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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31308-8.txt b/31308-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1bc7cb --- /dev/null +++ b/31308-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6546 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Orientations, by William Somerset Maugham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Orientations + +Author: William Somerset Maugham + +Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31308] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORIENTATIONS *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +GOOD WORDS LIST PROVIDE FOR SMOOTH READING REFERENCE ONLY: + +parlour +favours +Ij +sombre +labourer +realisation +odour +honour +fulness +commonweal +bo +Amyntas +Becke +Blackstable +Castilian +D'you +d'you +de +Doņa +Farrowham +Howlett +lol +Losas +Lucido +Monnickendam +one's +Ously +Sodina +Tercanbury +Tiefel +Whittington +Xiormonez + + + + +ORIENTATIONS + +NOVELS AT SIX SHILLINGS EACH + +_Uniform with this Volume_ + +=An Outcast of the Islands.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. Second Edition. +=Almayer's Folly.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. +=The Ebbing of the Tide.= By LOUIS BECKE. +=A First Fleet Family.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY. +=Paddy's Woman.= By HUMPHREY JAMES. +=Clara Hopgood.= By MARK RUTHERFORD. Second Edition. +=The Tales of John Oliver Hobbes.= Portrait of the Author. Second Edition. +=The Stickit Minister.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=The Lilac Sunbonnet.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=The Raiders.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=The Grey Man.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=In a Man's Mind.= By J. R. WATSON. +=A Daughter of the Fen.= By J. T. BEALBY. +=The Herb-Moon.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. +=Nancy Noon.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. +=Hugh Wynne.= By S. WEIR MITCHELL. +=The Tormentor.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. +=The Mutineer.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY. +=The Destroyer.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. +=The Gods, Some Mortals, and Lord Wickenham.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. +=Mrs Keith's Crime.= By Mrs W. K. CLIFFORD. +=Prisoners of Conscience.= By AMELIA E. BARR. +=Pacific Tales.= By LOUIS BECKE. +=The People of Clopton.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. +=Outlaws of the Marches.= By Lord ERNEST HAMILTON. +=The Silver Christ.= Stories by OUIDA. +=The White-Headed Boy.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. +=Tales of Unrest.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. +=The School for Saints.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. +=Evelyn Innes.= By GEORGE MOORE. +=Rodman, the Boatsteerer.= By LOUIS BECKE. +=The Romance of a Midshipman.= By W. CLARK RUSSELL. +=The Making of a Saint.= By W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. +=The Two Standards.= By W. BARRY, D.D. +=The Mawkin of the Flow.= By Lord ERNEST HAMILTON. +=Love is not so Light.= By CONSTANCE COTTERELL. +=Moonlight.= By MARY E. MANN. +=I, Thou, and the Other One.= By AMELIA E. BARR. + + * * * * * + +London + +T. FISHER UNWIN, Paternoster Square, E.C. + + + + +ORIENTATIONS + + +By +William Somerset Maugham +Author of 'Liza of Lambeth,' 'The Making of a Saint' + +[Illustration] + +London +T. Fisher Unwin +Paternoster Square +1899 + + +[_All Rights reserved_] + + +TO +MRS EDWARD JOHNSTON + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +THE PUNCTILIOUSNESS OF DON SEBASTIAN 3 + +A BAD EXAMPLE 37 + +DE AMICITIA 97 + +FAITH 133 + +THE CHOICE OF AMYNTAS 165 + +DAISY 219 + + + _C'est surtout, par ses nouvelles d'un jeune écrivain qu'on peut se + rendre compte du tour de son esprit. Il y cherche la voie qui lui + est propre dans une série d'essais de genre et de style différents, + qui sont comme des orientations, pour trouver son moi littéraire._ + + + + +Orientations + + + + +THE PUNCTILIOUSNESS OF DON SEBASTIAN + + +I + +Xiormonez is the most inaccessible place in Spain. Only one train +arrives there in the course of the day, and that arrives at two o'clock +in the morning; only one train leaves it, and that starts an hour before +sunrise. No one has ever been able to discover what happens to the +railway officials during the intermediate one-and-twenty hours. A German +painter I met there, who had come by the only train, and had been +endeavouring for a fortnight to get up in time to go away, told me that +he had frequently gone to the station in order to clear up the mystery, +but had never been able to do so; yet, from his inquiries, he was +inclined to suspect--that was as far as he would commit himself, being a +cautious man--that they spent the time in eating garlic and smoking +execrable cigarettes. The guide-books tell you that Xiormonez possesses +the eyebrows of Joseph of Arimathea, a cathedral of the greatest +quaintness, and battlements untouched since their erection in the +fourteenth century. And they strongly advise you to visit it, but +recommend you before doing so to add Keating's insect powder to your +other toilet necessaries. + +I was travelling to Madrid in an express train which had been rushing +along at the pace of sixteen miles an hour, when suddenly it stopped. I +leant out of the window, asking where we were. + +'Xiormonez!' answered the guard. + +'I thought we did not stop at Xiormonez.' + +'We do not stop at Xiormonez,' he replied impassively. + +'But we are stopping now!' + +'That may be; but we are going on again.' + +I had already learnt that it was folly to argue with a Spanish guard, +and, drawing back my head, I sat down. But, looking at my watch, I saw +that it was only ten. I should never again have a chance of inspecting +the eyebrows of Joseph of Arimathea unless I chartered a special train, +so, seizing the opportunity and my bag, I jumped out. + +The only porter told me that everyone in Xiormonez was asleep at that +hour, and recommended me to spend the night in the waiting-room, but I +bribed him heavily; I offered him two pesetas, which is nearly +fifteenpence, and, leaving the train to its own devices, he shouldered +my bag and started off. + +Along a stony road we walked into the dark night, the wind blowing cold +and bitter, and the clouds chasing one another across the sky. In front, +I could see nothing but the porter hurrying along, bent down under the +weight of my bag, and the wind blew icily. I buttoned up my coat. And +then I regretted the warmth of the carriage, the comfort of my corner +and my rug; I wished I had peacefully continued my journey to Madrid--I +was on the verge of turning back as I heard the whistling of the train. +I hesitated, but the porter hurried on, and fearing to lose him in the +night, I sprang forwards. Then the puffing of the engine, and on the +smoke the bright reflection of the furnace, and the train steamed away; +like Abd-er-Rahman, I felt that I had flung my scabbard into the flames. + +Still the porter hurried on, bent down under the weight of my bag, and I +saw no light in front of me to announce the approach to a town. On each +side, bordering the road, were trees, and beyond them darkness. And +great black clouds hastened after one another across the heavens. Then, +as we walked along, we came to a rough stone cross, and lying on the +steps before it was a woman with uplifted hands. And the wind blew +bitter and keen, freezing the marrow of one's bones. What prayers had +she to offer that she must kneel there alone in the night? We passed +another cross standing up with its outstretched arms like a soul in +pain. At last a heavier night rose before me, and presently I saw a +great stone arch. Passing beneath it, I found myself immediately in the +town. + +The street was tortuous and narrow, paved with rough cobbles; and it +rose steeply, so that the porter bent lower beneath his burden, panting. +With the bag on his shoulders he looked like some hunchbacked gnome, a +creature of nightmare. On either side rose tall houses, lying crooked +and irregular, leaning towards one another at the top, so that one could +not see the clouds, and their windows were great, black apertures like +giant mouths. There was not a light, not a soul, not a sound--except +that of my own feet and the heavy panting of the porter. We wound +through the streets, round corners, through low arches, a long way up +the steep cobbles, and suddenly down broken steps. They hurt my feet, +and I stumbled and almost fell, but the hunchback walked along nimbly, +hurrying ever. Then we came into an open space, and the wind caught us +again, and blew through our clothes, so that I shrank up, shivering. And +never a soul did we see as we walked on; it might have been a city of +the dead. Then past a tall church: I saw a carved porch, and from the +side grim devils grinning down upon me; the porter dived through an +arch, and I groped my way along a narrow passage. At length he stopped, +and with a sigh threw down the bag. He beat with his fists against an +iron door, making the metal ring. A window above was thrown open, and a +voice cried out. The porter answered; there was a clattering down the +stairs, an unlocking, and the door was timidly held open, so that I saw +a woman, with the light of her candle throwing a strange yellow glare on +her face. + +And so I arrived at the hotel of Xiormonez. + + +II + +My night was troubled by the ghostly crying of the watchman: 'Protect +us, Mary, Queen of Heaven; protect us, Mary!' Every hour it rang out +stridently as soon as the heavy bells of the cathedral had ceased their +clanging, and I thought of the woman kneeling at the cross, and wondered +if her soul had found peace. + +In the morning I threw open the windows and the sun came dancing in, +flooding the room with gold. In front of me the great wall of the +cathedral stood grim and grey, and the gargoyles looked savagely across +the square.... The cathedral is admirable; when you enter you find +yourself at once in darkness, and the air is heavy with incense; but, as +your eyes become accustomed to the gloom, you see the black forms of +penitents kneeling by pillars, looking towards an altar, and by the +light of the painted windows a reredos, with the gaunt saints of an +early painter, and aureoles shining dimly. + +But the gem of the Cathedral of Xiormonez is the Chapel of the Duke de +Losas, containing, as it does, the alabaster monument of Don Sebastian +Emanuel de Mantona, Duque de Losas, and of the very illustrious Seņora +Doņa Sodina de Berruguete, his wife. Like everything else in Spain, the +chapel is kept locked up, and the guide-book tells you to apply to the +porter at the palace of the present duke. I sent a little boy to fetch +that worthy, who presently came back, announcing that the porter and his +wife had gone into the country for the day, but that the duke was coming +in person. + +And immediately I saw walking towards me a little, dark man, wrapped up +in a big _capa_, with the red and blue velvet of the lining flung +gaudily over his shoulder. He bowed courteously as he approached, and I +perceived that on the crown his hair was somewhat more than thin. I +hesitated a little, rather awkwardly, for the guide-book said that the +porter exacted a fee of one peseta for opening the chapel--one could +scarcely offer sevenpence-halfpenny to a duke. But he quickly put an end +to all doubt, for, as he unlocked the door, he turned to me and said,-- + +'The fee is one franc.' + +As I gave it him he put it in his pocket and gravely handed me a little +printed receipt. _Baedeker_ had obligingly informed me that the Duchy of +Losas was shorn of its splendour, but I had not understood that the +present representative added to his income by exhibiting the bones of +his ancestors at a franc a head.... + +We entered, and the duke pointed out the groining of the roof and the +tracery of the windows. + +'This chapel contains some of the finest Gothic in Spain,' he said. + +When he considered that I had sufficiently admired the architecture, he +turned to the pictures, and, with the fluency of a professional guide, +gave me their subjects and the names of the artists. + +'Now we come to the tombs of Don Sebastian, the first Duke of Losas, +and his spouse, Doņa Sodina--not, however, the first duchess.' + +The monument stood in the middle of the chapel, covered with a great +pall of red velvet, so that no economical tourist should see it through +the bars of the gate and thus save his peseta. The duke removed the +covering and watched me silently, a slight smile trembling below his +little, black moustache. + +The duke and his wife, who was not his duchess, lay side by side on a +bed of carved alabaster; at the corners were four twisted pillars, +covered with little leaves and flowers, and between them bas-reliefs +representing Love, and Youth, and Strength, and Pleasure, as if, even in +the midst of death, death must be forgotten. Don Sebastian was in full +armour. His helmet was admirably carved with a representation of the +battle between the Centaurs and the Lapithæ; on the right arm-piece were +portrayed the adventures of Venus and Mars, on the left the emotions of +Vulcan; but on the breast-plate was an elaborate Crucifixion, with +soldiers and women and apostles. The visor was raised, and showed a +stern, heavy face, with prominent cheek bones, sensual lips and a +massive chin. + +'It is very fine,' I remarked, thinking the duke expected some remark. + +'People have thought so for three hundred years,' he replied gravely. + +He pointed out to me the hands of Don Sebastian. + +'The guide-books have said that they are the finest hands in Spain. +Tourists especially admire the tendons and veins, which, as you +perceive, stand out as in no human hand would be possible. They say it +is the summit of art.' + +And he took me to the other side of the monument, that I might look at +Doņa Sodina. + +'They say she was the most beautiful woman of her day,' he said, 'but in +that case the Castilian lady is the only thing in Spain which has not +degenerated.' + +She was, indeed, not beautiful: her face was fat and broad, like her +husband's; a short, ungraceful nose, and a little, nobbly chin; a thick +neck, set dumpily on her marble shoulders. One could not but hope that +the artist had done her an injustice. + +The Duke of Losas made me observe the dog which was lying at her feet. + +'It is a symbol of fidelity,' he said. + +'The guide-book told me she was chaste and faithful.' + +'If she had been,' he replied, smiling, 'Don Sebastian would perhaps +never have become Duque de Losas.' + +'Really!' + +'It is an old history which I discovered one day among some family +papers.' + +I pricked up my ears, and discreetly began to question him. + +'Are you interested in old manuscripts?' said the duke. 'Come with me +and I will show you what I have.' + +With a flourish of the hand he waved me out of the chapel, and, having +carefully locked the doors, accompanied me to his palace. He took me +into a Gothic chamber, furnished with worn French furniture, the walls +covered with cheap paper. Offering me a cigarette, he opened a drawer +and produced a faded manuscript. + +'This is the document in question,' he said. 'Those crooked and +fantastic characters are terrible. I often wonder if the writers were +able to read them.' + +'You are fortunate to be the possessor of such things,' I remarked. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +'What good are they? I would sooner have fifty pesetas than this musty +parchment.' + +An offer! I quickly reckoned it out into English money. He would +doubtless have taken less, but I felt a certain delicacy in bargaining +with a duke over his family secrets.... + +'Do you mean it? May I--er--' + +He sprang towards me. + +'Take it, my dear sir, take it. Shall I give you a receipt?' + +And so, for thirty-one shillings and threepence, I obtained the only +authentic account of how the frailty of the illustrious Seņora Doņa +Sodina was indirectly the means of raising her husband to the highest +dignities in Spain. + + +III + +Don Sebastian and his wife had lived together for fifteen years, with +the entirest happiness to themselves and the greatest admiration of +their neighbours. People said that such an example of conjugal felicity +was not often seen in those degenerate days, for even then they prated +of the golden age of their grandfathers, lamenting their own +decadence.... As behoved good Castilians, burdened with such a line of +noble ancestors, the fortunate couple conducted themselves with all +imaginable gravity. No strange eye was permitted to witness a caress +between the lord and his lady, or to hear an expression of endearment; +but everyone could see the devotion of Don Sebastian, the look of +adoration which filled his eyes when he gazed upon his wife. And people +said that Doņa Sodina was worthy of all his affection. They said that +her virtue was only matched by her piety, and her piety was patent to +the whole world, for every day she went to the cathedral at Xiormonez +and remained long immersed in her devotions. Her charity was exemplary, +and no beggar ever applied to her in vain. + +But even if Don Sebastian and his wife had not possessed these conjugal +virtues, they would have been in Xiormonez persons of note, since not +only did they belong to an old and respected family, which was rich as +well, but the gentleman's brother was archbishop of the See, who, when +he graced the cathedral city with his presence, paid the greatest +attention to Don Sebastian and Doņa Sodina. Everyone said that the +Archbishop Pablo would shortly become a cardinal, for he was a great +favourite with the king, and with the latter His Holiness the Pope was +then on terms of quite unusual friendship. + +And in those days, when the priesthood was more noticeable for its +gallantry than for its good works, it was refreshing to find so +high-placed a dignitary of the Church a pattern of Christian virtues, +who, notwithstanding his gorgeous habit of life, his retinue, his +palaces, recalled, by his freedom from at least two of the seven deadly +sins, the simplicity of the apostles, which the common people have often +supposed the perfect state of the minister of God. + +Don Sebastian had been affianced to Doņa Sodina when he was a boy of +ten, and before she could properly pronounce the viperish sibilants of +her native tongue. When the lady attained her sixteenth year, the pair +were solemnly espoused, and the young priest Pablo, the bridegroom's +brother, assisted at the ceremony. In these days the union would have +been instanced as a triumphant example of the success of the _mariage de +convenance_, but at that time such arrangements were so usual that it +never occurred to anyone to argue for or against them. Yet it was not +customary for a young man of two-and-twenty to fall madly in love with +the bride whom he saw for the first time a day or two before his +marriage, and it was still less customary for the bride to give back an +equal affection. For fifteen years the couple lived in harmony and +contentment, with nothing to trouble the even tenor of their lives; and +if there was a cloud in their sky, it was that a kindly Providence had +vouchsafed no fruit to the union, notwithstanding the prayers and +candles which Doņa Sodina was known to have offered at the shrine of +more than one saint in Spain who had made that kind of miracle +particularly his own. + +But even felicitous marriages cannot last for ever, since if the love +does not die the lovers do. And so it came to pass that Doņa Sodina, +having eaten excessively of pickled shrimps, which the abbess of a +highly respected convent had assured her were of great efficacy in the +begetting of children, took a fever of the stomach, as the chronicle +inelegantly puts it, and after a week of suffering was called to the +other world, from which, as from the pickled shrimps, she had always +expected much. There let us hope her virtues have been rewarded, and she +rests in peace and happiness. + + +IV + +When Don Sebastian walked from the cathedral to his house after the +burial of his wife, no one saw a trace of emotion on his face, and it +was with his wonted grave courtesy that he bowed to a friend as he +passed him. Sternly and briefly, as usual, he gave orders that no one +should disturb him, and went to the room of Doņa Sodina; he knelt on the +praying-stool which Doņa Sodina had daily used for so many years, and he +fixed his eyes on the crucifix hanging on the wall above it. The day +passed, and the night passed, and Don Sebastian never moved--no thought +or emotion entered him; being alive, he was like the dead; he was like +the dead that linger on the outer limits of hell, with never a hope for +the future, dull with the despair that shall last for ever and ever and +ever. But when the woman who had nursed him in his childhood lovingly +disobeyed his order and entered to give him food, she saw no tear in his +eye, no sign of weeping. + +'You are right!' he said, painfully rising from his knees. 'Give me to +eat.' + +Listlessly taking the food, he sank into a chair and looked at the bed +on which had lately rested the corpse of Doņa Sodina; but a kindly +nature relieved his unhappiness, and he fell into a weary sleep. + +When he awoke, the night was far advanced; the house, the town were +filled with silence; all round him was darkness, and the ivory crucifix +shone dimly, dimly. Outside the door a page was sleeping; he woke him +and bade him bring light.... In his sorrow, Don Sebastian began to look +at the things his wife had loved; he fingered her rosary, and turned +over the pages of the half-dozen pious books which formed her library; +he looked at the jewels which he had seen glittering on her bosom; the +brocades, the rich silks, the cloths of gold and silver that she had +delighted to wear. And at last he came across an old breviary which he +thought she had lost--how glad she would have been to find it, she had +so often regretted it! The pages were musty with their long concealment, +and only faintly could be detected the scent which Doņa Sodina used +yearly to make and strew about her things. Turning over the pages +listlessly, he saw some crabbed writing; he took it to the +light--'_To-night, my beloved, I come._' And the handwriting was that of +Pablo, Archbishop of Xiormonez. Don Sebastian looked at it long. Why +should his brother write such words in the breviary of Doņa Sodina? He +turned the pages and the handwriting of his wife met his eye and the +words were the same--'_To-night, my beloved, I come_'--as if they were +such delight to her that she must write them herself. The breviary +dropped from Don Sebastian's hand. + +The taper, flickering in the draught, threw glaring lights on Don +Sebastian's face, but it showed no change in it. He sat looking at the +fallen breviary, and, in his mind, at the love which was dead. At last +he passed his hand over his forehead. + +'And yet,' he whispered, 'I loved thee well!' + +But as the day came he picked up the breviary and locked it in a casket; +he knelt again at the praying-stool and, lifting his hands to the +crucifix, prayed silently. Then he locked the door of Doņa Sodina's +room, and it was a year before he entered it again. + +That day the Archbishop Pablo came to his brother to offer consolation +for his loss, and Don Sebastian at the parting kissed him on either +cheek. + + +V + +The people of Xiormonez said that Don Sebastian was heart-broken, for +from the date of his wife's interment he was not seen in the streets by +day. A few, returning home from some riot, had met him wandering in the +dead of the night, but he passed them silently by. But he sent his +servants to Toledo and Burgos, to Salamanca, Cordova, even to Paris and +Rome; and from all these places they brought him books--and day after +day he studied in them, till the common folk asked if he had turned +magician. + +So passed eleven months, and nearly twelve, till it wanted but five days +to the anniversary of the death of Doņa Sodina. Then Don Sebastian wrote +to his brother the letter which for months he had turned over in his +mind,-- + + '_Seeing the instability of all human things, and the uncertain + length of our exile upon earth, I have considered that it is evil + for brothers to remain so separate. Therefore I implore you--who + are my only relative in this world, and heir to all my goods and + estates--to visit me quickly, for I have a presentiment that death + is not far off, and I would see you before we are parted by the + immense sea._' + +The archbishop was thinking that he must shortly pay a visit to his +cathedral city, and, as his brother had desired, came to Xiormonez +immediately. On the anniversary of Doņa Sodina's interment, Don +Sebastian entertained Archbishop Pablo to supper. + +'My brother,' said he, to his guest, 'I have lately received from +Cordova a wine which I desire you to taste. It is very highly prized in +Africa, whence I am told it comes, and it is made with curious art and +labour.' + +Glass cups were brought, and the wine poured in. The archbishop was a +connoisseur, and held it between the light and himself, admiring the +sparkling clearness, and then inhaled the odour. + +'It is nectar,' he said. + +At last he sipped it. + +'The flavour is very strange.' + +He drank deeply. Don Sebastian looked at him and smiled as his brother +put down the empty glass. But when he was himself about to drink, the +cup fell between his hands and the steward's, breaking into a hundred +fragments, and the wine spilt on the floor. + +'Fool!' cried Don Sebastian, and in his anger struck the servant. + +But being a man of peace, the archbishop interposed. + +'Do not be angry with him; it was an accident. There is more wine in the +flagon.' + +'No, I will not drink it,' said Don Sebastian, wrathfully. 