All beating against the lamp. . . .

Many were consumed in the flame,
But at last the lamp was extinguished.
The remaining moths
Held counsel. . . .
They set up a new lamp
That shed a most magnificent light.

This is followed by editorial comments from Lenore Preece. These tell the origin and purpose of the travelogue and are presented at the head of this post. Up next is “The Monotony of Being Good,” an article by John Doughty. This is a meandering rant that points out the difference between what the Christian faith advises people do and their actual behavior. It ends with this: “That some thus far inconceivable fashion of man will arrive who will try being good once in his life, at least; and thereby for the first time in the history of the race, learn whether, after all, there is an actual monotony in being good. As matters now stand, we can only speculate.”

This is followed by a couple of short paragraph items, both untitled, and both probably supplied by Lenore Preece as space fillers. The first is a little rant that claims that the mixing of white and black blood, “according to scientists, seems to bring out the worse qualities of both.” The second deals with France’s war debt, sort of.

Up next is “Hate’s Dawn,” verse by REH, one of the few to reference the World War. After this is “Women,” a tirade by Harold Preece containing this, “Naturally weak, Woman relies upon her only commodity, sexual favors, for her existence”; this, “Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as an intellectual woman”; and this, “The Orientals have the proper idea; they keep their women in deserved subjection,” just to mention a few. One wonders if this article is similar to the “tirade against women” that Preece sent to Howard at Clyde Smith’s instigation back in December.

“Sic Transit,” verse by Booth’s brother, Orus Mooney, tells the story of a man who played three women, “thinking to choose in time,” but at the end his “friends and opportunities passed away” and he is alone. This is followed by “An Open Letter to Texas’ Governor,” by Truett Vinson, the text for this is in here.

Up next is “The King and the Mallet,” verse by REH. Beneath the poem, fellow Juntite Norbert Sydow has written this: “The gentleman must not make his knowledge of Poe’s poems so obvious as to mutilate a line from ‘The Greenest of Our Valleys’ poem.” A criticism that I haven’t looked into.

This is followed by Booth Mooney’s “Spirit of God,” wherein an elderly man offers Mooney a ride after his car breaks down. This surprises Mooney as the man is known as a miser. Once in the man’s buggy, he pesters Mooney about his actions and implores him to go to church: “Quit your nonsense. Don’t kill your soul by goin’ to a show. Live right.” After enduring this, Mooney muses:

How easily is the down rubbed off the wings of our little butterfly illusions—patriotism, religion, democracy—the little illusions that breed maggots.

Following this are several poems. First is a series of four “Sonnets on the Recognition of the Vatican” by Lenore Preece. The second of these is subtitled “Mussolini” and has these lines: “[. . .] is’t for this / That all the centuries of effort spent / Have spawned a brute to ravish and to rent / The total sum of art’s hard-conquered bliss?”

The sonnets are followed by “Fragment” by Booth Mooney, which tries to channel Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” with lines like this: “This is America working and singing and sweating and swearing.” Then there’s “To Franz Schubert” by Harold Preece, a 15-line lyric praising Schubert as a “weaver of melodious webs.” And, finally, another by Mooney: “To an Evangelist,” wherein the speaker accuses the evangelist of robbing the poor.

“On the Death of a Great Juntite,” by Lenore Preece, is a heartfelt, if humorous, obituary for her cat, Thomas Paine. The issue concludes with Robert E. Howard’s “Singing in the Wind” and Orus Mooney’s “Faith,” which asks, “How, believing not in that which I can see, / Can I believe in a Divinity I know not of?”

At the end of the issue is the “Texas Mailing List,” which explains the rules of membership:


This is followed by the names and addresses of everyone who will receive the issue. Each name has an inch or two of space left open for comments on the current issue. Here are some selections:

Harold Preece: “On the whole, exceptional. Orus not up to his usual standard. Bob Howard’s ‘King and the Mallet’ best contribution of this issue.”
Truett Vinson: “An extraordinary issue. The ‘Sonnets on the Recognition of the Vatican’ are superb. They should be passed on to some good poetry magazine. Bob Howard is still fine—as usual. Harold’s article is a fine collection of words! Good luck to The Junto’s new editor!”
Booth Mooney: “Harold’s article good, but I think his argument flawed. Howard’s stuff good, of course. [. . .] For God’s sake, don’t publish ‘Open Letters.’ I agree with T. V., however. [. . .]”
Maxine Ervin: “The best issue we have had in a long time, and it still has plenty of room for improvement.”

And a note from Truett Vinson:

Miss Preece—
Please add the name of Edna Mae Coffin, No. Chelmsford, Mass., to your National Mailing list. She is an artist of some ability and will be interested in The Junto.