'I will drink +no more to-night.' + +The archbishop shrugged his shoulders. + +When they were alone, Don Sebastian made a strange request. + +'My brother, it is a year to-day that Sodina was buried, and I have not +entered her room since then. But now I have a desire to see it. Will you +come with me?' + +The archbishop consented, and together they crossed the long corridor +that led to Doņa Sodina's apartment, preceded by a boy with lights. + +Don Sebastian unlocked the door, and, taking the taper from the page's +hand, entered. The archbishop followed. The air was chill and musty, and +even now an odour of recent death seemed to pervade the room. + +Don Sebastian went to a casket, and from it took a breviary. He saw his +brother start as his eye fell on it. He turned over the leaves till he +came to a page on which was the archbishop's handwriting, and handed it +to him. + +'Oh God!' exclaimed the priest, and looked quickly at the door. Don +Sebastian was standing in front of it. He opened his mouth to cry out, +but Don Sebastian interrupted him. + +'Do not be afraid! I will not touch you.' + +For a while they looked at one another silently; one pale, sweating with +terror, the other calm and grave as usual. At last Don Sebastian spoke, +hoarsely. + +'Did she--did she love you?' + +'Oh, my brother, forgive her. It was long ago--and she repented +bitterly. And I--I!' + +'I have forgiven you.' + +The words were said so strangely that the archbishop shuddered. What did +he mean? + +Don Sebastian smiled. + +'You have no cause for anxiety. From now it is finished. I will forget.' +And, opening the door, he helped his brother across the threshold. The +archbishop's hand was clammy as a hand of death. + +When Don Sebastian bade his brother good-night, he kissed him on either +cheek. + + +VI + +The priest returned to his palace, and when he was in bed his secretary +prepared to read to him, as was his wont, but the archbishop sent him +away, desiring to be alone. He tried to think; but the wine he had drunk +was heavy upon him, and he fell asleep. But presently he awoke, feeling +thirsty; he drank some water.... Then he became strangely wide-awake, a +feeling of uneasiness came over him as of some threatening presence +behind him, and again he felt the thirst. He stretched out his hand for +the flagon, but now there was a mist before his eyes and he could not +see, his hand trembled so that he spilled the water. And the uneasiness +was magnified till it became a terror, and the thirst was horrible. He +opened his mouth to call out, but his throat was dry, so that no sound +came. He tried to rise from his bed, but his limbs were heavy and he +could not move. He breathed quicker and quicker, and his skin was +extraordinarily dry. The terror became an agony; it was unbearable. He +wanted to bury his face in the pillows to hide it from him; he felt the +hair on his head hard and dry, and it stood on end! He called to God for +help, but no sound came from his mouth. Then the terror took shape and +form, and he knew that behind him was standing Doņa Sodina, and she was +looking at him with terrible, reproachful eyes. And a second Doņa Sodina +came and stood at the end of the bed, and another came by her side, and +the room was filled with them. And his thirst was horrible; he tried to +moisten his mouth with spittle, but the source of it was dry. Cramps +seized his limbs, so that he writhed with pain. Presently a red glow +fell upon the room and it became hot and hotter, till he gasped for +breath; it blinded him, but he could not close his eyes. And he knew it +was the glow of hell-fire, for in his ears rang the groans of souls in +torment, and among the voices he recognised that of Doņa Sodina, and +then--then he heard his own voice. And, in the livid heat, he saw +himself in his episcopal robes, lying on the ground, chained to Doņa +Sodina, hand and foot. And he knew that as long as heaven and earth +should last, the torment of hell would continue. + +When the priests came in to their master in the morning, they found him +lying dead, with his eyes wide open, staring with a ghastly brilliancy +into the unknown. Then there was weeping and lamentation, and from house +to house the people told one another that the archbishop had died in his +sleep. The bells were set tolling, and as Don Sebastian, in his +solitude, heard them, referring to the chief ingredient of that strange +wine from Cordova, he permitted himself the only jest of his life. + +'It was _Belladonna_ that sent his body to the worms; and it was +_Belladonna_ that sent his soul to hell.' + + +VII + +The chronicle does not state whether the thought of his brother's +heritage had ever entered Don Sebastian's head; but the fact remains +that he was sole heir, and the archbishop had gathered the loaves and +fishes to such purpose during his life that his death made Don Sebastian +one of the wealthiest men in Spain. The simplest actions in this world, +oh Martin Tupper! have often the most unforeseen results. + +Now, Don Sebastian had always been ambitious, and his changed +circumstances made him realise more clearly than ever that his merit was +worthy of a brilliant arena. The times were propitious, for the old king +had just died, and the new one had sent away the army of priests and +monks which had turned every day into a Sunday; people said that God +Almighty had had His day, and that the heathen deities had come to rule +in His stead. From all corners of Spain gallants were coming to enjoy +the sunshine, and everyone who could make a compliment or a graceful bow +was sure of a welcome. + +So Don Sebastian prepared to go to Madrid. But before leaving his native +town he thought well to appease a possibly vengeful Providence by +erecting in the cathedral a chapel in honour of his patron saint; not +that he thought the saints would trouble themselves about the death of +his brother, even though the causes of it were not entirely natural, but +Don Sebastian remembered that Pablo was an archbishop, and the fact +caused him a certain anxiety. He called together architects and +sculptors, and ordered them to erect an edifice befitting his dignity; +and being a careful man, as all Spaniards are, thought he would serve +himself as well as the saint, and bade the sculptors make an image of +Doņa Sodina and an image of himself, in order that he might use the +chapel also as a burial-place. + +To pay for this, Don Sebastian left the revenue of several of his +brother's farms, and then, with a peaceful conscience, set out for the +capital. + +At Madrid he laid himself out to gain the favour of his sovereign, and +by dint of unceasing flattery soon received much of the king's +attention; and presently Philip deigned to ask his advice on petty +matters. And since Don Sebastian took care to advise as he saw the king +desired, the latter concluded that the courtier was a man of stamina and +ability, and began to consult him on matters of state. Don Sebastian +opined that the pleasure of the prince must always come before the +welfare of the nation, and the king was so impressed with his sagacity +that one day he asked his opinion on a question of precedence--to the +indignation of the most famous councillors in the land. + +But the haughty soul of Don Sebastian chafed because he was only one +among many favourites. The court was full of flatterers as assiduous and +as obsequious as himself; his proud Castilian blood could brook no +companions.... But one day, as he was moodily waiting in the royal +antechamber, thinking of these things, it occurred to him that a certain +profession had always been in great honour among princes, and he +remembered that he had a cousin of eighteen, who was being educated in a +convent near Xiormonez. She was beautiful. With buoyant heart he went to +his house and told his steward to fetch her from the convent at once. +Within a fortnight she was at Madrid.... Mercia was presented to the +queen in the presence of Philip, and Don Sebastian noticed that the +royal eye lighted up as he gazed on the bashful maiden. Then all the +proud Castilian had to do was to shut his eyes and allow the king to +make his own opportunities. Within a week Mercia was created maid of +honour to the queen, and Don Sebastian was seized with an indisposition +which confined him to his room. + +The king paid his court royally, which is, boldly; and Doņa Mercia had +received in the convent too religious an education not to know that it +was her duty to grant the king whatever it graciously pleased him to +ask.... + +When Don Sebastian recovered from his illness, he found the world at his +feet, for everyone was talking of the king's new mistress, and it was +taken as a matter of course that her cousin and guardian should take a +prominent part in the affairs of the country. But Don Sebastian was +furious! He went to the king and bitterly reproached him for thus +dishonouring him.... Philip was a humane and generous-minded man, and +understood that with a certain temperament it might be annoying to have +one's ward philander with a king, so he did his best to console the +courtier. He called him his friend and brother; he told him he would +always love him, but Don Sebastian would not be consoled. And nothing +would comfort him except to be made High Admiral of the Fleet. Philip +was charmed to settle the matter so simply, and as he delighted in +generosity when to be generous cost him nothing, he also created Don +Sebastian Duke of Losas, and gave him, into the bargain, the hand of +the richest heiress in Spain. + +And that is the end of the story of the punctiliousness of Don +Sebastian. With his second wife he lived many years, beloved of his +sovereign, courted by the world, honoured by all, till he was visited by +the Destroyer of Delights and the Leveller of the Grandeur of this +World.... + + +VIII + +Towards evening, the Duke of Losas passed my hotel, and, seeing me at +the door, asked if I had read the manuscript. + +'I thought it interesting,' I said, a little coldly, for, of course, I +knew no Englishman would have acted like Don Sebastian. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +'It is not half so interesting as a good dinner.' + +At these words I felt bound to offer him such hospitality as the hotel +afforded. I found him a very agreeable messmate. He told me the further +history of his family, which nearly became extinct at the end of the +last century, since the only son of the seventh duke had, unfortunately, +not been born of any duchess. But Ferdinand, who was then King of Spain, +was unwilling that an ancient family should die out, and was, at the +same time, sorely in want of money; so the titles and honours of the +house were continued to the son of the seventh duke, and King Ferdinand +built himself another palace. + +'But now,' said my guest, mournfully shaking his head, 'it is finished. +My palace and a few acres of barren rock are all that remain to me of +the lands of my ancestors, and I am the last of the line.' + +But I bade him not despair. He was a bachelor and a duke, and not yet +forty. I advised him to go to the United States before they put a duty +on foreign noblemen; this was before the war; and I recommended him to +take Maida Vale and Manchester on his way. Personally, I gave him a +letter of introduction to an heiress of my acquaintance at Hampstead; +for even in these days it is not so bad a thing to be Duchess of Losas, +and the present duke has no brother. + + + + +A BAD EXAMPLE + + +I + +James Clinton was a clerk in the important firm of Haynes, Bryan & Co., +and he held in it an important position. He was the very essence of +respectability, and he earned one hundred and fifty-six pounds per +annum. James Clinton believed in the Church of England and the +Conservative party, in the greatness of Great Britain, in the need of +more ships for the navy, and in the superiority of city men to other +members of the commonweal. + +'It's the man of business that makes the world go round,' he was in the +habit of saying. 'D'you think, sir, that fifty thousand country squires +could rule Great Britain? No; it's the city man, the man who's 'ad a +sound business training, that's made England what it is. And that is why +I 'old the Conservative party most capable of governing this mighty +empire, because it 'as taken the business man to its 'eart. The +strength of the Conservative party lies in its brewers and its city +men, its bankers and iron-founders and stockbrokers; and as long as the +Liberal party is a nest of Socialists and Trades-Unionists and +Anarchists, we city men cannot and will not give it our support.' + +Except for the lamentable conclusion of his career, he would undoubtedly +have become an Imperialist, and the Union of the Great Anglo-Saxon Races +would have found in him the sturdiest of supporters! + +Mr Clinton was a little, spindly-shanked man, with weak, myopic eyes, +protruding fishlike behind his spectacles. His hair was scant, worn long +to conceal the baldness of the crown--and Cæsar was pleased to wear a +wreath of laurel for the same purpose.... Mr Clinton wore small +side-whiskers, but was otherwise clean-shaven, and the lack of beard +betrayed the weakness of his mouth; his teeth were decayed and yellow. +He was always dressed in a black tail-coat, shiny at the elbows; and he +wore a shabby, narrow black tie, with a false diamond stud in his +dickey. His grey trousers were baggy at the knees and frayed at the +edges; his boots had a masculine and English breadth of toe. His top +hat, of antiquated shape, was kept carefully brushed, but always looked +as if it were suffering from a recent shower. When he had deserted the +frivolous byways in which bachelordom is wont to disport itself for the +sober path of the married man, he had begun to carry to and from the +city a small black bag to impress upon the world at large his eminent +respectability. Mr Clinton was married to Amy, second daughter of John +Rayner, Esquire, of Peckham Rye.... + + +II + +Every morning Mr Clinton left his house in Camberwell in time to catch +the eight-fifty-five train for the city. He made his way up Ludgate +Hill, walking sideways, with a projection of the left part of his body, +a habit he had acquired from constantly slipping past and between people +who walked less rapidly than himself. Such persons always annoyed him; +if they were not in a hurry he was, and they had no right to obstruct +the way; and it was improper for a city man to loiter in the +morning--the luncheon-hour was the time for loitering, no one was then +in haste; but in the morning and at night on the way back to the +station, one ought to walk at the same pace as everybody else. If Mr +Clinton had been head of a firm, he would never have had in his office a +man who sauntered in the morning. If a man wanted to loiter, let him go +to the West-end; there he could lounge about all day. But the city was +meant for business, and there wasn't time for West-end airs in the city. + +Mr Clinton reached his office at a quarter to ten, except when the +train, by some mistake, arrived up to time, when he arrived at +nine-thirty precisely. On these occasions he would sit in his room with +the door open, awaiting the coming of the office-boy, who used to arrive +two minutes before Mr Clinton and was naturally much annoyed when the +punctuality of the train prepared him a reprimand. + +'Is that you, Dick?' called Mr Clinton, when he heard a footstep. + +'Yes, sir,' answered the boy, appearing. + +Mr Clinton looked up from his nails, which he was paring with a pair of +pocket scissors. + +'What is the meaning of this? You don't call this 'alf-past nine, do +you?' + +'Very sorry,' said the boy; 'it wasn't my fault, sir; train was late.' + +'It's not the first time I've 'ad to speak to you about this, Dick; you +know quite well that the company is always unpunctual; you should come +by an earlier train.' + +The office-boy looked sulky and did not answer. Mr Clinton proceeded, 'I +'ad to open the office myself. As assistant-manager, you know quite well +that it is not my duty to open the office. You receive sixteen shillings +a week to be 'ere at 'alf-past nine, and if you don't feel yourself +capable of performing the duties for which you was engaged, you should +give notice.... Don't let it occur again.' + +But usually, on arriving, Mr Clinton took off his tail-coat and put on a +jacket, manufactured from the office paper a pair of false cuffs to keep +his own clean, and having examined the nibs in both his penholders and +sharpened his pencil, set to work. From then till one o'clock he +remained at his desk, solemnly poring over figures, casting accounts, +comparing balance-sheets, writing letters, occasionally going for some +purpose or another into the clerks' office or into the room of one of +the partners. At one he went to luncheon, taking with him the portion +of his _Daily Telegraph_ which he was in the habit of reading during +that meal. He went to an A. B. C. shop and ordered a roll and butter, a +cup of chocolate and a scone. He divided his pat of butter into two, one +half being for the roll and the other for the scone; he drank one moiety +of the cup of chocolate after eating the roll, and the other after +eating the scone. Meanwhile he read pages three and four of the _Daily +Telegraph_. At a quarter to two he folded the paper, put down sixpence +in payment, and slowly walked back to the office. He returned to his +desk and there spent the afternoon solemnly poring over figures, casting +accounts, comparing balance-sheets, writing letters, occasionally going +for some purpose or another into the clerks' office or into the room of +one of the partners. At ten minutes to six he wiped his pens and put +them back in the tray, tidied his desk and locked his drawer. He took +off his paper cuffs, washed his hands, wiped his face, brushed his hair, +arranging the long whisps over the occipital baldness, and combed his +whiskers. At six he left the office, caught the six-seventeen train from +Ludgate Hill, and thus made his way back to Camberwell and the bosom of +his family. + + +III + +On Sunday, Mr Clinton put on Sunday clothes, and heading the little +procession formed by Mrs Clinton and the two children, went to church, +carrying in his hand a prayer book and a hymn book. After dinner he took +a little walk with his wife along the neighbouring roads, avenues and +crescents, examining the exterior of the houses, stopping now and then +to look at a garden or a well-kept house, or trying to get a peep into +some room. Mr and Mrs Clinton criticised as they went along, comparing +the window curtains, blaming a door in want of paint, praising a +well-whitened doorstep.... + +The Clintons lived in the fifth house down in the Adonis Road, and the +house was distinguishable from its fellows by the yellow curtains with +which Mrs Clinton had furnished all the windows. Mrs Clinton was a woman +of taste. Before marriage, the happy pair, accompanied by Mrs Clinton's +mother, had gone house-hunting, and fixed on the Adonis Road, which was +cheap, respectable and near the station. Mrs Clinton would dearly have +liked a house on the right-hand side of the road, which had nooks and +angles and curiously-shaped windows. But Mr Clinton was firm in his +refusal, and his mother-in-law backed him up. + +'I dare say they're artistic,' he said, in answer to his wife's +argument, 'but a man in my position don't want art--he wants +substantiality. If the governor'--the governor was the senior partner of +the firm--'if the governor was going to take a 'ouse I'd 'ave nothing to +say against it, but in my position art's not necessary.' + +'Quite right, James,' said his mother-in-law; 'I 'old with what you say +entirely.' + +Even in his early youth Mr Clinton had a fine sense of the +responsibility of life, and a truly English feeling for the fitness of +things. + +So the Clintons took one of the twenty-three similar houses on the +left-hand side of the street, and there lived in peaceful happiness. But +Mr Clinton always pointed the finger of scorn at the houses opposite, +and he never rubbed the back of his hands so heartily as when he could +point out to his wife that such-and-such a number was having its roof +repaired; and when the builder went bankrupt, he cut out the notice in +the paper and sent it to his spouse anonymously.... + +At the beginning of August, Mr Clinton was accustomed, with his wife and +family, to desert the sultry populousness of London for the solitude and +sea air of Ramsgate. He read the _Daily Telegraph_ by the sad sea waves, +and made castles in the sand with his children. Then he changed his +pepper-and-salt trousers for white flannel, but nothing on earth would +induce him to forsake his top hat. He entirely agreed with the heroes of +England's proudest epoch--of course I mean the middle Victorian--that +the top hat was the sign-manual, the mark, the distinction of the true +Englishman, the completest expression of England's greatness. Mr Clinton +despised all foreigners, and although he would never have ventured to +think of himself in the same breath with an English lord, he felt +himself the superior of any foreign nobleman. + +'I dare say they're all right in their way, but with these foreigners +you don't feel they're gentlemen. I don't know what it is, but there's +something, you understand, don't you? And I do like a man to be a +gentleman. I thank God I'm an Englishman!' + + +IV + +Now, it chanced one day that the senior partner of the firm was summoned +to serve on a jury at a coroner's inquest, and Mr Clinton, furnished +with the excuse that Mr Haynes was out of town, was told to go in his +stead. Mr Clinton had never performed that part of a citizen's duties, +for on becoming a householder he had hit upon the expedient of being +summoned for his rates, so that his name should be struck off the +coroner's list; he was very indifferent to the implied dishonour. It was +with some curiosity, therefore, that he repaired to the court on the +morning of the inquest. + +The weather was cold and grey, and a drizzling rain was falling. Mr +Clinton did not take a 'bus, since by walking he could put in his pocket +the threepence which he meant to charge the firm for his fare. The +streets were wet and muddy, and people walked close against the houses +to avoid the splash of passing vehicles. Mr Clinton thought of the +jocose solicitor who was in the habit of taking an articled clerk with +him on muddy days, to walk on the outside of the street and protect his +master from the flying mud. The story particularly appealed to Mr +Clinton; that solicitor must have been a fine man of business. As he +walked leisurely along under his umbrella, Mr Clinton looked without +envy upon the city men who drove along in hansoms. + +'Some of us,' he said, 'are born great, others achieve greatness. A man +like that'--he pointed with his mind's finger at a passing alderman--'a +man like that can go about in 'is carriage and nobody can say anything +against it. 'E's worked 'imself up from the bottom.' + +But when he came down Parliament Street to Westminster Abbey he felt a +different atmosphere, and he was roused to Jeremiac indignation at the +sight, in a passing cab, of a gilded youth in an opera hat, with his +coat buttoned up to hide his dress clothes. + +'That's the sort of young feller I can't abide,' said Mr Clinton. 'And +if I was a member of Parliament I'd stop it. That's what comes of 'aving +too much money and nothing to do. If I was a member of the aristocracy +I'd give my sons five years in an accountant's office. There's nothing +like a sound business training for making a man.' He paused in the road +and waved his disengaged hand. 'Now, what should I be if I 'adn't 'ad a +sound business training?' + +Mr Clinton arrived at the mortuary, a gay red and white building, which +had been newly erected and consecrated by a duke with much festivity and +rejoicing. Mr Clinton was sworn with the other jurymen, and with them +repaired to see the bodies on which they were to sit. But Mr Clinton was +squeamish. + +'I don't like corpses,' he said. 'I object to them on principle.' + +He was told he must look at them. + +'Very well,' said Mr Clinton. 'You can take a 'orse to the well but you +can't make 'im drink.' When it came to his turn to look through the pane +of glass behind which was the body, he shut his eyes. + +'I can't say I'm extra gone on corpses,' he said, as they walked back to +the Court. 'The smell of them ain't what you might call +_eau-de-Cologne_.' The other jurymen laughed. Mr Clinton often said +witty things like that. + +'Well, gentlemen,' said the coroner, rubbing his hands, 'we've only got +three cases this morning, so I sha'n't have to keep you long. And they +all seem to be quite simple.' + + +V + +The first was an old man of seventy; he had been a respectable, +hard-working man till two years before, when a paralytic stroke had +rendered one side of him completely powerless. He lost his work. He was +alone in the world--his wife was dead, and his only daughter had not +been heard of for thirty years--and gradually he had spent his little +savings; one by one he sent his belongings to the pawn shop, his pots +and pans, his clothes, his arm-chair, finally his bedstead, then he +died. The doctor said the man was terribly emaciated, his stomach was +shrivelled up for want of food, he could have eaten nothing for two days +before death.... The jury did not trouble to leave the box; the foreman +merely turned round and whispered to them a minute; they all nodded, and +a verdict was returned in accordance with the doctor's evidence! + +The next inquiry was upon a child of two. The coroner leant his head +wearily on his hand, such cases were so common! The babe's mother came +forward to give her evidence--a pale little woman, with thin and hollow +cheeks, her eyes red and dim with weeping. She sobbed as she told the +coroner that her husband had left her, and she was obliged to support +herself and two children. She was out of work, and food had been rather +scanty; she had suckled the dead baby as long as she could, but her milk +dried up. Two days before, on waking up in the morning, the child she +held in her arms was cold and dead. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. +Want of food! And the jury returned their verdict, framed in a beautiful +and elaborate sentence, in accordance with the evidence. + +The last case was a girl of twenty. She had been found in the Thames; a +bargee told how he saw a confused black mass floating on the water, and +he put a boat-hook in the skirt, tying the body up to the boat while he +called the police, he was so used to such things! In the girl's pocket +was found a pathetic little letter to the coroner, begging his pardon +for the trouble she was causing, saying she had been sent away from her +place, and was starving, and had resolved to put an end to her troubles +by throwing herself in the river. She was pregnant. The medical man +stated that there were signs on the body of very great privation, so the +jury returned a verdict that the deceased had committed suicide whilst +in a state of temporary insanity! + +The coroner stretched his arms and blew his nose, and the jury went +their way. + +But Mr Clinton stood outside the mortuary door, meditating, and the +coroner's officer remarked that it was a wet day. + +'Could I 'ave another look at the bodies?' timidly asked the clerk, +stirring himself out of his contemplation. + +The coroner's officer looked at him with surprise, and laughed. + +'Yes, if you like.' + +Mr Clinton looked through the glass windows at the bodies, and he +carefully examined their faces; he looked at them one after another +slowly, and it seemed as if he could not tear himself away. Finally he +turned round, his face was very pale, and it had quite a strange +expression on it; he felt very sick. + +'Thank you!' he said to the coroner's officer, and walked away. But +after a few steps he turned back, touching the man on the arm. 'D'you +'ave many cases like that?' he asked. + +'Why, you look quite upset,' said the coroner's officer, with amusement. +'I can see you're not used to such things. You'd better go to the pub. +opposite and 'ave three 'aporth of brandy.' + +'They seemed rather painful cases,' said Mr Clinton, in a low voice. + +'Oh, it was a slack day to-day. Nothing like what it is usually this +time of year.' + +'They all died of starvation--starvation, and nothing else.' + +'I suppose they did, more or less,' replied the officer. + +'D'you 'ave many cases like that?' + +'Starvation cases? Lor' bless you! on a 'eavy day we'll 'ave 'alf a +dozen, easy.' + +'Oh!' said Mr Clinton. + +'Well, I must be getting on with my work,' said the officer--they were +standing on the doorstep and he looked at the public-house opposite, but +Mr Clinton paid no further attention to him. He began to walk slowly +away citywards. + +'Well, you are a rummy old file!' said the coroner's officer. + +But presently a mist came before Mr Clinton's eyes, everything seemed +suddenly extraordinary, he had an intense pain and he felt himself +falling. He opened his eyes slowly, and found himself sitting on a +doorstep; a policeman was shaking him, asking what his name was. A woman +standing by was holding his top hat; he noticed that his trousers were +muddy, and mechanically he pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe +them. + +He looked vacantly at the policeman asking questions. The woman asked +him if he was better. He motioned her to give him his hat; he put it +feebly on his head and, staggering to his feet, walked unsteadily away. + +The rain drizzled down impassively, and cabs passing swiftly splashed up +the yellow mud.... + + +VI + +Mr Clinton went back to the office; it was his boast that for ten years +he had never missed a day. But he was dazed; he did his work +mechanically, and so distracted was he that, on going home in the +evening, he forgot to remove his paper cuffs, and his wife remarked upon +them while they were supping. Mrs Clinton was a short, stout person, +with an appearance of immense determination; her black, shiny hair was +parted in the middle--the parting was broad and very white--severely +brushed back and gathered into a little knot at the back of the head; +her face was red and strongly lined, her eyes spirited, her nose +aggressive, her mouth resolute. Everyone has some one procedure which +seems most exactly to suit him--a slim youth bathing in a shaded stream, +an alderman standing with his back to the fire and his thumbs in the +arm-holes of his waistcoat--and Mrs Clinton expressed her complete self, +exhibiting every trait and attribute, on Sunday in church, when she sat +in the front pew self-reliantly singing the hymns in the wrong key. It +was then that she seemed more than ever the personification of a full +stop. Her morals were above suspicion, and her religion Low Church. + +'They've moved into the second 'ouse down,' she remarked to her +husband. 'And Mrs Tilly's taken 'er summer curtains down at last.' Mrs +Clinton spent most of her time in watching her neighbours' movements, +and she and her husband always discussed at the supper-table the events +of the day, but this time he took no notice of her remark. He pushed +away his cold meat with an expression of disgust. + +'You don't seem up to the mark to-night, Jimmy,' said Mrs Clinton. + +'I served on a jury to-day in place of the governor, and it gave me +rather a turn.' + +'Why, was there anything particular?' + +Mr Clinton crumbled up his bread, rolling it about on the table. + +'Only some poor things starved to death.' + +Mrs Clinton shrugged her shoulders. 'Why couldn't they go to the +workhouse, I wonder? I've no patience with people like that.' + +Mr Clinton looked at her for a moment, then rose from the table. 'Well, +dear, I think I'll get to bed; I daresay I shall be all right in the +morning.' + +'That's right,' said Mrs Clinton; 'you get to bed and I'll bring you +something 'ot. I expect you've got a bit of a chill and a good +perspiration'll do you a world of good.' + +She mixed bad whisky with harmless water, and stood over her husband +while he patiently drank the boiling mixture. Then she piled a couple of +extra blankets on him and went down stairs to have her usual nip, +'Scotch and cold,' before going to bed herself. + +All night Mr Clinton tossed from side to side; the heat was unbearable, +and he threw off the clothes. His restlessness became so great that he +got out of bed and walked up and down the room--a pathetically +ridiculous object in his flannel nightshirt, from which his thin legs +protruded grotesquely. Going back to bed, he fell into an uneasy sleep; +but waking or sleeping, he had before his eyes the faces of the three +horrible bodies he had seen at the mortuary. He could not blot out the +image of the thin, baby face with the pale, open eyes, the white face +drawn and thin, hideous in its starved, dead shapelessness. And he saw +the drawn, wrinkled face of the old man, with the stubbly beard; looking +at it, he felt the long pain of hunger, the agony of the hopeless +morrow. But he shuddered with terror at the thought of the drowned girl +with the sunken eyes, the horrible discolouration of putrefaction; and +Mr Clinton buried his face in his pillow, sobbing, sobbing very silently +so as not to wake his wife.... + +The morning came at last and found him feverish and parched, unable to +move. Mrs Clinton sent for the doctor, a slow, cautious Scotchman, in +whose wisdom Mrs Clinton implicitly relied, since he always agreed with +her own idea of her children's ailments. This prudent gentleman ventured +to assert that Mr Clinton had caught cold and had something wrong with +his lungs. Then, promising to send medicine and come again next day, +went off on his rounds. Mr Clinton grew worse; he became delirious. When +his wife, smoothing his pillow, asked him how he felt, he looked at her +with glassy eyes. + +'Lor' bless you!' he muttered, 'on a 'eavy day we'll 'ave 'alf a dozen, +easy.' + +'What's this he's talking about?' asked the doctor, next day. + +''E was serving on a jury the day before yesterday, and my opinion is +that it's got on 'is brain,' answered Mrs Clinton. + +'Oh, that's nothing. You needn't worry about that. I daresay it'll turn +to clothes or religion before he's done. People talk of funny things +when they're in that state. He'll probably think he's got two hundred +pairs of trousers or a million pounds a year.' + +A couple of days later the doctor came to the final conclusion that it +was a case of typhoid, and pronounced Mr Clinton very ill. He was +indeed; he lay for days, between life and death, on his back, looking at +people with dull, unknowing eyes, clutching feebly at the bed-clothes. +And for hours he would mutter strange things to himself so quietly that +one could not hear. But at last Dame Nature and the Scotch doctor +conquered the microbes, and Mr Clinton became better. + + +VII + +One day Mrs Clinton was talking to a neighbour in the bedroom, the +patient was so quiet that they thought him asleep. + +'Yes, I've 'ad a time with 'im, I can tell you,' said Mrs Clinton. 'No +one knows what I've gone through.' + +'Well, I must say,' said the friend, 'you haven't spared yourself; +you've nursed him like a professional nurse.' + +Mrs Clinton crossed her hands over her stomach and looked at her husband +with self-satisfaction. But Mr Clinton was awake, staring in front of +him with wide-open, fixed eyes; various thoughts confusedly ran through +his head. + +'Isn't 'e looking strange?' whispered Mrs Clinton. + +The two women kept silence, watching him. + +'Amy, are you there?' asked Mr Clinton, suddenly, without turning his +eyes. + +'Yes, dear. Is there anything you want?' + +Mr Clinton did not reply for several minutes; the women waited in +silence. + +'Bring me a Bible, Amy,' he said at last. + +'A Bible, Jimmy?' asked Mrs Clinton, in astonishment. + +'Yes, dear!' + +She looked anxiously at her friend. + +'Oh, I do 'ope the delirium isn't coming on again,' she whispered, and, +pretending to smooth his pillow, she passed her hand over his forehead +to see if it was hot. 'Are you quite comfortable, dear?' she asked, +without further allusion to the Bible. + +'Yes, Amy, quite!' + +'Don't you think you could go to sleep for a little while?' + +'I don't feel sleepy, I want to read; will you bring me the Bible?' + +Mrs Clinton looked helplessly at her friend; she feared something was +wrong, and she didn't know what to do. But the neighbour, with a +significant look, pointed to the _Daily Telegraph_, which was lying on a +chair. Mrs Clinton brightened up and took it to her husband. + +'Here's the paper, dear.' Mr Clinton made a slight movement of +irritation. + +'I don't want it; I want the Bible.' Mrs Clinton looked at her friend +more helplessly than ever. + +'I've never known 'im ask for such a thing before,' she whispered, 'and +'e's never missed reading the _Telegraph_ a single day since we was +married.' + +'I don't think you ought to read,' she said aloud to her husband. 'But +the doctor'll be here soon, and I'll ask 'im then.' + +The doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'I don't think there'd be any +harm in letting him have a Bible,' he said, 'but you'd better keep an +eye on him.... I suppose there's no insanity in the family?' + +'No, doctor, not as far as I know. I've always 'eard that my mother's +uncle was very eccentric, but that wouldn't account for this, because we +wasn't related before we married.' + +Mr Clinton took the Bible, and, turning to the New Testament, began to +read. He read chapter after chapter, pausing now and again to meditate, +or reading a second time some striking passage, till at last he finished +the first gospel. Then he turned to his wife. + +'Amy, d'you know, I think I should like to do something for my +feller-creatures. I don't think we're meant to live for ourselves alone +in this world.' + +Mrs Clinton was quite overcome; she turned away to hide the tears which +suddenly filled her eyes, but the shock was too much for her, and she +had to leave the room so that her husband might not see her emotion; she +immediately sent for the doctor. + +'Oh, doctor,' she said, her voice broken with sobs, 'I'm afraid--I'm +afraid my poor 'usband's going off 'is 'ead.' + +And she told him of the incessant reading and the remark Mr Clinton had +just made. The doctor looked grave, and began thinking. + +'You're quite sure there's no insanity in the family?' he asked again. + +'Not to the best of my belief, doctor.' + +'And you've noticed nothing strange in him? His mind hasn't been running +on money or clothes?' + +'No, doctor; I wish it 'ad. I shouldn't 'ave thought anything of that; +there's something natural in a man talking about stocks and shares and +trousers, but I've never 'eard 'im say anything like this before. He was +always a wonderfully steady man.' + + +VIII + +Mr Clinton became daily stronger, and soon he was quite well. He resumed +his work at the office, and in every way seemed to have regained his old +self. He gave utterance to no more startling theories, and the casual +observer might have noticed no difference between him and the model +clerk of six months back. But Mrs Clinton had received too great a shock +to look upon her husband with casual eyes, and she noticed in his manner +an alteration which disquieted her. He was much more silent than before; +he would take his supper without speaking a word, without making the +slightest sign to show that he had heard some remark of Mrs Clinton's. +He did not read the paper in the evening as he had been used to do, but +would go upstairs to the top of the house, and stand by an open window +looking at the stars. He had an enigmatical way of smiling which Mrs +Clinton could not understand. Then he had lost his old punctuality--he +would come home at all sorts of hours, and, when his wife questioned +him, would merely shrug his shoulders and smile strangely. Once he told +her that he had been wandering about looking at men's lives. + +Mrs Clinton thought that a very unsatisfactory explanation of his +unpunctuality, and after a long consultation with the cautious doctor +came to the conclusion that it was her duty to discover what her husband +did during the long time that elasped between his leaving the office and +returning home. + +So one day, at about six, she stationed herself at the door of the big +building in which were Mr Clinton's offices, and waited. Presently he +appeared in the doorway, and after standing for a minute or two on the +threshold, ever with the enigmatical smile hovering on his lips, came +down the steps and walked slowly along the crowded street. His wife +walked behind him; and he was not difficult to follow, for he had lost +his old, quick, business-like step, and sauntered along, looking to the +right and to the left, carelessly, as if he had not awaiting him at home +his duties as the father of a family.... After a while he turned down a +side street, and his wife followed with growing astonishment; she could +not imagine where he was going. Just then a little flower-girl passed by +and offered him a yellow rose. He stopped and looked at her; Mrs Clinton +could see that she was a grimy little girl, with a shock of unkempt +brown hair and a very dirty apron; but Mr Clinton put his hand on her +head and looked into her eyes; then he gave her a penny, and, stooping +down, lightly kissed her hair. + +'Bless you, my dear!' he said, and passed on. + +'Well, I never!' said Mrs Clinton, quite aghast; and as she walked by +the flower girl, snorted at her and looked so savagely that the poor +little maiden quite started. Mr Clinton walked very slowly, stopping now +and then to look at a couple of women seated on a doorstep, or the +children round an ice-cream stall. Mrs Clinton saw him pay a penny and +give an ice to a little child who was looking with longing eyes at its +more fortunate companions as they licked out the little glass cups. He +remained quite a long while watching half a dozen young girls dancing to +the music of a barrel organ, and again, to his wife's disgust, Mr +Clinton gave money. + +'We shall end in the work'ouse if this goes on,' muttered Mrs Clinton, +and she pursed up her lips more tightly than ever, thinking of the +explanation she meant to have when her mate came home. + +At last Mr Clinton came to a narrow slum, down which he turned, and so +filthy was it that the lady almost feared to follow. But indignation, +curiosity, and a stern sense of duty prevailed. She went along with +up-turned nose, making her way carefully between cabbages and other +vegetable refuse, sidling up against a house to avoid a dead cat which +lay huddled up in the middle of the way, with a great red wound in its +head. + +Mrs Clinton was disgusted to see her husband enter a public-house. + +'Is this where he gets to?' she said to herself, and, looking through +the door, saw him talk with two or three rough men who were standing at +the bar, drinking 'four 'arf.' + +But she waited determinedly. She had made up her mind to see the matter +to the end, come what might; she was willing to wait all night. + +After a time he came out, and, going through a narrow passage made his +way into an alley. Then he went straight up to a big-boned, +coarse-featured woman in a white apron, who was standing at an open +door, and when he had said a few words to her, the two entered the house +and the door was closed behind them. + +Mrs Clinton suddenly saw it all. + +'I am deceived!' she said tragically, and she crackled with virtuous +indignation. + +Her first impulse was to knock furiously at the door and force her way +in to bear her James away from the clutches of the big-boned siren. But +she feared that her rival would meet her with brute force, and the +possibility of defeat made her see the unladylikeness of the proceeding. +So she turned on her heel, holding up her skirts and her nose against +the moral contamination and made her way out of the low place. She +walked tempestuously down to Fleet Street, jumped fiercely on a 'bus, +frantically caught the train to Camberwell, and, having reached her +house in the Adonis Road, flung herself furiously down on a chair and +gasped,-- + +'Oh!' + +Then she got ready for her husband's return. + +'Well?' she said, when he came in; and she looked daggers.... 'Well?' + +'I'm afraid I'm later than usual, my dear.' It was, in fact, past nine +o'clock. + +'Don't talk to me!' she replied, with a vigorous jerk of her head. 'I +know what you've been up to.' + +'What do you mean, my love?' he gently asked. + +She positively snorted with indignation; she had rolled her handkerchief +into a ball, and nervously dabbed the palms of her hands with it. 'I +followed you this afternoon, and I saw you go into that 'ouse with that +low woman. What now? Eh?' She spoke with the greatest possible emphasis. + +'Woman!' said Mr Clinton, with a smile, 'What are you to me?' + +'Don't call me woman!' said Mrs Clinton, very angrily. 'What am I to +you? I'm your wife, and I've got the marriage certificate in my pocket +at this moment.' She slapped her pocket loudly. 'I'm your wife, and you +ought to be ashamed of yourself.' + +'Wife! You are no more to me than any other woman!' + +'And you 'ave the audacity to tell me that to my face! Oh, you--you +villain! I won't stand it, I tell you; I won't stand it. I know I can't +get a divorce--the laws of England are scandalous--but I'll 'ave a +judicious separation.... I might have known it, you're all alike, every +one of you; that's 'ow you men treat women. You take advantage of their +youth and beauty, and then.... Oh, you villain! Here 'ave I worked +myself to the bone for you and brought up your children, and I don't +know what I 'aven't done, and now you go and take on with some woman, +and leave me. Oh!' She burst into tears. Mr Clinton still smiled, and +there was a curious look in his eyes. + +'Woman! woman!' he said, 'you know not what you say!' He went up to his +wife and laid his hand on her shoulder. 'Dry your tears,' he said, 'and +I will tell you of these things.' + +Mrs Clinton shook herself angrily, keeping her face buried in her pocket +handkerchief, but he turned away without paying more attention to her; +then, standing in front of the glass, he looked at himself earnestly and +began to speak. + +'It was during my illness that my eyes were opened. Lying in bed through +those long hours I thought of the poor souls whose tale I 'ad 'eard in +the coroner's court. And all night I saw their dead faces. I thought of +the misery of mankind and of the 'ardness of men's 'earts.... Then a ray +of light came to me, and I called for a Bible, and I read, and read; and +the light grew into a great glow, and I saw that man was not meant to +live for 'imself alone; that there was something else in life, that it +was man's duty to 'elp his fellers; and I resolved, when I was well, to +do all that in me lay to 'elp the poor and the wretched, and faithfully +to carry out those precepts which the Book 'ad taught me.' + +'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' sobbed Mrs Clinton, who had looked up and listened +with astonishment to her husband's speech. 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is +he talking about?' + +Mr Clinton turned towards her and again put his hand on her shoulder. + +'And that is 'ow I spend my time, Amy. I go into the most miserable +'ouses, into the dirtiest 'oles, the foulest alleys, and I seek to make +men 'appier. I do what I can to 'elp them in their distress, and to show +them that brilliant light which I see so gloriously lighting the way +before me. And now good-night!' He stretched out his arm, and for a +moment let his hand rest above her head; then, turning on his heel, he +left the room. + +Next day Mrs Clinton called on the doctor, and told him of her husband's +strange behaviour. The doctor slowly and meditatively nodded, then he +raised his eyebrows, and with his finger significantly tapped his +head.... + +'Well,' he said, 'I think you'd better wait a while and see how things +go on. I'll just write out a prescription, and you can give him the +medicine three times a day after meals,' and he ordered the unhappy Mr +Clinton another tonic, which, if it had no effect on that gentleman, +considerably reassured his wife. + + +IX + +Mr Clinton, in fact, became worse. He came home later and later every +night, and his wife was disgusted at the state of uncleanness which his +curious wanderings brought about. He refused to take the baths which Mrs +Clinton prepared for him. He was more silent than ever, but when he +spoke it was in biblical language; and always hovered on his lips the +enigmatical smile, and his eyes always had the strange, disconcerting +look. Mrs Clinton perseveringly made him take his medicine, but she lost +faith in its power when, one night at twelve, Mr Clinton brought home +with him a very dirty, ragged man, who looked half-starved and smelt +distinctly alcoholic. + +'Jim,' she said, on seeing the miserable object slinking in behind her +husband, 'Jim, what's that?' + +'That, Amy? That is your brother!' + +'My brother? What d'you mean?' cried Mrs Clinton, firing up. 'That's no +brother of mine. I 'aven't got a brother.' + +'It's your brother and my brother. Be good to him.' + +'I tell you it isn't my brother,' repeated Mrs Clinton; 'my brother +Adolphus died when he was two years old, and that's the only brother I +ever 'ad.' + +Mr Clinton merely looked at her with his usual gentle expression, and +she asked angrily,-- + +'What 'ave you brought 'im 'ere for?' + +''E is 'ungry, and I am going to give 'im food; 'e is 'omeless, and I am +going to give 'im shelter.' + +'Shelter? Where?' + +'Here, in my 'ouse, in my bed.' + +'In my bed!' screamed Mrs Clinton. 'Not if I know it! 'Ere, you,' she +said, addressing the man, and pushing past her husband. 'Out you get! +I'm not going to 'ave tramps and loafers in my 'ouse. Get out!' Mrs +Clinton was an energetic woman, and a strong one. Catching hold of her +husband's stick, and flourishing it, she opened the front door. + +'Amy! Amy!' expostulated Mr Clinton. + +'Now, then, you be quiet. I've 'ad about enough of you! Get on out, will +you?' + +The man made a rush for the door, and as he scrambled down the steps she +caught him a smart blow on the back, and slammed the door behind him. +Then, returning to the sitting-room, she sank panting on a chair. Mr +Clinton slowly recovered from his surprise. + +'Woman,' he said, this being now his usual mode of address--he spoke +solemnly and sadly--'you 'ave cast out your brother, you 'ave cast out +your husband, you 'ave cast out yourself.' + +'Don't talk to me!' said Mrs Clinton, very wrathfully. 'It's bed time +now; come along upstairs.' + +'I will not come to your bed again. You 'ave refused it to one who was +better than I; and why should I 'ave it? Go, woman; go and leave me.' + +'Now, then, don't come trying your airs on me,' said Mrs Clinton. 'They +won't wash. Come up to bed.' + +'I tell you I will not,' replied Mr Clinton, decisively. 'Go, woman, and +leave me!' + +'Well, if I do, I sha'n't leave the light; so there!' she said +spitefully, and, taking the lamp, left Mr Clinton in darkness. + +Mrs Clinton was not henceforth on the very best of terms with her +husband, but he always treated her with his accustomed gentleness, +though he insisted on spending his nights on the dining-room sofa. + +But perhaps the most objectionable to Mrs Clinton of all her good man's +eccentricities, was that he no longer gave her his week's money every +Saturday afternoon as he had been accustomed to do; the coldness between +them made her unwilling to say anything about it, but the approach of +quarter day forced her to pocket her dignity and ask for the money. + +'Oh, James!'--she no longer called him Jimmy--'will you give me the +money for the rent?' + +'Money?' he answered with the usual smile on his lips. 'I 'ave no +money.' + +'What d'you mean? You've not given me a farthing for ten weeks.' + +'I 'ave given it to those who want it more than I.' + +'You don't mean to tell me that you've given your salary away?' + +'Yes, dear.' + +Mrs Clinton groaned. + +'Oh, you're dotty!... I can understand giving a threepenny bit, or even +sixpence, at the offertory on Sunday at church, and of course one 'as to +give Christmas-boxes to the tradesmen; but to give your whole salary +away! 'Aven't you got anything left?' + +'No!' + +'You--you aggravating fool! And I'll be bound you gave it to lazy +loafers and tramps and Lord knows what!' + +Mr Clinton did not answer; his wife walked rapidly backwards and +forwards, wringing her hands. + +'Well, look here, James,' she said at last. 'It's no use crying over +spilt milk; but from this day you just give me your salary the moment +you receive it. D'you hear? I tell you I will not 'ave any more of your +nonsense.' + +'I shall get no more salaries,' he quietly remarked. + +Mrs Clinton looked at him; he was quite calm, and smilingly returned +her glance. + +'What do you mean by that?' she asked. + +'I am no longer at the office.' + +'James! You 'aven't been sacked?' she screamed. + +'Oh, they said I did not any longer properly attend to my work. They +said I was careless, and that I made mistakes; they complained that I +was unpunctual, that I went late and came away early; and one day, +because I 'adn't been there the day before, they told me to leave. I was +watching at the bedside of a man who was dying and 'ad need of me; so +'ow could I go? But I didn't really mind; the office 'indered me in my +work.' + +'But what are you going to do now?' gasped Mrs Clinton. + +'I 'ave my work; that is more important than ten thousand offices.' + +'But 'ow are you going to earn your living? What's to become of us?' + +'Don't trouble me about those things. Come with me, and work for the +poor.' + +'James, think of the children!' + +'What are your children to me more than any other children?' + +'But--' + +'Woman, I tell you not to trouble me about these things. 'Ave we not +money enough, and to spare?' + +He waved his hand, and putting on his top hat, which looked more than +ever in need of restoration, went out, leaving his wife in a perfect +agony. + +There was worse to follow. Coming home a few days later, Mr Clinton told +his wife that he wished to speak with her. + +'I 'ave been looking into my books,' he said, 'and I find that we have +invested in various securities a sum of nearly seven 'undred pounds.' + +'Thank 'Eaven for that!' answered his wife. 'It's the only thing that'll +save us from starvation now that you moon about all day, instead of +working like a decent man.' + +'Well, I 'ave been thinking, and I 'ave been reading; and I 'ave found +it written--Give all and follow me.' + +'Well, there's nothing new in that,' said Mrs Clinton, viciously. 'I've +known that text ever since I was a child.' + +'And as it were a Spirit 'as come to me and said that I too must give +all. In short, I 'ave determined to sell out my stocks and my shares; my +breweries are seven points 'igher than when I bought them; I knew it was +a good investment. I am going to realise everything; I am going to take +the money in my hand, and I am going to give it to the poor.' + +Mrs Clinton burst into tears. + +'Do not weep,' he said solemnly. 'It is my duty, and it is a pleasant +one. Oh, what joy to make a 'undred people 'appy; to relieve a poor man +who is starving, to give a breath of country air to little children who +are dying for the want of it, to 'elp the poor, to feed the 'ungry, to +clothe the naked! Oh, if I only 'ad a million pounds!' He stretched out +his arms in a gesture of embrace, and looked towards heaven with an +ecstatic smile upon his lips. + +It was too serious a matter for Mrs Clinton to waste any words on; she +ran upstairs, put on her bonnet, and quickly walked to her friend, the +doctor. + +He looked graver than ever when she told him. + +'Well,' he said, 'I'm afraid it's very serious. I've never heard of +anyone doing such a thing before.... Of course I've known of people who +have left all their money to charities after their death, when they +didn't want it; but it couldn't ever occur to a normal, healthy man to +do it in his lifetime.' + +'But what shall I do, doctor?' Mrs Clinton was almost in hysterics. + +'Well, Mrs Clinton, d'you know the clergyman of the parish?' + +'I know Mr Evans, the curate, very well; he's a very nice gentleman.' + +'Perhaps you could get him to have a talk with your husband. The fact +is, it's a sort of religious mania he's got, and perhaps a clergyman +could talk him out of it. Anyhow, it's worth trying.' + +Mrs Clinton straightway went to Mr Evans's rooms, explained to him the +case, and settled that on the following day he should come and see what +he could do with her husband. + + +X + +In expectation of the curate's visit, Mrs Clinton tidied the house and +adorned herself. It has been said that she was a woman of taste, and so +she was. The mantelpiece and looking glass were artistically draped with +green muslin, and this she proceeded to arrange, tying and carefully +forming the yellow satin ribbon with which it was relieved. The chairs +were covered with cretonne which might have come from the Tottenham +Court Road, and these she placed in positions of careless and artistic +confusion, smoothing down the antimacassars which were now her pride, as +the silk petticoat from which she had manufactured them had been once +her glory. For the flower-pots she made fresh coverings of red tissue +paper, re-arranged the ornaments gracefully scattered about on little +Japanese tables; then, after pausing a moment to admire her work and see +that nothing had been left undone, she went upstairs to perform her own +toilet.... In less than half an hour she reappeared, holding herself in +a dignified posture, with her head slightly turned to one side and her +hands meekly folded in front of her, stately and collected as Juno, a +goddess in black satin. Her dress was very elegant; it might have +typified her own life, for in its original state of virgin whiteness it +had been her wedding garment; then it was dyed purple, and might have +betokened a sense of change and coming responsibilities; lastly it was +black, to signify the burden of a family, and the seriousness of life. +No one had realised so intensely as Mrs Clinton the truth of the poet's +words. Life is not an empty dream. She took out her handkerchief, +redolent with lascivious patchouli, and placed it in her bosom--a spot +of whiteness against the black.... She sat herself down to wait. + +There was a knock and a ring at the door, timid, as befitted a +clergyman; and the servant-girl showed in Mr Evans. He was a thin and +short young man, red faced, with a long nose and weak eyes, looking +underfed and cold, keeping his shoulders screwed up in a perpetual +shiver. He was an earnest, God-fearing man, spending much money in +charities, and waging constant war against the encroachments of the +Scarlet Woman. + +'I think I'll just take my coat off, if you don't mind, Mrs Clinton,' he +said, after the usual greetings. He folded it carefully, and hung it +over the back of a chair; then, coming forward, he sat down and rubbed +the back of his hands. + +'I asked my 'usband to stay in because you wanted to see 'im, but he +would go out. 'Owever'--Mrs Clinton always chose her language on such +occasions--''owever, 'e's promised to return at four, and I will say +this for 'im, he never breaks 'is word.' + +'Oh, very well!' + +'May I 'ave the pleasure of offering you a cup of tea, Mr Evans?' + +The curate's face brightened up. + +'Oh, thank you so much!' And he rubbed his hands more energetically than +ever. + +Tea was brought in, and they drank it, talking of parish matters, Mrs +Clinton discreetly trying to pump the curate. Was it really true that +Mrs Palmer of No. 17 Adonis Road drank so terribly? + +At last Mr Clinton came, and his wife glided out of the room, leaving +the curate to convert him. There was a little pause while Mr Evans took +stock of the clerk. + +'Well, Mr Clinton,' he said finally, 'I've come to talk to you about +yourself.... Your wife tells me that you have adopted certain curious +views on religious matters; and she wishes me to have some conversation +with you about them.' + +'You are a man of God,' replied Mr Clinton; 'I am at your service.' + +Mr Evans, on principle, objected to the use of the Deity's name out of +church, thinking it a little blasphemous, but he said nothing. + +'Well,' he said, 'of course, religion is a very good thing; in fact, it +is the very best thing; but it must not be abused, Mr Clinton,' and he +repeated gravely, as if his interlocutor were a naughty schoolboy--'it +mustn't be abused. Now, I want to know exactly what you views are.' + +Mr Clinton smiled gently. + +'I 'ave no views, sir. The only rule I 'ave for guidance is this--love +thy neighbour as thyself.' + +'Hum!' murmured the curate; there was really nothing questionable in +that, but he was just slightly prejudiced against a man who made such a +quotation; it sounded a little priggish. + +'But your wife tells me that you've been going about with all sorts of +queer people?' + +'I found that there was misery and un'appiness among people, and I tried +to relieve it.' + +'Of course, I strongly approve of district visiting; I do a great deal +of it myself; but you've been going about with public-house loafers +and--bad women.' + +'Is it not said: "I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to +repentance"?' + +'No doubt,' answered Mr Evans, slightly frowning. 'But obviously one +isn't meant to do that to such an extent as to be dismissed from one's +place.' + +'My wife 'as posted you well up in all my private affairs.' + +'Well, I don't think you can have done well to be sent away from your +office.' + +'Is it not said: "Forsake all and follow me"?' + +Decidedly this was bad form, and Mr Evans, pursing up his lips and +raising his eyebrows, was silent. 'That's the worst of these +half-educated people,' he said to himself; 'they get some idea in their +heads which they don't understand, and, of course, they do idiotic +things....' + +'Well, to pass over all that,' he added out loud, 'apparently you've +been spending your money on these people to such an extent that your +wife and children are actually inconvenienced by it.' + +'I 'ave clothed the naked,' said Mr Clinton, looking into the curate's +eyes; 'I 'ave visited the sick; I 'ave given food to 'im that was an +'ungered, and drink to 'im that was athirst.' + +'Yes, yes, yes; that's all very well, but you should always remember +that charity begins at home.... I shouldn't have anything to say to a +rich man's doing these things, but it's positively wicked for you to do +them. Don't you understand that? And last of all, your wife tells me +that you're realising your property with the idea of giving it away.' + +'It's perfectly true,' said Mr Clinton. + +Mr Evans's mind was too truly pious for a wicked expletive to cross it; +but a bad man expressing the curate's feeling would have said that Mr +Clinton was a damned fool. + +'Well, don't you see that it's a perfectly ridiculous and unheard-of +thing?' he asked emphatically. + +'"Sell all that thou 'ast, and distribute unto the poor." It is in the +Gospel of St Luke. Do you know it?' + +'Of course I know it, but, naturally, these things aren't to be taken +quite literally.' + +'It is clearly written. What makes you say it is not to be taken +literally?' + +Mr Evans shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +'Why, don't you see it would be impossible? The world couldn't go on. +How do you expect your children to live if you give this money away?' + +'"Look at the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin; +yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these."'.... + +'Oh, my dear sir, you make me lose my patience. You're full of the +hell-fire platitudes of a park spouter, and you think it's religion.... +I tell you all these things are allegorical. Don't you understand that? +You mustn't carry them out to the letter. They are not meant to be taken +in that way.' + +Mr Clinton smiled a little pitifully at the curate. + +'And think of yourself--one must think of oneself. "God helps those who +help themselves." How are you going to exist when this little money of +yours is gone? You'll simply have to go to the workhouse.... It's +absurd, I tell you.' + +Mr Clinton took no further notice of the curate, but he broke into a +loud chant,-- + +'"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon the earth, where moth and +rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up +for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth +corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal."' Then, +turning on the unhappy curate, he stretched out his arm and pointed his +finger at him. 'Last Sunday,' he said, 'I 'eard you read those very +words from the chancel steps. Go! go! I tell you, go! You are a bad man, +a wolf in sheep's clothing--go!' Mr Clinton walked up to him +threateningly, and the curate, with a gasp of astonishment and +indignation, fled from the room. + +He met Mrs Clinton outside. + +'I can't do anything with him at all,' he said angrily. 'I've never +heard such things in my life. He's either mad or he's got into the hands +of the Dissenters. That's the only explanation I can offer.' + +Then, to quiet his feelings, he called on a wealthy female parishioner, +with whom he was a great favourite, because she thought him 'such a +really pious man,' and it was not till he had drunk two cups of tea that +he recovered his equilibrium. + + +XI + +Mrs Clinton was at her wit's end. Her husband had sold out his shares, +and the money was lying at the bank ready to be put to its destined use. +Visions of debt and bankruptcy presented themselves to her. She saw her +black satin dress in the ruthless clutches of a pawnbroker, the house +and furniture sold over her head, the children down at heel, and herself +driven to work for her living--needlework, nursing, charing--what might +not things come to? However, she went to the doctor and told him of the +failure of their scheme. + +'I've come to the end of my tether, Mrs Clinton; I really don't know +what to do. The only thing I can suggest is that a mental specialist +should examine into the state of his mind. I really think he's wrong in +his head, and, you know, it may be necessary for your welfare and his +own that he be kept under restriction.' + +'Well, doctor,' answered Mrs Clinton, putting her handkerchief up to her +eyes and beginning to cry, 'well, doctor, of course I shouldn't like him +to be shut up--it seems a terrible thing, and I shall never 'ave a +moment's peace all the rest of my life; but if he must be shut up, for +Heaven's sake let it be done at once, before the money's gone.' And here +she began to sob very violently. + +The doctor said he would immediately write to the specialist, so that +they might hold a consultation on Mr Clinton the very next day. + +So, the following morning, Mrs Clinton again put on her black satin +dress, and, further, sent to her grocer's for a bottle of sherry, her +inner consciousness giving her to understand that specialists expected +something of the kind.... + +The specialist came. He was a tall, untidily-dressed man, with his hair +wild and straggling, as if he had just got out of bed. He was very +clever, and very impatient of stupid people, and he seldom met anyone +whom he did not think in one way or another intensely stupid. + +Mr Clinton, as before, had gone out, but Mrs Clinton did her best to +entertain the two doctors. The specialist, who talked most incessantly +himself, was extremely impatient of other people's conversation. + +'Why on earth don't people see that they're much more interesting when +they hold their tongues than when they speak?' he was in the habit of +saying, and immediately would pour out a deluge of words, emphasising +and explaining the point, giving instances of its truth.... + +'You must see a lot of strange things, doctor,' said Mrs Clinton, +amiably. + +'Yes,' answered the specialist. + +'I think it must be very interesting to be a doctor,' said Mrs Clinton. + +'Yes, yes.' + +'You _must_ see a lot of strange things.' + +'Yes, yes,' repeated the doctor, and as Mrs Clinton went on +complacently, he frowned and drummed his fingers on the table and looked +to the right and left. 'When is the man coming in?' he asked +impatiently. + +And at last he could not contain himself. + +'If you don't mind, Mrs Clinton, I should like to talk to your doctor +alone about the case. You can wait in the next room.' + +'I'm sure I don't wish to intrude,' said Mrs Clinton, bridling up, and +she rose in a dignified manner from her chair. She thought his manners +were distinctly queer. 'But, of course,' she said to a friend +afterwards, 'he's a genius, there's no mistaking it, and people like +that are always very eccentric.' + +'What an insufferable woman!' he began, when the lady had retired, +talking very rapidly, only stopping to take an occasional breath. 'I +thought she was going on all night. She's enough to drive the man mad. +One couldn't get a word in edgeways. Why on earth doesn't this man come? +Just like these people, they don't think that my time's valuable. I +expect she drinks. Shocking, you know, these women, how they drink!' And +still talking, he looked at his watch for the eighth time in ten +minutes. + +'Well, my man,' he said, as Mr Clinton at last came in, 'what are you +complaining of?... One moment,' he added, as Mr Clinton was about to +reply. He opened his notebook and took out a stylographic pen. 'Now, I'm +ready for you. What are you complaining of?' + +'I'm complaining that the world is out of joint,' answered Mr Clinton, +with a smile. + +The specialist raised his eyebrows and significantly looked at the +family doctor. + +'It's astonishing how much you can get by a well-directed question,' he +said to him, taking no notice of Mr Clinton. 'Some people go floundering +about for hours, but, you see, by one question I get on the track.' +Turning to the patient again, he said, 'Ah! and do you see things?' + +'Certainly; I see you.' + +'I don't mean that,' impatiently said the specialist. 'Distinctly +stupid, you know,' he added to his colleague. 'I mean, do you see things +that other people don't see?' + +'Alas! yes; I see Folly stalking abroad on a 'obby 'orse.' + +'Do you really? Anything else?' said the doctor, making a note of the +fact. + +'I see Wickedness and Vice beating the land with their wings.' + +'_Sees things beating with their wings_,' wrote down the doctor. + +'I see misery and un'appiness everywhere.' + +'Indeed!' said the doctor. '_Has delusions._ Do you think your wife puts +things in your tea?' + +'Yes.' + +'Ah!' joyfully uttered the doctor, 'that's what I wanted to get +at--_thinks people are trying to poison him_. What is it they put in, my +man?' + +'Milk and sugar,' answered Mr Clinton. + +'Very dull mentally,' said the specialist, in an undertone, to his +colleague. 'Well, I don't think we need go into any more details. +There's no doubt about it, you know. That curious look in his eyes, and +the smile--the smile's quite typical. It all clearly points to insanity. +And then that absurd idea of giving his money to the poor! I've heard of +people taking money away from the poor, there's nothing mad in that; but +the other, why, it's a proof of insanity itself. And then your account +of his movements! His giving ice-creams to children. Most pernicious +things, those ice-creams! The Government ought to put a stop to them. +Extraordinary idea to think of reforming the world with ice-cream! +Post-enteric insanity, you know. Mad as a hatter! Well, well, I must be +off.' Still talking, he put on his hat and talked all the way +downstairs, and finally talked himself out of the house. + +The family doctor remained behind to see Mrs Clinton. + +'Yes, it's just as I said,' he told her. 'He's not responsible for his +actions. I think he's been insane ever since his illness. When you think +of his behaviour since then--his going among those common people and +trying to reform them, and his ideas about feeding the hungry and +clothing the naked, and finally wanting to give his money to the +poor--it all points to a completely deranged mind.' + +Mrs Clinton heaved a deep sigh. 'And what do you think 'ad better be +done now?' she asked. + +'Well, I'm very sorry, Mrs Clinton; of course it's a great blow to you; +but really I think arrangements had better be made for him to be put +under restraint.' + +Mrs Clinton began to cry, and the doctor looked at her compassionately. + +'Ah, well,' she said at last, 'if it must be done, I suppose it 'ad +better be done at once; and I shall be able to save the money after +all.' At the thought of this she dried her tears. + +The moral is plain. + + + + +DE AMICITIA + + +I + +They were walking home from the theatre. + +'Well, Mr White,' said Valentia, 'I think it was just fine.' + +'It was magnificent!' replied Mr White. + +And they were separated for a moment by the crowd, streaming up from the +Franįais towards the Opera and the Boulevards. + +'I think, if you don't mind,' she said, 'I'll take your arm, so that we +shouldn't get lost.' + +He gave her his arm, and they walked through the Louvre and over the +river on their way to the Latin Quarter. + +Valentia was an art student and Ferdinand White was a poet. Ferdinand +considered Valentia the only woman who had ever been able to paint, and +Valentia told Ferdinand that he was the only man she had met who knew +anything about Art without being himself an artist. On her arrival in +Paris, a year before, she had immediately inscribed herself, at the +offices of the _New York Herald_, Valentia Stewart, Cincinnati, Ohio, +U.S.A. She settled down in a respectable _pension_, and within a week +was painting vigorously. Ferdinand White arrived from Oxford at about +the same time, hired a dirty room in a shabby hotel, ate his meals at +cheap restaurants in the Boulevard St Michel, read Stephen Mallarmé, and +flattered himself that he was leading '_la vie de Bohęme_.' + +After two months, the Fates brought the pair together, and Ferdinand +began to take his meals at Valentia's _pension_. They went to the +museums together; and in the Sculpture Gallery at the Louvre, Ferdinand +would discourse on ancient Greece in general and on Plato in particular, +while among the pictures Valentia would lecture on tones and values and +chiaroscuro. Ferdinand renounced Ruskin and all his works; Valentia read +the Symposium. Frequently in the evening they went to the theatre; +sometimes to the Franįais, but more often to the Odéon; and after the +performance they would discuss the play, its art, its technique--above +all, its ethics. Ferdinand explained the piece he had in contemplation, +and Valentia talked of the picture she meant to paint for next year's +Salon; and the lady told her friends that her companion was the +cleverest man she had met in her life, while he told his that she was +the only really sympathetic and intelligent girl he had ever known. Thus +were united in bonds of amity, Great Britain on the one side and the +United States of America and Ireland on the other. + +But when Ferdinand spoke of Valentia to the few Frenchmen he knew, they +asked him,-- + +'But this Miss Stewart--is she pretty?' + +'Certainly--in her American way; a long face, with the hair parted in +the middle and hanging over the nape of the neck. Her mouth is quite +classic.' + +'And have you never kissed the classic mouth?' + +'I? Never!' + +'Has she a good figure?' + +'Admirable!' + +'And yet--Oh, you English!' And they smiled and shrugged their shoulders +as they said, 'How English!' + +'But, my good fellow,' cried Ferdinand, in execrable French, 'you don't +understand. We are friends, the best of friends.' + +They shrugged their shoulders more despairingly than ever. + + +II + +They stood on the bridge and looked at the water and the dark masses of +the houses on the Latin side, with the twin towers of Notre Dame rising +dimly behind them. Ferdinand thought of the Thames at night, with the +barges gliding slowly down, and the twinkling of the lights along the +Embankment. + +'It must be a little like that in Holland,' she said, 'but without the +lights and with greater stillness.' + +'When do you start?' + +She had been making preparations for spending the summer in a little +village near Amsterdam, to paint. + +'I can't go now,' cried Valentia. 'Corrie Sayles is going home, and +there's no one else I can go with. And I can't go alone. Where are you +going?' + +'I? I have no plans.... I never make plans.' + +They paused, looking at the reflections in the water. Then she said,-- + +'I don't see why you shouldn't come to Holland with me!' + +He did not know what to think; he knew she had been reading the +Symposium. + +'After all,' she said, 'there's no reason why one shouldn't go away with +a man as well as with a woman.' + +His French friends would have suggested that there were many reasons why +one should go away with a woman rather than a man; but, like his +companion, Ferdinand looked at it in the light of pure friendship. + +'When one comes to think of it, I really don't see why we shouldn't. And +the mere fact of staying at the same hotel can make no difference to +either of us. We shall both have our work--you your painting, and I my +play.' + +As they considered it, the idea was distinctly pleasing; they wondered +that it had not occurred to them before. Sauntering homewards, they +discussed the details, and in half an hour had decided on the plan of +their journey, the date and the train. + +Next day Valentia went to say good-bye to the old French painter whom +all the American girls called Popper. She found him in a capacious +dressing-gown, smoking cigarettes. + +'Well, my dear,' he said, 'what news?' + +'I'm going to Holland to paint windmills.' + +'A very laudable ambition. With your mother?' + +'My good Popper, my mother's in Cincinnati. I'm going with Mr White.' + +'With Mr White?' He raised his eyebrows. 'You are very frank about it.' + +'Why--what do you mean?' + +He put on his glasses and looked at her carefully. + +'Does it not seem to you a rather--curious thing for a young girl of +your age to go away with a young man of the age of Mr Ferdinand White?' + +'Good gracious me! One would think I was doing something that had never +been done before!' + +'Oh, many a young man has gone travelling with a young woman, but they +generally start by a night train, and arrive at the station in different +cabs.' + +'But surely, Popper, you don't mean to insinuate--Mr White and I are +going to Holland as friends.' + +'Friends!' + +He looked at her more curiously than ever. + +'One can have a man friend as well as a girl friend,' she continued. +'And I don't see why he shouldn't be just as good a friend.' + +'The danger is that he become too good.' + +'You misunderstand me entirely, Popper; we are friends, and nothing but +friends.' + +'You are entirely off your head, my child.' + +'Ah! you're a Frenchman, you can't understand these things. We are +different.' + +'I imagine that you are human beings, even though England and America +respectively had the intense good fortune of seeing your birth.' + +'We're human beings--and more than that, we're nineteenth century human +beings. Love is not everything. It is a part of one--perhaps the lower +part--an accessory to man's life, needful for the continuation of the +species.' + +'You use such difficult words, my dear.' + +'There is something higher and nobler and purer than love--there is +friendship. Ferdinand White is my friend. I have the amplest confidence +in him. I am certain that no unclean thought has ever entered his head.' + +She spoke quite heatedly, and as she flushed up, the old painter thought +her astonishingly handsome. Then she added as an afterthought,-- + +'We despise passion. Passion is ugly; it is grotesque.' + +The painter stroked his imperial and faintly smiled. + +'My child, you must permit me to tell you that you are foolish. Passion +is the most lovely thing in the world; without it we should not paint +beautiful pictures. It is passion that makes a woman of a society lady; +it is passion that makes a man even of--an art critic.' + +'We do not want it,' she said. 'We worship Venus Urania. We are all +spirit and soul.' + +'You have been reading Plato; soon you will read Zola.' + +He smiled again, and lit another cigarette. + +'Do you disapprove of my going?' she asked after a little silence. + +He paused and looked at her. Then he shrugged his shoulders. + +'On the contrary, I approve. It is foolish, but that is no reason why +you should not do it. After all, folly is the great attribute of man. No +judge is as grave as an owl; no soldier fighting for his country flies +as rapidly as the hare. You may be strong, but you are not so strong as +a horse; you may be gluttonous, but you cannot eat like a +boa-constrictor. But there is no beast that can be as foolish as man. +And since one should always do what one can do best--be foolish. Strive +for folly above all things. Let the height of your ambition be the +pointed cap with the golden bells. So, _bon voyage!_ I will come and see +you off to-morrow.' + +The painter arrived at the station with a box of sweets, which he handed +to Valentia with a smile. He shook Ferdinand's hand warmly and muttered +under his breath,-- + +'Silly fool! he's thinking of friendship, too!' + +Then, as the train steamed out, he waved his hand and cried,-- + +'Be foolish! Be foolish!' + +He walked slowly out of the station, and sat down at a _café_. He lit a +cigarette, and, sipping his absinthe, said,-- + +'Imbeciles!' + + +III + +They arrived at Amsterdam in the evening, and, after dinner, gathered +together their belongings and crossed the Ij as the moon shone over the +waters; then they got into the little steam tram and started for +Monnickendam. They stood side by side on the platform of the carriage +and watched the broad meadows bathed in moonlight, the formless shapes +of the cattle lying on the grass, and the black outlines of the mills; +they passed by a long, sleeping canal, and they stopped at little, +silent villages. At last they entered the dead town, and the tram put +them down at the hotel door. + +Next morning, when she was half dressed, Valentia threw open the window +of her room, and looked out into the garden. Ferdinand was walking +about, dressed as befitted the place and season--in flannels--with a +huge white hat on his head. She could not help thinking him very +handsome--and she took off the blue skirt she had intended to work in, +and put on a dress of muslin all bespattered with coloured flowers, and +she took in her hand a flat straw hat with red ribbons. + +'You look like a Dresden shepherdess,' he said, as they met. + +They had breakfast in the garden beneath the trees; and as she poured +out his tea, she laughed, and with the American accent which he was +beginning to think made English so harmonious, said,-- + +'I reckon this about takes the shine out of Paris.' + +They had agreed to start work at once, losing no time, for they wanted +to have a lot to show on their return to France, that their scheme might +justify itself. Ferdinand wished to accompany Valentia on her search for +the picturesque, but she would not let him; so, after breakfast, he sat +himself down in the summer-house, and spread out all round him his nice +white paper, lit his pipe, cut his quills, and proceeded to the +evolution of a masterpiece. Valentia tied the red strings of her +sun-bonnet under her chin, selected a sketchbook, and sallied forth. + +At luncheon they met, and Valentia told of a little bit of canal, with +an old windmill on one side of it, which she had decided to paint, while +Ferdinand announced that he had settled on the names of his _dramatis +personæ_. In the afternoon they returned to their work, and at night, +tired with the previous day's travelling, went to bed soon after dinner. + +So passed the second day; and the third day, and the fourth; till the +end of the week came, and they had worked diligently. They were both of +them rather surprised at the ease with which they became accustomed to +their life. + +'How absurd all this fuss is,' said Valentia, 'that people make about +the differences of the sexes! I am sure it is only habit.' + +'We have ourselves to prove that there is nothing in it,' he replied. +'You know, it is an interesting experiment that we are making.' + +She had not looked at it in that light before. + +'Perhaps it is. We may be the fore-runners of a new era.' + +'The Edisons of a new communion!' + +'I shall write and tell Monsieur Rollo all about it.' + +In the course of the letter, she said,-- + + '_Sex is a morbid instinct. Out here, in the calmness of the canal + and the broad meadows, it never enters one's head. I do not think + of Ferdinand as a man--_' + +She looked up at him as she wrote the words. He was reading a book and +she saw him in profile, with the head bent down. Through the leaves the +sun lit up his face with a soft light that was almost green, and it +occurred to her that it would be interesting to paint him. + + '_I do not think of Ferdinand as a man; to me he is a companion. He + has a wider experience than a woman, and he talks of different + things. Otherwise I see no difference. On his part, the idea of my + sex never occurs to him, and far from being annoyed as an ordinary + woman might be, I am proud of it. It shows me that, when I chose a + companion, I chose well. To him I am not a woman; I am a man._' + +And she finished with a repetition of Ferdinand's remark,-- + +'We are the Edisons of a new communion!' + +When Valentia began to paint her companion's portrait, they were +naturally much more together. And they never grew tired of sitting in +the pleasant garden under the trees, while she worked at her canvas and +green shadows fell on the profile of Ferdinand White. They talked of +many things. After a while they became less reserved about their private +concerns. Valentia told Ferdinand about her home in Ohio, and about her +people; and Ferdinand spoke of the country parsonage in which he had +spent his childhood, and the public school, and lastly of Oxford and the +strange, happy days when he had learnt to read Plato and Walter +Pater.... + +At last Valentia threw aside her brushes and leant back with a sigh. + +'It is finished!' + +Ferdinand rose and stretched himself, and went to look at his portrait. +He stood before it for a while, and then he placed his hand on +Valentia's shoulder. + +'You are a genius, Miss Stewart.' + +She looked up at him. + +'Ah, Mr White, I was inspired by you. It is more your work than mine.' + + +IV + +In the evening they went out for a stroll. They wandered through the +silent street; in the darkness they lost the quaintness of the red brick +houses, contrasting with the bright yellow of the paving, but it was +even quieter than by day. The street was very broad, and it wound about +from east to west and from west to east, and at last it took them to the +tiny harbour. Two fishing smacks were basking on the water, moored to +the side, and the Zuyder Zee was covered with the innumerable +reflections of the stars. On one of the boats a man was sitting at the +prow, fishing, and now and then, through the darkness, one saw the red +glow of his pipe; by his side, huddled up on a sail, lay a sleeping boy. +The other boat seemed deserted. Ferdinand and Valentia stood for a long +time watching the fisher, and he was so still that they wondered whether +he too were sleeping. They looked across the sea, and in the distance +saw the dim lights of Marken, the island of fishers. They wandered on +again through the street, and now the lights in the windows were +extinguished one by one, and sleep came over the town; and the +quietness was even greater than before. They walked on, and their +footsteps made no sound. They felt themselves alone in the dead city, +and they did not speak. + +At length they came to a canal gliding towards the sea; they followed it +inland, and here the darkness was equal to the silence. Great trees that +had been planted when William of Orange was king in England threw their +shade over the water, shutting out the stars. They wandered along on the +soft earth, they could not hear themselves walk--and they did not speak. + +They came to a bridge over the canal and stood on it, looking at the +water and the trees above them, and the water and the trees below +them--and they did not speak. + +Then out of the darkness came another darkness, and gradually loomed +forth the heaviness of a barge. Noiselessly it glided down the stream, +very slowly; at the end of it a boy stood at the tiller, steering; and +it passed beneath them and beyond, till it lost itself in the night, and +again they were alone. + +They stood side by side, leaning against the parapet, looking down at +the water.... And from the water rose up Love, and Love fluttered down +from the trees, and Love was borne along upon the night air. Ferdinand +did not know what was happening to him; he felt Valentia by his side, +and he drew closer to her, till her dress touched his legs and the silk +of her sleeve rubbed against his arm. It was so dark that he could not +see her face; he wondered of what she was thinking. She made a little +movement and to him came a faint wave of the scent she wore. Presently +two forms passed by on the bank and they saw a lover with his arm round +a girl's waist, and then they too were hidden in the darkness. Ferdinand +trembled as he spoke. + +'Only Love is waking!' + +'And we!' she said. + +'And--you!' + +He wondered why she said nothing. Did she understand? He put his hand on +her arm. + +'Valentia!' + +He had never called her by her Christian name before. She turned her +face towards him. + +'What do you mean?' + +'Oh, Valentia, I love you! I can't help it.' + +A sob burst from her. + +'Didn't you understand,' he said, 'all those hours that I sat for you +while you painted, and these long nights in which we wandered by the +water?' + +'I thought you were my friend.' + +'I thought so too. When I sat before you and watched you paint, and +looked at your beautiful hair and your eyes, I thought I was your +friend. And I looked at the lines of your body beneath your dress. And +when it pleased me to carry your easel and walk with you, I thought it +was friendship. Only to-night I know I am in love. Oh, Valentia, I am so +glad!' + +She could not keep back her tears. Her bosom heaved, and she wept. + +'You are a woman,' he said. 'Did you not see?' + +'I am so sorry,' she said, her voice all broken. 'I thought we were such +good friends. I was so happy. And now you have spoilt it all.' + +'Valentia, I love you.' + +'I thought our friendship was so good and pure. And I felt so strong in +it. It seemed to me so beautiful.' + +'Did you think I was less a man than the fisherman you see walking +beneath the trees at night?' + +'It is all over now,' she sighed. + +'What do you mean?' + +'I can't stay here with you alone.' + +'You're not going away?' + +'Before, there was no harm in our being together at the hotel; but +now--' + +'Oh, Valentia, don't leave me. I can't--I can't live without you.' + +She heard the unhappiness in his voice. She turned to him again and laid +her two hands on his shoulders. + +'Why can't you forget it all, and let us be good friends again? Forget +that you are a man. A woman can remain with a man for ever, and always +be content to walk and read and talk with him, and never think of +anything else. Can you forget it, Ferdinand? You will make me so happy.' + +He did not answer, and for a long time they stood on the bridge in +silence. At last he sighed--a heartbroken sigh. + +'Perhaps you're right. It may be better to pretend that we are friends. +If you like, we will forget all this.' + +Her heart was too full; she could not answer; but she held out her hands +to him. He took them in his own, and, bending down, kissed them. + +Then they walked home, side by side, without speaking. + + +V + +Next morning Valentia received M. Rollo's answer to her letter. He +apologised for his delay in answering. + + '_You are a philosopher_,' he said--she could see the little + snigger with which he had written the words--'_You are a + philosopher, and I was afraid lest my reply should disturb the + course of your reflections on friendship. I confess that I did not + entirely understand your letter, but I gathered that the sentiments + were correct, and it gave me great pleasure to know that your + experiment has had such excellent results. I gather that you have + not yet discovered that there is more than a verbal connection + between Friendship and Love._' + +The reference is to the French equivalents of those states of mind. + + '_But to speak seriously, dear child. You are young and beautiful + now, but not so very many years shall pass before your lovely skin + becomes coarse and muddy, and your teeth yellow, and the wrinkles + appear about your mouth and eyes. You have not so very many years + before you in which to collect sensations, and the recollection of + one's loves is, perhaps, the greatest pleasure left to one's old + age. To be virtuous, my dear, is admirable, but there are so many + interpretations of virtue. For myself, I can say that I have never + regretted the temptations to which I succumbed, but often the + temptations I have resisted. Therefore, love, love, love! And + remember that if love at sixty in a man is sometimes pathetic, in a + woman at forty it is always ridiculous. Therefore, take your youth + in both hands and say to yourself, "Life is short, but let me live + before I die!"_' + +She did not show the letter to Ferdinand. + + * * * * * + +Next day it rained. Valentia retired to a room at the top of the house +and began to paint, but the incessant patter on the roof got on her +nerves; the painting bored her, and she threw aside the brushes in +disgust. She came downstairs and found Ferdinand in the dining-room, +standing at the window looking at the rain. It came down in one +continual steady pour, and the water ran off the raised brickwork of the +middle of the street to the gutters by the side, running along in a +swift and murky rivulet. The red brick of the opposite house looked cold +and cheerless in the wet.... He did not turn or speak to her as she came +in. She remarked that it did not look like leaving off. He made no +answer. She drew a chair to the second window and tried to read, but she +could not understand what she was reading. And she looked out at the +pouring rain and the red brick house opposite. She wondered why he had +not answered. + +The innkeeper brought them their luncheon. Ferdinand took no notice of +the preparations. + +'Will you come to luncheon, Mr White?' she said to him. 'It is quite +ready.' + +'I beg your pardon,' he said gravely, as he took his seat. + +He looked at her quickly, and then immediately dropping his eyes, began +eating. She wished he would not look so sad; she was very sorry for him. + +She made an observation and he appeared to rouse himself. He replied +and they began talking, very calmly and coldly, as if they had not known +one another five minutes. They talked of Art with the biggest of A's, +and they compared Dutch painting with Italian; they spoke of Rembrandt +and his life. + +'Rembrandt had passion,' said Ferdinand, bitterly, 'and therefore he was +unhappy. It is only the sexless, passionless creature, the block of ice, +that can be happy in this world.' + +She blushed and did not answer. + +The afternoon Valentia spent in her room, pretending to write letters, +and she wondered whether Ferdinand was wishing her downstairs. + +At dinner they sought refuge in abstractions. They talked of dykes and +windmills and cigars, the history of Holland and its constitution, the +constitution of the United States and the edifying spectacle of the +politics of that blessed country. They talked of political economy and +pessimism and cattle rearing, the state of agriculture in England, the +foreign policy of the day, Anarchism, the President of the French +Republic. They would have talked of bi-metallism if they could. People +hearing them would have thought them very learned and extraordinarily +staid. + +At last they separated, and as she undressed Valentia told herself that +Ferdinand had kept his promise. Everything was just as it had been +before, and the only change was that he used her Christian name. And she +rather liked him to call her Valentia. + +But next day Ferdinand did not seem able to command himself. When +Valentia addressed him, he answered in monosyllables, with eyes averted; +but when she had her back turned, she felt that he was looking at her. +After breakfast she went away painting haystacks, and was late for +luncheon. + +She apologised. + +'It is of no consequence,' he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. And +those were the only words he spoke to her during the remainder of the +day. Once, when he was looking at her surreptitiously, and she suddenly +turned round, their eyes met, and for a moment he gazed straight at her, +then walked away. She wished he would not look so sad. As she was going +to bed, she held out her hand to him to say good-night, and she +added,-- + +'I don't want to make you unhappy, Mr White. I'm very sorry.' + +'It's not your fault,' he said. 'You can't help it, if you're a stock +and a stone.' + +He went away without taking the proffered hand. Valentia cried that +night. + +In the morning she found a note outside her door:-- + + '_Pardon me if I was rude, but I was not master of myself. I am + going to Volendam; I hate Monnickendam_.' + + +VI + +Ferdinand arrived at Volendam. It was a fishing village, only three +miles across country from Monnickendam, but the route, by steam tram and +canal, was so circuitous, that, with luggage, it took one two hours to +get from place to place. He had walked over there with Valentia, and it +had almost tempted them to desert Monnickendam. Ferdinand took a room at +the hotel and walked out, trying to distract himself. The village +consisted of a couple of score of houses, built round a semi-circular +dyke against the sea, and in the semi-circle lay the fleet of fishing +boats. Men and women were sitting at their doors mending nets. He looked +at the fishermen, great, sturdy fellows, with rough, weather-beaten +faces, huge earrings dangling from their ears. He took note of their +quaint costume--black stockings and breeches, the latter more baggy than +a Turk's, and the crushed strawberry of their high jackets, cut close to +the body. He remembered how he had looked at them with Valentia, and the +group of boys and men that she had sketched. He remembered how they +walked along, peeping into the houses, where everything was spick and +span, as only a Dutch cottage can be, with old Delft plates hanging on +the walls, and pots and pans of polished brass. And he looked over the +sea to the island of Marken, with its masts crowded together, like a +forest without leaf or branch. Coming to the end of the little town he +saw the church of Monnickendam, the red steeple half-hidden by the +trees. He wondered where Valentia was--what she was doing. + +But he turned back resolutely, and, going to his room, opened his books +and began reading. He rubbed his eyes and frowned, in order to fix his +attention, but the book said nothing but Valentia. At last he threw it +aside and took his Plato and his dictionary, commencing to translate a +difficult passage, word for word. But whenever he looked up a word he +could only see Valentia, and he could not make head or tail of the +Greek. He threw it aside also, and set out walking. He walked as hard as +he could--away from Monnickendam. + +The second day was not quite so difficult, and he read till his mind was +dazed, and then he wrote letters home and told them he was enjoying +himself tremendously, and he walked till he felt his legs dropping off. + +Next morning it occurred to him that Valentia might have written. +Trembling with excitement, he watched the postman coming down the +street--but he had no letter for Ferdinand. There would be no more post +that day. + +But the next day Ferdinand felt sure there would be a letter for him; +the postman passed by the hotel door without stopping. Ferdinand thought +he should go mad. All day he walked up and down his room, thinking only +of Valentia. Why did she not write? + +The night fell and he could see from his window the moon shining over +the clump of trees about Monnickendam church--he could stand it no +longer. He put on his hat and walked across country; the three miles +were endless; the church and the trees seemed to grow no nearer, and at +last, when he thought himself close, he found he had a bay to walk +round, and it appeared further away than ever. + +He came to the mouth of the canal along which he and Valentia had so +often walked. He looked about, but he could see no one. His heart beat +as he approached the little bridge, but Valentia was not there. Of +course she would not come out alone. He ran to the hotel and asked for +her. They told him she was not in. He walked through the town; not a +soul was to be seen. He came to the church; he walked round, and +then--right at the edge of the trees--he saw a figure sitting on a +bench. + + * * * * * + +She was dressed in the same flowered dress which she had worn when he +likened her to a Dresden shepherdess; she was looking towards Volendam. + +He went up to her silently. She sprang up with a little shriek. + +'Ferdinand!' + +'Oh, Valentia, I cannot help it. I could not remain away any longer. I +could do nothing but think of you all day, all night. If you knew how I +loved you! Oh, Valentia, have pity on me! I cannot be your friend. It's +all nonsense about friendship; I hate it. I can only love you. I love +you with all my heart and soul, Valentia.' + +She was frightened. + +'Oh! how can you stand there so coldly and watch my agony? Don't you +see? How can you be so cold?' + +'I am not cold, Ferdinand,' she said, trembling. 'Do you think I have +been happy while you were away?' + +'Valentia!' + +'I thought of you, too, Ferdinand, all day, all night. And I longed for +you to come back. I did not know till you went that--I loved you.' + +'Oh, Valentia!' + +He took her in his arms and pressed her passionately to him. + +'No, for God's sake!' + +She tore herself away. But again he took her in his arms, and this time +he kissed her on the mouth. She tried to turn her face away. + +'I shall kill myself, Ferdinand!' + +'What do you mean?' + +'In those long hours that I sat here looking towards you, I felt I loved +you--I loved you as passionately as you said you loved me. But if you +came back, and--anything happened--I swore that I would throw myself in +the canal.' + +He looked at her. + +'I could not--live afterwards,' she said hoarsely. 'It would be too +horrible. I should be--oh, I can't think of it!' + +He took her in his arms again and kissed her. + +'Have mercy on me!' she cried. + +'You love me, Valentia.' + +'Oh, it is nothing to you. Afterwards you will be just the same as +before. Why cannot men love peacefully like women? I should be so happy +to remain always as we are now, and never change. I tell you I shall +kill myself.' + +'I will do as you do, Valentia.' + +'You?' + +'If anything happens, Valentia,' he said gravely, 'we will go down to +the canal together.' + +She was horrified at the idea; but it fascinated her. + +'I should like to die in your arms,' she said. + +For the second time he bent down and took her hands and kissed them. +Then she went alone into the silent church, and prayed. + + +VII + +They went home. Ferdinand was so pleased to be at the hotel again, near +her. His bed seemed so comfortable; he was so happy, and he slept, +dreaming of Valentia. + +The following night they went for their walk, arm in arm; and they came +to the canal. From the bridge they looked at the water. It was very +dark; they could not hear it flow. No stars were reflected in it, and +the trees by its side made the depth seem endless. Valentia shuddered. +Perhaps in a little while their bodies would be lying deep down in the +water. And they would be in one another's arms, and they would never be +separated. Oh, what a price it was to pay! She looked tearfully at +Ferdinand, but he was looking down at the darkness beneath them, and he +was intensely grave. + +And they wandered there by day and looked at the black reflection of the +trees. And in the heat it seemed so cool and restful.... + +They abandoned their work. What did pictures and books matter now? They +sauntered about the meadows, along shady roads; they watched the black +and white cows sleepily browsing, sometimes coming to the water's edge +to drink, and looking at themselves, amazed. They saw the huge-limbed +milkmaids come along with their little stools and their pails, deftly +tying the cow's hind legs that it might not kick. And the steaming milk +frothed into the pails and was poured into huge barrels, and as each cow +was freed, she shook herself a little and recommenced to browse. + +And they loved their life as they had never loved it before. + +One evening they went again to the canal and looked at the water, but +they seemed to have lost their emotions before it. They were no longer +afraid. Ferdinand sat on the parapet and Valentia leaned against him. He +bent his head so that his face might touch her hair. She looked at him +and smiled, and she almost lifted her lips. He kissed them. + +'Do you love me, Ferdinand?' + +He gave the answer without words. + +Their faces were touching now, and he was holding her hands. They were +both very happy. + +'You know, Ferdinand,' she whispered, 'we are very foolish.' + +'I don't care.' + +'Monsieur Rollo said that folly was the chief attribute of man.' + +'What did he say of love?' + +'I forget.' + +Then, after a pause, he whispered in her ear,-- + +'I love you!' + +And she held up her lips to him again. + +'After all,' she said, 'we're only human beings. We can't help it. I +think--' + +She hesitated; what she was going to say had something of the +anti-climax in it. + +'I think--it would be very silly if--if we threw ourselves in the horrid +canal.' + +'Valentia, do you mean--?' + +She smiled charmingly as she answered,-- + +'What you will, Ferdinand.' + +Again he took both her hands, and, bending down, kissed them.... But +this time she lifted him up to her and kissed him on the lips. + + +VIII + +One night after dinner I told this story to my aunt. + +'But why on earth didn't they get married?' she asked, when I had +finished. + +'Good Heavens!' I cried. 'It never occurred to me.' + +'Well, I think they ought,' she said. + +'Oh, I have no doubt they did. I expect they got on their bikes and rode +off to the Consulate at Amsterdam there and then. I'm sure it would have +been his first thought.' + +'Of course, some girls are very queer,' said my aunt. + + + + +FAITH + + +I + +The moon shone fitfully through the clouds on to the weary face of +Brother Jasper kneeling in his cell. His hands were fervently clasped, +uplifted to the crucifix that hung on the bare wall, and he was praying, +praying as he had never prayed before. All through the hours of night, +while the monks were sleeping, Brother Jasper had been supplicating his +God for light; but in his soul remained a darkness deeper than that of +the blackest night. At last he heard the tinkling of the bell that +called the monks to prayers, and with a groan lifted himself up. He +opened his cell door and went out into the cloister. With down-turned +face he walked along till he came to the chapel, and, reaching his seat, +sank again heavily to his knees. + +The lights in the chapel were few enough, for San Lucido was nearly the +poorest monastery in Spain; a few dim candles on the altar threw long +shadows on the pavement, and in the choir their yellow glare lit up +uncouthly the pale faces of the monks. When Brother Jasper stood up, the +taper at his back cast an unnatural light over him, like a halo, making +his great black eyes shine strangely from their deep sockets, while +below them the dark lines and the black shadow of his shaven chin gave +him an unearthly weirdness. He looked like a living corpse standing in +the brown Franciscan cowl--a dead monk doomed for some sin to wander +through the earth till the day, the Day of Judgment; and in the agony of +that weary face one could almost read the terrors of eternal death. + +The monks recited the service with their heavy drone, and the sound of +the harsh men's voices ascended to the vault, dragging along the roof. +But Jasper heard not what they said; he rose and knelt as they did; he +uttered the words; he walked out of the church in his turn, and through +the cloister to his cell. And he threw himself on the floor and beat his +head against the hard stones, weeping passionately. And he cried out,-- + +'What shall I do? What shall I do?' + +For Brother Jasper did not believe. + + +II + +Two days before, the monk, standing amid the stunted shrubs on the hill +of San Lucido, had looked out on the arid plain before him. It was all +brown and grey, the desolate ground strewn with huge granite boulders, +treeless; and for the wretched sheep who fed there, thin and scanty +grass; the shepherd, in his tattered cloak, sat on a rock, moodily, +paying no heed to his flock, dully looking at the desert round him. +Brother Jasper gazed at the scene as he had gazed for three years since +he had come to San Lucido, filled with faith and great love for God. In +those days he had thought nothing of the cold waste as his eyes rested +on it; the light of heaven shed a wonderful glow on the scene, and when +at sunset the heavy clouds were piled one above the other, like huge, +fantastic mountains turned into golden fire, when he looked beyond them +and saw the whole sky burning red and then a mass of yellow and gold, he +could imagine that God was sitting there on His throne of fire, with +Christ on His right hand in robes of light and glory, and Mary the Queen +on His left. And above them the Dove with its outstretched wings, the +white bird hovering in a sea of light! And it seemed so near! Brother +Jasper felt in him almost the power to go there, to climb up those massy +clouds of fire and attain the great joy--the joy of the presence of God. + +The sun sank slowly, the red darkened into purple, and over the whole +sky came a colour of indescribable softness, while in the east, very far +away, shone out the star. And soon the soft faint blue sank before the +night, and the stars in the sky were countless; but still in the west +there was the shadow of the sun, a misty gleam. Over the rocky plain the +heavens seemed so great, so high, that Brother Jasper sank down in his +insignificance; yet he remembered the glories of the sunset, and felt +that he was almost at the feet of God. + +But now, when he looked at the clouds and the sun behind them, he saw +no God; he saw the desert plain, the barrenness of the earth, the +overladen, wretched donkey staggering under his pannier, and the +broad-hatted peasant urging him on. He looked at the sunset and tried to +imagine the Trinity that sat there, but he saw nothing. And he asked +himself,-- + +'Why should there be a God?' + +He started up with a cry of terror, with his hands clasped to his head. + +'My God! what have I done?' + +He sank to his knees, humiliating himself. What vengeance would fall on +him? He prayed passionately. But again the thought came; he shrieked +with terror, he invoked the Mother of God to help him. + +'Why should there be a God?' + +He could not help it. The thought would not leave him that all this +might exist without. How did he know? How could anyone be sure, quite +sure? But he drove the thoughts away, and in his cell imposed upon +himself a penance. It was Satan that stood whispering in his ear, Satan +lying in wait for his soul; let him deny God and he would be damned for +ever. + +He prayed with all his strength, he argued with himself, he cried out, +'I believe! I believe!' but in his soul was the doubt. The terror made +him tremble like a leaf in the wind, and great drops of sweat stood on +his forehead and ran heavily down his cheek. He beat his head against +the wall, and in his agony swayed from side to side.... But he could not +believe. + + +III + +And for two days he had endured the torments of hell-fire, battling +against himself--in vain. The heavy lines beneath his eyes grew blacker +than the night, his lips were pale with agony and fasting. He had not +dared to speak to anyone, he could not tell them, and in him was the +impulse to shout out, 'Why should there be?' Now he could bear it no +longer. In the morning he went to the prior's cell, and, falling on his +knees, buried his face in the old man's lap. + +'Oh, father, help me! help me!' + +The prior was old and wasted; for fifty years he had lived in the desert +Castilian plain in the little monastery--all through his youth and +manhood, through his age; and now he was older than anyone at San +Lucido. White haired and wrinkled, but with a clear, rosy skin like a +boy's; his soft blue eyes had shone with light, but a cataract had +developed, and gradually his sight had left him till he could barely see +the crucifix in his cell and the fingers of his hand; at last he could +only see the light. But the prior did not lose the beautiful serenity of +his life; he was always happy and kind; and feeling that his death could +not now be very distant, he was filled with a heavenly joy that he would +shortly see the face of God. Long hours he sat in his chair looking at +the light with an indescribably charming smile hovering on his lips. + +His voice broken by sobs, Brother Jasper told his story, while the prior +gently stroked the young man's hands and face. + +'Oh, father, make me believe!' + +'One cannot force one's faith, my dear. It comes, it goes, and no man +knows the wherefore. Faith does not come from reasoning; it comes from +God.... Pray for it and rest in peace.' + +'I want to believe so earnestly. I am so unhappy!' + +'You are not the only one who has been tried, my son. Others have +doubted before you and have been saved.' + +'But if I died to-night--I should die in mortal sin.' + +'Believe that God counts the attempt as worthy as the achievement.' + +'Oh, pray for me, father, pray for me! I cannot stand alone. Give me +your strength.' + +'Go in peace, my son; I will pray for you, and God will give you +strength!' + +Jasper went away. + +Day followed day, and week followed week; the spring came, and the +summer; but there was no difference in the rocky desert of San Lucido. +There were no trees to bud and burst into leaf, no flowers to bloom and +fade; biting winds gave way to fiery heat, the sun beat down on the +plain, and the sky was cloudless, cloudless--even the nights were so hot +that the monks in their cells gasped for breath. And Brother Jasper +brooded over the faith that was dead; and in his self-torment his cheeks +became so hollow that the bones of his face seemed about to pierce the +skin, the flesh shrunk from his hands, and the fingers became long and +thin, like the claws of a vulture. He used to spend long hours with the +prior, while the old man talked gently, trying to bring faith to the +poor monk, that his soul might rest. But one day, in the midst of the +speaking, the prior stopped, and Jasper saw an expression of pain pass +over his face. + +'What is it?' + +'Nothing, my son,' he replied, smiling.... 'We enter the world with +pain, and with pain we leave it!' + +'What do you mean? Are you ill? Father! father!' + +The prior opened his mouth and showed a great sloughing sore; he put +Jasper's fingers to his neck and made him feel the enlarged and hardened +glands. + +'What is it? You must see a surgeon.' + +'No surgeon can help me, Brother Jasper. It is cancer, the Crab--it is +the way that God has sent to call me to Himself.' + +Then the prior began to suffer the agonies of the disease, terrible +pains shot through his head and neck; he could not swallow. It was a +slow starvation; the torment kept him awake through night after night, +and only occasionally his very exhaustion gave him a little relief so +that he slept. Thinner and thinner he became, and his whole mouth was +turned into a putrid, horrible sore. But yet he never murmured. Brother +Jasper knelt by his bed, looking at him pitifully. + +'How can you suffer it all? What have you done that God should give you +this? Was it not enough that you were blind?' + +'Ah, I saw such beautiful things after I became blind--all heaven +appeared before me.' + +'It is unjust--unjust!' + +'My son, all is just.' + +'You drive me mad!... Do you still believe in the merciful goodness of +God?' + +A beautiful smile broke through the pain on the old man's face. + +'I still believe in the merciful goodness of God!' + +There was a silence. Brother Jasper buried his face in his hands and +thought brokenheartedly of his own affliction. How happy he could be if +he had that faith.... But the silence in the room was more than the +silence of people who did not speak. Jasper looked up suddenly. + +The prior was dead. + +Then the monk bent over the body and looked at the face into the opaque +white eyes; there was no difference, the flesh was warm--everything was +just the same, and yet ... and yet he was dead. What did they mean by +saying the soul had fled? What had happened? Jasper understood nothing +of it. And afterwards, before the funeral, when he looked at the corpse +again, and it was cold and a horrible blackness stained the lips, he +felt sure. + +Brother Jasper could not believe in the resurrection of the dead. And +the soul--what did they mean by the soul? + + +IV + +Then a great loneliness came over him; the hours of his life seemed +endless, and there was no one in whom he could find comfort. The prior +had given him a ray of hope, but he was gone, and now Jasper was alone +in the world.... And beyond? Oh! how could one be certain? It was awful +this perpetual doubt, recurring more strongly than ever. Men had +believed so long. Think of all the beautiful churches that had been made +in the honour of God, and the pictures. Think of the works that had +been done for his love, the martyrs who had cheerfully given up their +lives. It seemed impossible that it should be all for nothing. But--but +Jasper could not believe. And he cried out to the soul of the prior, +resting in heaven, to come to him and help him. Surely, if he really +were alive again, he would not let the poor monk whom he had loved +linger in this terrible uncertainty. Jasper redoubled his prayers; for +hours he remained on his knees, imploring God to send him light.... But +no light came, and exhausted Brother Jasper sank into despair. + +The new prior was a tall, gaunt man, with a great hooked nose and heavy +lips; his keen, dark eyes shone fiercely from beneath his shaggy brows. +He was still young, full of passionate energy. And with large gesture +and loud, metallic voice he loved to speak of hell-fire and the pains of +the damned, hating the Jews and heretics with a bitter personal hatred. + +'To the stake!' he used to say. 'The earth must be purged of this +vermin, and it must be purged by fire.' + +He exacted the most absolute obedience from the monks, and pitiless was +the punishment for any infringement of his rules.... Brother Jasper +feared the man with an almost unearthly terror; when he felt resting +upon him the piercing black eyes, he trembled in his seat, and a cold +sweat broke out over him. If the prior knew--the thought almost made him +faint. And yet the fear of it seemed to drag him on; like a bird before +a serpent, he was fascinated. Sometimes he felt sudden impulses to tell +him--but the vengeful eyes terrified him. + +One day he was in the cloister, looking out at the little green plot in +the middle where the monks were buried, wondering confusedly whether all +that prayer and effort had been offered up to empty images of what--of +the fear of Man? Turning round, he started back and his heart beat, for +the prior was standing close by, looking at him with those horrible +eyes. Brother Jasper trembled so that he could scarcely stand; he looked +down. + +'Brother Jasper!' The prior's voice seemed sterner than it had ever been +before. 'Brother Jasper!' + +'Father!' + +'What have you to tell me?' + +Jasper looked up at him; the blood fled from his lips. + +'Nothing, my father!' The prior looked at him firmly, and Jasper thought +he read the inmost secrets of his heart. + +'Speak, Brother Jasper!' said the prior, and his voice was loud and +menacing. + +Then hurriedly, stuttering in his anxiety, the monk confessed his +misery.... A horror came over the prior's face as he listened, and +Jasper became so terrified that he could hardly speak; but the prior +seemed to recover himself, and interrupted him with a furious burst of +anger. + +'You look over the plain and do not see God, and for that you doubt Him? +Miserable fool!' + +'Oh, father, have mercy on me! I have tried so hard. I want to believe. +But I cannot.' + +'I cannot! I cannot! What is that? Have men believed for a thousand +years--has God performed miracle after miracle--and a miserable monk +dares to deny Him?' + +'I cannot believe!' + +'You must!' His voice was so loud that it rang through the cloisters. He +seized Jasper's clasped hands, raised in supplication before him, and +forced him to his knees. 'I tell you, you shall believe!' + +Quivering with wrath, he looked at the prostrate form at his feet, moved +by convulsive weeping. He raised his hand as if to strike the monk, but +with difficulty contained himself. + +Then the prior bade Brother Jasper go to the church and wait. The monks +were gathered together, all astonished. They stood in their usual +places, but Jasper remained in the middle, away from them, with head +cast down. The prior called out to them in his loud, clear voice,-- + +'Pray, my brethren, pray for the soul of Brother Jasper, which lies in +peril of eternal death.' + +The monks looked at him suddenly, and Brother Jasper's head sank lower, +so that no one could see his face. The prior sank to his knees and +prayed with savage fervour. Afterwards the monks went their ways; but +when Jasper passed them they looked down, and when by chance he +addressed a novice, the youth hurried from him without answering. They +looked upon him as accursed. The prior spoke no more, but often Jasper +felt his stern gaze resting on him, and a shiver would pass through +him. In the services Jasper stood apart from the rest, like an unclean +thing; he did not join in their prayers, listening confusedly to their +monotonous droning; and when a pause came and he felt all eyes turn to +him, he put his hands to his face to hide himself. + +'Pray, my brethren, pray for the soul of Brother Jasper, which lies in +peril of eternal death.' + + +V + +In his cell the monk would for days sit apathetically looking at the +stone wall in front of him, sore of heart; the hours would pass by +unnoticed, and only the ringing of the chapel bell awoke him from his +stupor. And sometimes he would be seized with sudden passion and, +throwing himself on his knees, pour forth a stream of eager, vehement +prayer. He remembered the penances which the seraphic father imposed on +his flesh--but he always had faith; and Jasper would scourge himself +till he felt sick and faint, and, hoping to gain his soul by +mortification of the body, refuse the bread and water which was thrust +into his cell, and for a long while eat nothing. He became so weak and +ill that he could hardly stand; and still no help came. + +Then he took it into his head that God would pity him and send a miracle +to drive away his uncertainty. Was he not anxious to believe, if only he +could?--so anxious! God would not send a miracle to a poor monk.... Yet +miracles had been performed for smaller folk than he--for shepherds and +tenders of swine. But Christ himself had said that miracles only came by +faith, but--Jasper remembered that often the profligate and the harlot +had been brought to repentance by a vision. Even the Holy Francis had +been but a loose gallant till Christ appeared to him. Yet, if Christ had +appeared, it showed--ah! but how could one be sure? it might only have +been a dream. Let a vision appear to him and he would believe. Oh, how +enchanted he would be to believe, to rest in peace, to know that before +him, however hard the life, were eternal joy and the kingdom of heaven. + +But Brother Jasper put his hands to his head cruelly aching. He could +not understand, he could not know--the doubt weighed on his brain like +a sheet of lead; he felt inclined to tear his skull apart to relieve the +insupportable pressure. How endless life was! Why could it not finish +quickly and let him know? But supposing there really was a God, He would +exact terrible vengeance. What punishment would He inflict on the monk +who had denied Him--who had betrayed Him like a second Judas? Then a +fantastic idea came into his crazy brain. Was it Satan that put all +these doubts into his head? If it were, Satan must exist; and if he did, +God existed too. He knew that the devil stood ready to appear to all who +called. If Christ would not appear, let Satan show himself. It meant +hell-fire; but if God were, the monk felt he was damned already--for the +truth he would give his soul! + +The idea sent a coldness through him, so that he shivered; but it +possessed him, and he exulted, thinking that he would know at last. He +rose from his bed--it was the dead of night and all the monks were +sleeping--and, trembling with cold, began to draw with chalk strange +figures on the floor. He had seen them long ago in an old book of magic, +and their fantastic shapes, fascinating him, had remained in his +memory. + +In the centre of the strange confusion of triangles he stood and uttered +in a husky voice the invocation. He murmured uncouth words in an unknown +language, and bade Satan stand forth.... He expected a thunderclap, the +flashing of lightning, sulphurous fumes--but the night remained silent +and quiet; not a sound broke the stillness of the monastery; the snow +outside fell steadily. + + +VI + +Next day the prior sent for him and repeated his solemn question. + +'Brother Jasper, what have you to say to me?' + +And absolutely despairing, Jasper answered,-- + +'Nothing, nothing, nothing!' + +Then the prior strode up to him in wrath and smote him on the cheek. + +'It is a devil within you--a devil of obstinacy and pride. You shall +believe!' + +He cried to monks to lay hold of him; they dragged him roughly to the +cloisters, and stripping him of his cowl tied it round his waist, and +bound him by the hands to a pillar.... And the prior ordered them to +give Jasper eight-and-thirty strokes with the scourge--one less than +Christ--that the devil might be driven out. The scourge was heavy and +knotted, and the porter bared his arms that he might strike the better; +the monks stood round in eager expectation. The scourge whizzed through +the air and came down with a thud on Jasper's bare shoulders; a tremor +passed through him, but he did not speak. Again it came down, and as the +porter raised it for the third time the monks saw great bleeding weals +on Brother Jasper's back. Then, as the scourge fell heavily, a terrible +groan burst from him. The porter swung his arm, and this time a shriek +broke from the wretched monk; the blows came pitilessly and Jasper lost +all courage. He shrieked with agony, imploring them to stop. + +But ferociously the prior cried,-- + +'Did Christ bear in silence forty stripes save one, and do you cry out +like a woman before you have had ten!' + +The porter went on, and the prior's words were interrupted by piercing +shrieks. + +'It is the devil crying out within him,' said the monks, gloating on the +bleeding back and the face of agony. + +Heavy drops of sweat ran off the porter's face and his arm began to +tire; but he seized the handle with both hands and swung the knotted +ropes with all his strength. + +Jasper fainted. + +'See!' said the prior. 'See the fate of him who has not faith in God!' + +The cords with which he was tied prevented the monk from falling, and +stroke after stroke fell on his back till the number was completed. Then +they loosed him from the column, and he sank senseless and bleeding to +the ground. They left him. Brother Jasper regained slowly his senses, +lying out in the cold cloister with the snow on the graves in the +middle; his hands and feet were stiff and blue. He shivered and drew +himself together for warmth, then a groan burst from him, feeling the +wounds of his back. Painfully he lifted himself up and crawled to the +chapel door; he pushed it open, and, staggering forward, fell on his +face, looking towards the altar. He remained there long, dazed and +weary, pulling his cowl close round him to keep out the bitter cold. +The pain of his body almost relieved the pain of his mind; he wished +dumbly that he could lie there and die, and be finished with it all. He +did not know the time; he wondered whether any service would soon bring +the monks to disturb him. He took sad pleasure in the solitude, and in +the great church the solitude seemed more intense. Oh, and he hated the +monks! it was cruel, cruel, cruel! He put his hands to his face and +sobbed bitterly. + +But suddenly a warmth fell on him; he looked up, and the glow seemed to +come from the crucified Christ in the great painted window by the altar. +The monk started up with a cry and looked eagerly; the bell began to +ring. The green colour of death was becoming richer, the glass gained +the fulness of real flesh; now it was a soft round whiteness. And +Brother Jasper cried out in ecstasy,-- + +'It is Christ!' + +Then the glow deepened, and from the Crucified One was shed a wonderful +light like the rising of the sun behind the mountains, and the church +was filled with its rich effulgence. + +'Oh, God, it is moving!' + +The Christ seemed to look at Brother Jasper and bow His head. + +Two by two the monks walked silently in, and Brother Jasper lifted up +his arms, crying: + +'Behold a miracle! Christ has appeared to me!' + +A murmur of astonishment broke from them, and they looked at Jasper +gazing in ecstasy at the painted window. + +'Christ has appeared to me.... I am saved!' + +Then the prior came up to him and took him in his arms and kissed him. + +'My son, praise be to God! you are whole again.' + +But Jasper pushed him aside, so that he might not be robbed of the sight +which filled him with rapture; the monks crowded round, questioning, but +he took no notice of them. He stood with outstretched arms, looking +eagerly, his face lighted up with joy. The monks began to kiss his cowl +and his feet, and they touched his hands. + +'I am saved! I am saved!' + +And the prior cried to them,-- + +'Praise God, my brethren, praise God! for we have saved the soul of +Brother Jasper from eternal death.' + +But when the service was over and the monks had filed out, Brother +Jasper came to himself--and he saw that the light had gone from the +window; the Christ was cold and dead, a thing of the handicraft of man. +What was it that had happened? Had a miracle occurred? The question +flashing through his mind made him cry out. He had prayed for a miracle, +and a miracle had been shown him--the poor monk of San Lucido....And +now he doubted the miracle. Oh, God must have ordained the damnation of +his soul to give him so little strength--perhaps He had sent the miracle +that he might have no answer at the Day of Judgment. + +'Faith thou hadst not--I showed Myself to thee in flesh and blood, I +moved My head; thou didst not believe thine own eyes.' ... + + +VII + +Next day, at vespers, Jasper anxiously fixed his gaze on the +stained-glass window--again a glow came from it, and as he moved the +head seemed to incline itself; but now Jasper saw it was only the sun +shining through the window--only the sun! Then the heaviness descended +into the deepest parts of Jasper's soul, and he despaired. + +The night came and Jasper returned to his cell.... He leant against the +door, looking out through the little window, but he could only see the +darkness. And he likened it to the darkness in his own soul. + +'What shall I do?' he groaned. + +He could not tell the monks that it was not a miracle he had seen; he +could not tell them that he had lost faith again.... And then his +thoughts wandering to the future,-- + +'Must I remain all my life in this cold monastery? If there is no God, +if I have but one life, what is the good of it? Why cannot I enjoy my +short existence as other men? Am not I young--am not I of the same flesh +and blood as they?' + +Vague recollections came to him of those new lands beyond the ocean, +those lands of sunshine and sweet odours. His mind became filled with a +vision of broad rivers, running slow and cool, overshadowed by strange, +luxuriant trees. And all was a wealth of beautiful colour. + +'Oh, I cannot stay!' he cried; 'I cannot stay!' + +And it was a land of loving-kindness, a land of soft-eyed, gentle women. + +'I cannot stay! I cannot stay!' + +The desire to go forth was overwhelming, the walls of his cell seemed +drawing together to crush him; he must be free. Oh, for life! life! He +started up, not seeing the madness of his adventure; he did not think of +the snow-covered desert, the night, the distance from a town. He saw +before him the glorious sunshine of a new life, and he went towards it +like a blind man, with outstretched arms. + +Everyone was asleep in the monastery. He crept out of his cell and +silently opened the door of the porter's lodge; the porter was sleeping +heavily. Jasper took the keys and unlocked the gate. He was free. He +took no notice of the keen wind blowing across the desert; he hurried +down the hill, slipping on the frozen snow.... Suddenly he stopped; he +had caught sight of the great crucifix which stood by the wayside at the +bottom of the hill. Then the madness of it all occurred to him. Wherever +he went he would find the crucifix, even beyond the sea, and nowhere +would he be able to forget his God. Always the recollection, always the +doubt, and he would never have rest till he was in the grave. He went +close to it and looked up; it was one of those strange Spanish +crucifixes--a wooden image with long, thin arms and legs and protruding +ribs, with real hair hanging over the shoulders, and a true crown of +thorns placed on the head; the ends of the tattered cloth fastened about +the loins fluttered in the wind. In the night the lifelikeness was +almost ghastly; it might have been a real man that hung there, with +great nails through his feet. The common people paid superstitious +reverence to it, and Jasper had often heard the peasants tell of the +consolations they had received. + +Why should not he too receive consolation? Was his soul not as worth +saving as theirs? A last spark of hope filled him, and he lifted himself +up on tip-toe to touch the feet. + +'Oh, Christ, come down to me! tell me whether Thou art indeed a God. Oh, +Christ, help me!' + +But the words lost themselves in the wind and night.... Then a great +rage seized him that he alone should receive no comfort. He clenched +his fists and beat passionately against the cross. + +'Oh, you are a cruel God! I hate you, I hate you!' + +If he could have reached it he would have torn the image down, and beat +it as he had been beaten. In his impotent rage he shrieked out curses +upon it--he blasphemed. + +But his strength spent itself and he sank to the foot of the cross, +bursting into tears. In his self-pity he thought his heart was broken. +Lifting himself to his knees, he clasped the wood with his hands and +looked up for the last time at the dead face of Christ. + +It was the end.... A strange peace came over him as the anguish of his +mind fell away before the cold. His hands and his feet were senseless, +he felt his heart turning to ice--and he felt nothing. + +In a little while the snow began to fall, lightly covering his +shoulders. Brother Jasper knew the secret of death at last. + + +VIII + +The day broke slowly, dim and grey. There was a hurried knocking at the +porter's door, a peasant with white and startled face said that a +brother was kneeling at the great cross in the snow, and would not +speak. + +The monks sallied forth anxiously, and came to the silent figure, +clasping the cross in supplication. + +'Brother Jasper!' + +The prior touched his hands; they were as cold as ice. + +'He is dead!' + +The villagers crowded round in astonishment, whispering to one another. +The monks tried to move him, but his hands, frozen to the cross, +prevented them. + +'He died in prayer--he was a saint!' + +But a woman with a paralysed arm came near him, and in her curiosity +touched his ragged cowl.... Suddenly she felt a warmth pass through her, +and the dead arm began to tingle. She cried out in astonishment, and as +the people turned to look she moved the fingers. + +'He has restored my arm,' she said. 'Look!' + +'A miracle!' they cried out. 'A miracle! He is a saint!' + +The news spread like fire; and soon they brought a youth lying on a bed, +wasted by a mysterious illness, so thin that the bones protruding had +formed angry sores on the skin. They touched him with the hem of the +monk's garment, and immediately he roused himself. + +'I am whole; give me to eat!' + +A murmur of wonder passed through the crowd. The monks sank to their +knees and prayed. + + * * * * * + +At last they lifted up the dead monk and bore him to the church. But +people all round the country crowded to see him; the sick and the +paralysed came from afar, and often went away sound as when they were +born. + +They buried him at last, but still to his tomb they came from all sides, +rich and poor; and the wretched monk, who had not faith to cure the +disease of his own mind, cured the diseases of those who had faith in +him. + + + + +THE CHOICE OF AMYNTAS + + +I + +Often enough the lover of cities tires of their unceasing noise; the din +of the traffic buzzes perpetually in his ears, and even in the silences +of night he hears the footfalls on the pavement, the dull stamping of +horses, the screeching of wheels; the fog chokes up the lungs so that he +cannot breathe; he sees no longer any charms in the tall chimneys of the +factory and the heavy smoke winding in curves against the leaden sky; +then he flies to countries where the greenness is like cold spring +water, where he can hear the budding of the trees and the stars tell him +fantastic things, the silence is full of mysterious new emotions. And so +the writer sometimes grows weary to death of the life he sees, and he +presses his hands before his eyes, that he may hide from him the endless +failure in the endless quest; then he too sets sail for Bohemia by the +Sea, and the other countries of the Frankly Impossible, where men are +always brave and women ever beautiful; there the tears of the morning +are followed by laughter at night, trials are easily surmountable, +virtue is always triumphant; there no illusions are lost, and lovers +live ever happily in a world without end. + + +II + +Once upon a time, very long ago, when the world was younger and more +wicked than it is now, there lived in the West Country a man called +Peter the Schoolmaster. But he was very different from ordinary +schoolmasters, for he was a scholar and a man of letters; he was +consequently very poor. All his life he had pored over old books and +musty parchments; but from them he had acquired little wisdom, for one +bright spring-time he fell in love with a farmer's daughter--and married +her. The farmer's daughter was a buxom wench, and, to the schoolmaster's +delight--he had a careless, charming soul--she presented him in course +of time with a round dozen of sturdy children. Peter compared himself +with Priam of Troy, with Jacob, with King Solomon of Israel and with +Queen Anne of England. Peter wrote a Latin ode to each offspring in +turn, which he recited to the assembled multitude when the midwife put +into his arms for the first time the new arrival. There was great +rejoicing over the birth of every one of the twelve children; but, as +was most proper in a land of primogeniture, the chiefest joy was the +first-born; and to him Peter wrote an Horatian ode, which was two +stanzas longer than the longest Horace ever wrote. Peter vowed that no +infant had ever been given the world's greeting in so magnificent a +manner; certainly he had never himself surpassed that first essay. As he +told the parson, to write twelve odes on paternity, twelve greetings to +the new-born soul, is a severe tax even on the most fertile imagination. + +But the object of all this eloquence was the cause of the first and only +quarrel between the gentle schoolmaster and his spouse; for the learned +man had dug out of one of his old books the name of Amyntas, and Amyntas +he vowed should be the name of his son; so with that trisyllable he +finished every stanza of his ode. His wife threw her head back, and, +putting her hands on her hips, stood with arms akimbo; she said that +never in all her born days had she heard of anyone being called by such +a name, which was more fit for a heathen idol than for a plain, +straightforward member of the church by law established. In its stead +she suggested that the boy be called Peter, after his father, or John, +after hers. The gentle schoolmaster was in the habit of giving way to +his wife in all things, and it may be surmised that this was the reason +why the pair had lived in happiest concord; but now he was firm! He said +it was impossible to call the boy by any other name than Amyntas. + +'The name is necessary to the metre of my ode,' he said. 'It is its very +life. How can I finish my stanzas with Petrus or Johannes? I would +sooner die.' + +His wife did not think the ode mattered a rap. Peter turned pale with +emotion; he could scarcely express himself. + +'Every mother in England has had a child; children have been born since +the days of Cain and Abel thicker than the sands of the sea. What is a +child? But an ode--my ode! A child is but an ordinary product of man and +woman, but a poem is a divine product of the Muses. My poem is sacred; +it shall not be defiled by any Petrus or Johannes! Let my house fall +about my head, let my household gods be scattered abroad, let the Fates +with their serpent hair render desolate my hearth; but do not rob me of +my verse. I would sooner lose the light of my eyes than the light of my +verse! Ah! let me wander through the land like Homer, sightless, +homeless; let me beg my bread from door to door, and I will sing the +ode, the ode to Amyntas.' ... + +He said all this with so much feeling that Mrs Peter began to cry, and, +with her apron up to her eyes, said that she didn't want him to go +blind; but even if he did, he should never want, for she would work +herself to the bone to keep him. Peter waved his hand in tragic +deprecation. No, he would beg his bread from door to door; he would +sleep by the roadside in the bitter winter night. + +Now, the parson was present during this colloquy, and he proposed an +arrangement; and finally it was settled that Peter should have his way +in this case, but that Mrs Peter should have the naming of all +subsequent additions to the family. So, of the rest, one was called +Peter, and one was called John, and there was a Mary, and a Jane, and a +Sarah; but the eldest, according to agreement, was christened Amyntas, +although to her dying day, notwithstanding the parson's assurances, the +mother was convinced in her heart of hearts that the name was papistical +and not fit for a plain, straightforward member of the church by law +established. + + +III + +Now, it was as clear as a pikestaff to Peter the Schoolmaster that a +person called Amyntas could not go through the world like any other +ordinary being; so he devoted particular care to his son's education, +teaching him, which was the way of schoolmasters then as now, very many +entirely useless things, and nothing that could be to him of the +slightest service in earning his bread and butter. + +But twelve children cannot be brought up on limpid air, and there were +often difficulties when new boots were wanted; sometimes, indeed, there +were difficulties when bread and meat and puddings were wanted. Such +things did not affect Peter; he felt not the pangs of hunger as he read +his books, and he vastly preferred to use the white and the yolk of an +egg in the restoration of an old leather binding than to have it +solemnly cooked and thrust into his belly. What cared he for the rantings +of his wife and the crying of the children when he could wander in +imagination on Mount Ida, clad only in his beauty, and the three +goddesses came to him promising wonderful things? He was a tall, lean +man, with thin, white hair and blue eyes, but his wrinkled cheeks were +still rosy; incessant snuff-taking had given a special character to his +nose. And sometimes, taking upon him the spirit of Catullus, he wrote +verses to Lesbia, or, beneath the breast-plate of Marcus Aurelius, he +felt his heart beat bravely as he marched against the barbarians; he was +Launcelot, and he made charming speeches to Guinevere as he kissed her +long white hand.... + +But now and then the clamour of the outer world became too strong, and +he had to face seriously the question of his children's appetite. + +It was on one of these occasions that the schoolmaster called his son to +his study and said to him,-- + +'Amyntas, you are now eighteen years of age. I have taught you all I +know, and you have profited by my teaching; you know Greek and Latin as +well as I do myself; you are well acquainted with Horace and Tully; you +have read Homer and Aristotle; and added to this, you can read the Bible +in the original Hebrew. That is to say, you have all knowledge at your +fingers' ends, and you are prepared to go forth and conquer the world. +Your mother will make a bundle of your clothes; I will give you my +blessing and a guinea, and you can start to-morrow.' + +Then he returned to his study of an oration of Isocrates. Amyntas was +thunder-struck. + +'But, father, where am I to go?' + +The schoolmaster raised his head in surprise, looking at his son over +the top of his spectacles. + +'My son,' he said, with a wave of the arm; 'my son, you have the world +before you--is that not enough?' + +'Yes, father,' said Amyntas, who thought it was a great deal too much; +'but what am I to do? I can't get very far on a guinea.' + +'Amyntas,' answered Peter, rising from his chair with great dignity, +'have you profited so ill by the examples of antiquity, which you have +had placed before you from your earliest years? Do you not know that +riches consist in an equal mind, and happiness in golden mediocrity? Did +the wise Odysseus quail before the unknown, because he had only a guinea +in his pocket? Shame on the heart that doubts! Leave me, my son, and +make ready.' + +Amyntas, very crestfallen, left the room and went to his mother to +acquaint her with the occurrence. She was occupied in the performance of +the family's toilet. + +'Well, my boy,' she said, as she scrubbed the face of the last but one, +'it's about time that you set about doing something to earn your living, +I must say. Now, if instead of learning all this popish stuff about +Greek and Latin and Lord knows what, you'd learnt to milk a cow or groom +a horse you'd be as right as a trivet now. Well, I'll put you up a few +things in a bundle as your father says and you can start early to-morrow +morning.... Now then, darling,' she added, turning to her Benjamin, +'come and have your face washed, there's a dear.' + + +IV + +Amyntas scratched his head, and presently an inspiration came to him. + +'I will go to the parson,' he said. + +The parson had been hunting, and he was sitting in his study in a great +oak chair, drinking a bottle of port; his huge body and his red face +expressed the very completest satisfaction with the world in general; +one felt that he would go to bed that night with the cheerful happiness +of duty performed, and snore stentoriously for twelve hours. He was +troubled by no qualms of conscience; the Thirty-nine Articles caused him +never a doubt, and it had never occurred to him to concern himself with +the condition of the working classes. He lived in a golden age, when the +pauper was allowed to drink himself to death as well as the nobleman, +and no clergyman's wife read tracts by his bedside.... + +Amyntas told his news. + +'Well, my boy'--he never spoke but he shouted--'so you're going away? +Well, God bless you!' + +Amyntas looked at him expectantly, and the parson, wondering what he +expected, came to the conclusion that it was a glass of port, for at +that moment he was able to imagine nothing that man could desire more. +He smiled benignly upon Amyntas, and poured him out a glass. + +'Drink that, my boy. Keep it in your memory. It's the finest thing in +the world. It's port that's made England what she is!' + +Amyntas drank the port, but his face did not express due satisfaction. + +'Damn the boy!' said the parson. 'Port's wasted on him.' ... Then, +thinking again what Amyntas might want, he rose slowly from his chair, +stretching his legs. 'I'm not so young as I used to be; I get stiff +after a day's hunting.' He walked round his room, looking at his +bookshelves; at last he picked out a book and blew the dust off the +edges. 'Here's a Bible for you, Amyntas. The two finest things in the +world are port and the Bible.' + +Amyntas thanked him, but without great enthusiasm. Another idea struck +the parson, and he shouted out another question. + +'Have you any money?' + +Amyntas told him of the guinea. + +'Damn your father! What's the good of a guinea?' He went to a drawer and +pulled out a handful of gold--the tithes had been paid a couple of days +before. 'Here are ten; a man can go to hell on ten guineas.' + +'Thank you very much, sir,' said Amyntas, pocketing the money, 'but I +don't think I want to go quite so far just yet.' + +'Then where the devil do you want to go?' shouted the parson. + +'That's just what I came to ask you about.' + +'Why didn't you say so at once? I thought you wanted a glass of port. +I'd sooner give ten men advice than one man port.' He went to the door +and called out, 'Jane, bring me another bottle.' He drank the bottle in +silence, while Amyntas stood before him, resting now upon one leg now +upon another, turning his cap round and round in his hands. At last the +parson spoke. + +'You may look upon a bottle of port in two ways,' he said; 'you may take +it as a symbol of a happy life or as a method of thought.... There are +four glasses in a bottle. The first glass is full of expectation; you +enter life with mingled feelings; you cannot tell whether it will be +good or no. The second glass has the full savour of the grape; it is +youth with vine-leaves in its hair and the passion of young blood. The +third glass is void of emotion; it is grave and calm, like middle age; +drink it slowly, you are in full possession of yourself, and it will not +come again. The fourth glass has the sadness of death and the bitter +sweetness of retrospect.' + +He paused a moment for Amyntas to weigh his words. + +'But a bottle of port is a better method of thought than any taught by +the school-men. The first glass is that of contemplation--I think of +your case; the second is apprehension--an idea occurs to me; the third +is elaboration--I examine the idea and weigh the pros and cons; the +fourth is realisation--and here I give you the completed scheme. Look at +this letter; it is from my old friend Van Tiefel, a Dutch merchant who +lives at Cadiz, asking for an English clerk. One of his ships is +sailing from Plymouth next Sunday, and it will put in at Cadiz on the +way to Turkey.' + +Amyntas thought the project could have been formed without a bottle of +port, but he was too discreet to say so, and heartily thanked the +parson. The good man lived in a time when teetotalism had not ruined the +clergy's nerves, and sanctity was not considered incompatible with a +good digestion and common humanity.... + + +V + +Amyntas spent the evening bidding tender farewells to a round dozen of +village beauties, whose susceptible hearts had not been proof against +the brown eyes and the dimples of the youth. There was indeed woe when +he spread the news of his departure; and all those maiden eyes ran +streams of salt tears as he bade them one by one good-bye; and though he +squeezed their hands and kissed their lips, vowing them one and all the +most unalterable fidelity, they were perfectly inconsolable. It is an +interesting fact to notice that the instincts of the true hero are +invariably polygamic.... + +It was lucky for Amyntas that the parson had given him money, for his +father, though he gave him a copy of the _Ethics of Aristotle_ and his +blessing, forgot the guinea; and Amyntas was too fearful of another +reproach to remind him of it. + +Amyntas was up with the lark, and having eaten as largely as he could in +his uncertainty of the future, made ready to start. The schoolmaster had +retired to his study to conceal his agitation; he was sitting like +Agamemnon with a dishcloth over his head, because he felt his face +unable to express his emotion. But the boy's mother stood at the cottage +door, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, surrounded by her +weeping children. She threw her arms about her son's neck, giving him a +loud kiss on either cheek, and Amyntas went the round of his brothers +and sisters, kissing them and bidding them not forget him. To console +them, he promised to bring back green parrots and golden bracelets, and +embroidered satins from Japan. As he passed down the village street he +shook hands with the good folk standing at their doors to bid him +good-bye, and slowly made his way into the open country. + + +VI + +The way of the hero is often very hard, and Amyntas felt as if he would +choke as he walked slowly along. He looked back at every step, wondering +when he would see the old home again. He loitered through the lanes, +taking a last farewell of the nooks and corners where he had sat on +summer evenings with some fair female friend, and he heartily wished +that his name were James or John, and that he were an ordinary farmer's +son who could earn his living without going out for it into the wide, +wide world. So may Dick Whittington have meditated as he trudged the +London road, but Amyntas had no talismanic cat and no church bells rang +him inspiring messages. Besides, Dick Whittington had in him from his +birth the makings of a Lord Mayor--he had the golden mediocrity which is +the surest harbinger of success. But to Amyntas the world seemed cold +and grey, notwithstanding the sunshine of the morning; and the bare +branches of the oak trees were gnarled and twisted like the fingers of +evil fate. At last he came to the top of a little hill whence one had +the last view of the village. He looked at the red-roofed church +nestling among the trees, and in front of the inn he could still see the +sign of the 'Turk's Head.' A sob burst from him; he felt he could not +leave it all; it would not be so bad if he could see it once more. He +might go back at night and wander through the streets; he could stand +outside his own home door and look up at his father's light, perhaps +seeing his father's shadow bent over his books. He cared nothing that +his name was Amyntas; he would go to the neighbouring farmers and offer +his services as labourer--the village barber wanted an apprentice. Ah! +he would ten times sooner be a village Hampden or a songless Milton than +any hero! He hid his face in the grass and cried as if his heart were +breaking. + +Presently he cried himself to sleep, and when he awoke the sun was high +in the heavens and he had the very healthiest of appetites. He repaired +to a neighbouring inn and ordered bread and cheese and a pot of beer. +Oh, mighty is the power of beer! Why am I not a poet, that I may stand +with my hair dishevelled, one hand in my manly bosom and the other +outstretched with splendid gesture, to proclaim the excellent beauty of +beer? Avaunt! ye sallow teetotalers, ye manufacturers of lemonade, ye +cocoa-drinkers! You only see the sodden wretch who hangs about the +public-house door in filthy slums, blinking his eyes in the glaze of +electric light, shivering in his scanty rags--and you do not know the +squalor and the terrible despair of hunger which he strives to +forget.... But above all, you do not know the glorious ale of the +country, the golden brown ale, with its scent of green hops, its broad +scents of the country; its foam is whiter than snow and lighter than the +almond blossoms; and it is cold, cold.... Amyntas drank his beer, and he +sighed with great content; the sun shone hopefully upon him now, and the +birds twittered all sorts of inspiring things; still in his mouth was +the delightful bitterness of the hops. He threw off care as a mantle, +and he stepped forward with joyful heart. Spain was a wild country, the +land of the grave hidalgo and the haughty princess. He felt in his +strong right arm the power to fight and kill and conquer. Black-bearded +villains should capture beautiful maidens on purpose for him to rescue. +Van Tiefel was but a stepping-stone; he was not made for the desk of a +counting-house. No heights dazzled him; he saw himself being made a peer +or a prince, being granted wide domains by a grateful monarch. He was +not too low to aspire to the hand of a king's fair daughter; he was a +hero, every inch a hero. Great is the power of beer. Avaunt! ye sallow +teetotalers, ye manufacturers of lemonade, ye cocoa-drinkers! + +At night he slept on a haystack, with the blue sky, star-bespangled, for +his only roof, and dreamed luxurious dreams.... The mile-stones flew +past one another as he strode along, two days, three days, four days. On +the fifth, as he reached the summit of a little hill, he saw a great +expanse of light shining in the distance, and the sea glittered before +him like the bellies of innumerable little silver fishes. He went down +the hill, up another, and thence saw Plymouth at his feet; the masts of +the ships were like a great forest of leafless trees.... He thanked his +stars, for one's imagination is all very well for a while, and the +thought of one's future prowess certainly shortens the time; but roads +are hard and hills are steep, one's legs grow tired and one's feet grow +sore; and things are not so rose-coloured at the end of a journey as at +the beginning. Amyntas could not for ever keep thinking of beautiful +princesses and feats of arms, and after the second day he had exhausted +every possible adventure; he had raised himself to the highest possible +altitudes, and his aristocratic amours had had the most successful +outcome. + +He sat down by a little stream that ran along the roadside, and bathed +his aching feet; he washed his face and hands; starting down the hill, +he made his way towards the town and entered the gate. + + +VII + + +Amyntas discovered Captain Thorman of the good ship _Calderon_ drinking +rum punch in a tavern parlour. In those days all men were heroic.... He +gave him the parson's letter. + +'Well, my boy,' said the captain, after twice reading it; 'I don't mind +taking you to Cadiz; I daresay you'll be able to make yourself useful on +board. What can you do?' + +'Please, sir,' answered Amyntas, with some pride, 'I know Latin and +Greek; I am well acquainted with Horace and Tully; I have read Homer and +Aristotle; and added to this, I can read the Bible in the original +Hebrew.' + +The captain looked at him. + +'If you talk to me like that,' he said, 'I'll shy my glass at your +head.' He shook with rage, and the redness of his nose emitted lightning +sparks of indignation; when he had recovered his speech, he asked +Amyntas why he stood there like an owl, and told him to get on board. + +Amyntas bowed himself meekly out of the room, went down to the harbour, +and bearing in mind what he had heard of the extreme wickedness of +Plymouth, held tightly on to his money; he had been especially warned +against the women who lure the unwary seaman into dark dens and rob him +of money and life. But no adventure befell him, thanks chiefly to the +swiftness of his heels, for when a young lady of prepossessing +appearance came up to him and inquired after his health, affectionately +putting her arm in his, he promptly took to his legs and fled. + +Amyntas was in luck's way, for it was not often that an English ship +carried merchandise to Spain. As a rule, the two powers were at daggers +drawn; but at this period they had just ceased cutting one another's +throats and sinking one another's ships, joining together in fraternal +alliance to cut the throats and sink the ships of a rival power, which, +till the treaty, had been a faithful and brotherly ally to His Majesty +of Great Britain, and which our gracious king had abandoned with unusual +dexterity, just as it was preparing to abandon him.... + +As Amyntas stood on the deck of the ship and saw the grey cliffs of +Albion disappear into the sea, he felt the emotions and sentiments which +inevitably come to the patriotic Englishman who leaves his native shore; +his melancholy became almost unbearable as the ship, getting out into +the open sea, began to roll, and he drank to the dregs the bitter cup of +leaving England, home, beauty--and _terra firma_. He went below, and, +climbing painfully into his hammock, gave himself over to misery and +_mal-de-mer_. + +Two days he spent of lamentation and gnashing of teeth, wishing he had +never been born, and not till the third day did he come on deck. He was +pale and weak, feeling ever so unheroic, but the sky was blue and the +ship bounded over the blue waves as if it were alive. Amyntas sniffed in +the salt air and the rushing wind, and felt alive again. The days went +by, the sun became hotter, and the sky a different, deeper blue, while +its vault spread itself over the sea in a vaster expanse. They came in +sight of land again; they coasted down a gloomy country with lofty +cliffs going sheer into the sea; they passed magnificent galleons laden +with gold from America; and one morning, when Amyntas came on deck at +break of day, he saw before him the white walls and red roofs of a +southern city. The ship slowly entered the harbour of Cadiz. + + +VIII + +At last! Amyntas went on shore immediately. His spirit was so airy +within him that he felt he could hover along in the air, like Mr Lang's +spiritualistic butlers, and it was only by a serious effort of will that +he walked soberly down the streets like normal persons. His soul shouted +with the joy of living. He took in long breaths as if to breathe in the +novelty and the strangeness. He walked along, too excited to look at +things, only conscious of a glare of light and colour, a thronging +crowd, life and joyousness on every side.... He walked through street +after street, almost sobbing with delight, through narrow alleys down +which the sun never fell, into big squares hot as ovens and dazzling, +up hill and down hill, past ragged slums, past the splendid palaces of +the rich, past shops, past taverns. Finally he came on to the shore +again and threw himself down in the shade of a little grove of orange +trees to sleep. + +When he awoke, he saw, standing motionless by his side, a Spanish lady. +He looked at her silently, noting her olive skin, her dark and lustrous +eyes, the luxuriance of her hair. If she had only possessed a tambourine +she would have been the complete realisation of his dreams. He smiled. + +'Why do you lie here alone, sweet youth?' she asked, with an answering +smile. 'And who and what are you?' + +'I lay down here to rest, lady,' he replied. 'I have this day arrived +from England, and I am going to Van Tiefel, the merchant.' + +'Ah! a young English merchant. They are all very rich. Are you?' + +'Yes, lady,' frankly answered Amyntas, pulling out his handful of gold. + +The Spaniard smiled on him, and then sighed deeply. + +'Why do you sigh?' he asked. + +'Ah! you English merchants are so fascinating.' She took his hand and +pressed it. Amyntas was not a forward youth, but he had some experience +of English maidens, and felt that there was but one appropriate +rejoinder. He kissed her. + +She sighed again as she relinquished herself to his embrace. + +'You English merchants are so fascinating--and so rich.' + +Amyntas thought the Spanish lady was sent him by the gods, for she took +him to her house and gave him melons and grapes, which, being young and +of lusty appetite, he devoured with great content. She gave him +wine--strong, red, fiery wine, that burned his throat--and she gave him +sundry other very delightful things, which it does not seem necessary to +relate. + +When Amyntas on his departure shyly offered some remuneration for his +entertainment, it was with an exquisite southern grace that she relieved +him of his ten golden guineas, and he almost felt she was doing him a +favour as she carelessly rattled the coins into a silken purse. And if +he was a little dismayed to see his treasure go so speedily, he was far +too delicate-minded to betray any emotion; but he resolved to lose no +time in finding out the offices of the wealthy Tiefel. + + +IX + + +But Van Tiefel was no longer in Cadiz! On the outbreak of the treaty, +the Spanish authorities had given the Dutch merchant four-and-twenty +hours to leave the country, and had seized his property, making him +understand that it was only by a signal mercy that his life was spared. +Amyntas rushed down to the harbour in dismay. The good ship _Calderon_ +had already sailed. Amyntas cursed his luck, he cursed himself; above +all, he cursed the lovely Spanish lady whose charms had caused him to +delay his search for Van Tiefel till the ship had gone on its eastward +journey. + +After looking long and wistfully at the sea, he turned back into the +town and rambled melancholy through the streets, wondering what would +become of him. Soon the pangs of hunger assailed him, and he knew the +discomfort of a healthy English appetite. He hadn't a single farthing, +and even Scotch poets, when they come to London to set the Thames on +fire, are wont to put a half-crown piece in their pockets. Amyntas +meditated upon the folly of extravagance, the indiscretion of youth and +the wickedness of woman.... He tightened his belt and walked on. At +last, feeling weary and faint with hunger, he lay down on the steps of a +church and there spent the night. When he awoke next morning, he soon +remembered that he had slept supperless; he was ravenous. Suddenly his +eye, looking across the square, caught sight of a book shop, and it +occurred to him that he might turn to account the books which his father +and the parson had given him. He blessed their foresight. The Bible +fetched nothing, but the Aristotle brought him enough to keep him from +starvation for a week. Having satisfied his hunger, he set about trying +to find work. He went to booksellers and told them his accomplishments, +but no one could see any use in a knowledge of Greek, Latin and the +Hebrew Bible. He applied at shops. Growing bolder with necessity, he +went into merchants' offices, and to great men's porters, but all with +great civility sent him about his business, and poor Amyntas was no more +able to get work than nowadays a professional tramp or the secretary of +a trade's union. + +Four days he went on, trying here and trying there, eating figs and +melons and bread, drinking water, sleeping beneath archways or on the +steps of churches, and he dreamed of the home of roast beef and ale +which he had left behind him. Every day he became more disheartened. But +at last he rose up against Fate; he cursed it Byronically. Every man's +hand was against him; his hand should be against every man. He would be +a brigand! He shook off his feet the dust of Cadiz, and boldly went into +the country to find a band of free companions. He stopped herdsmen and +pedlars and asked them where brigands were. They pointed to the +mountains, and to the mountains he turned his face. He would join the +band, provoke a quarrel with the chief, kill him and be made chief in +his stead. Then he would scour the country in a velvet mask and a peaked +hat with a feather in it, carrying fire and desolation everywhere. A +price would be set on his head, but he would snap his fingers in the +face of the Prime Minister. He would rule his followers with an iron +hand. But now he was in the midst of the mountains, and there were not +the smallest signs of lawless folk, not even a gibbet with a skeleton +hanging in chains to show where lawless folk had been. He sought high +and low, but he never saw a living soul besides a few shepherds clothed +in skins. It was most disheartening! Once he saw two men crouching +behind a rock, and approached them; but as soon as they saw him they ran +away, and although he followed them, shouting that they were not to be +afraid since he wanted to be a brigand too, they paid no attention, but +only ran the faster, and at last he had to give up the chase for want of +breath. One can't be a robber chief all by oneself, nor is it given to +everyone in this world to be a brigand. Amyntas found that even heroes +have their limitations. + + +X + +One day, making his way along a rocky path, he found a swineherd +guarding his flock. + +'Good-morrow!' said the man, and asked Amyntas whither he was bound. + +'God knows!' answered Amyntas. 'I am wandering at chance, and know not +where I go.' + +'Well, youth, stay the night with me, and to-morrow you can set out +again. In return for your company I will give you food and shelter.' + +Amyntas accepted gratefully, for he had been feeding on herbs for a +week, and the prospect of goat's milk, cheese and black bread was like +the feast of Trimalchion. When Amyntas had said his story, the herdsman +told him that there was a rich man in the neighbouring village who +wanted a swineherd, and in the morning showed him the way to the rich +man's house. + +'I will come a little way with you lest you take the wrong path.' ... + +They walked along the rocky track, and presently the way divided. + +'This path to the right leads to the village,' said the man. + +'And this one to the left, swineherd?' + +The swineherd crossed himself. + +'Ah! that is the path of evil fortune. It leads to the accursed cavern.' + +A cold wind blew across their faces. + +'Come away,' said the herdsman, shuddering. 'Do you not feel on your +face the cold breath of it?' + +'Tell me what it is,' said Amyntas. He stood looking at the opening +between the low trees. + +'It is a lake of death--a lake beneath the mountain--and the roof of it +is held up by marble columns, which were never wrought by the hand of +man. Come away! do you not feel on your face the cold breath of it?' + +He dragged Amyntas away along the path that led to the village, and when +the way was clear before him, turned back, returning to his swine. But +Amyntas ran after him. + +'Tell me what they say of the accursed cavern.' + +'They say many things. Some say it is a treasure-house of the Moors, +where they have left their wealth. Some say it is an entrance to the +enchanted land; some say it is an entrance to hell itself.... Venturous +men have gone in to discover the terrible secret, but none has returned +to tell it.' + +Amyntas wandered slowly towards the village. Were his dreams to end in +the herding of swine? What was this cavern of which the herdsman spoke? +He felt a strange impulse to go back and look at the dark opening +between the little trees from which blew the cold wind.... But perhaps +the rich man had a beauteous daughter; history is full of the social +successes of swine herds. Amyntas felt a strange thrill as the dark lake +came before his mind; he almost heard the lapping of the water.... +Kings' daughters had often looked upon lowly swineherds and raised them +to golden thrones. But he could not help going to look again at the dark +opening between the little trees. He walked back and again the cold +breath blew against his face; he felt in it the icy coldness of the +water. It drew him in; he separated the little trees on either side. He +walked on as if a hidden power urged him. And now the path became less +clear; trees and bushes grew in the way and hindered him, brambles and +long creeping plants twisted about his legs and pulled him back. But the +wind with its coldness of the black water drew him on.... The birds of +the air were hushed, and not one of the thousand insects of the wood +uttered a note. Great trees above him hid the light. The silence was +ghastly; he felt as if he were the only person in the world. + +Suddenly he gave a cry; he had come to the end of the forest, and before +him he saw the opening of the cavern. He looked in; he saw black, +stagnant water, motionless and heavy, and, as far as the eye could +reach, sombre pillars, covered with green, moist slime; they stood half +out of the water, supporting the roof, and from the roof oozed moisture +which fell in heavy drops, in heavy drops continually. At the entrance +was a little skiff with a paddle in it. + +Amyntas stood at the edge. Dared he venture? What could there be behind +that darkness? The darkness was blacker than the blackest night. He +stepped into the boat. Should he go? With beating heart he untied the +rope; he hardly dared to breathe. He pushed away. + + +XI + +He looked to the right and left, paddling slowly; on all sides he saw +the slimy columns stretching regularly into the darkness. The light of +the open day grew dimmer as he advanced, the air became colder. He +looked eagerly around him, paddling slowly. Already he half repented the +attempt. The boat went along easily, and the black and heavy water +hardly splashed as he drew his paddle through it. Still nothing could +be seen but the even ranks of pillars. Then, all at once, the night grew +blacker, and again the cold wind arose and blew in his face; everywhere +was the ghastly silence and the darkness. A shiver went through him; he +could not bear it; in an agony of terror he turned his paddle to go +back. Whatever might be the secret of the cavern or the reward of the +adventure, he dared go no further. He must get back quickly to the open +air and the blue sky. He drew his paddle through the water. The boat did +not turn. He gave a cry, he pulled with all his might, the boat only +lurched a little and went on its way. He set his teeth and backed; his +life depended upon it. The boat swam on. A cold sweat broke out over +him; he put all his strength in his stroke. The boat went on into the +darkness swiftly and silently. He paused a little to regain force; he +stifled a sob of horror and despair. Then he made a last effort; the +skiff whirled round into another avenue of columns, and the paddle +shivered into atoms against a pillar. The little light of the cavern +entrance was lost, and there was utter darkness. + +Amyntas cowered down in the boat. He gave up hope of life, and lay there +for long hours awaiting his end; the water carried the skiff along +swiftly, silently. The darkness was so heavy that the columns were +invisible, heavy drops fell into the water from the roof. How long would +it last? Would the boat go on till he died, and then speed on for ever? +He thought of the others who had gone into the cavern. Were there other +boats hurrying eternally along the heavy waters, bearing cold skeletons? + +He covered his face with his hands and moaned. But he started up, the +night seemed less black; he looked intently; yes, he could distinguish +the outlines of the pillars dimly, so dimly that he thought he saw them +only in imagination. And soon he could see distinctly their massive +shapes against the surrounding darkness. And as gradually the night +thinned away into dim twilight, he saw that the columns were different +from those at the entrance of the cavern; they were no longer covered +with weed and slime, the marble was polished and smooth; and the water +beneath him appeared less black. The skiff went on so swiftly that the +perpetual sequence of the pillars tired his eyes; but their grim +severity gave way to round columns less forbidding and more graceful; as +the light grew clearer, there was almost a tinge of blue in the water. +Amyntas was filled with wonder, for the columns became lighter and more +decorated, surmounted by capitals, adorned with strange sculptures. Some +were green and some were red, others were yellow or glistening white; +they mirrored themselves in the sapphire water. Gradually the roof +raised itself and the columns became more slender; from them sprang +lofty arches, gorgeously ornamented, and all was gold and silver and +rich colour. The water turned to a dazzling, translucent blue, so that +Amyntas could see hundreds of feet down to the bottom, and the bottom +was covered with golden sand. And the light grew and grew till it was +more brilliant than the clearest day; gradually the skiff slowed down +and it swam leisurely towards the light's source, threading its way +beneath the horse-shoe arches among the columns, and these gathered +themselves into two lines to form a huge avenue surmounted by a vast +span, and at the end, in a splendour of light, Amyntas saw a wondrous +palace, with steps leading down to the water. The boat glided towards +it and at the steps ceased moving. + + +XII + +At the same moment the silver doors of the palace were opened, and from +them issued black slaves, magnificently apparelled; they descended to +Amyntas and with courteous gestures assisted him out of the boat. Then +two other slaves, even more splendidly attired than their fellows, came +down and led Amyntas slowly and with great state into the court of the +palace, at the end of which was a great chamber; into this they motioned +the youth to enter. They made him the lowest possible bows and retired, +letting a curtain fall over the doorway. But immediately the curtain was +raised and other slaves came in, bearing gorgeous robes and all kinds of +necessaries for the toilet. With much ceremony they proceeded to bathe +and scent the fortunate creature; they polished and dyed his finger +nails; they pencilled his eyebrows and faintly darkened his long +eyelashes; they put precious balsam on his hair; then they clothed him +in silken robes glittering with gold and silver; they put the daintiest +red morocco shoes on his feet, a jewelled chain about his neck, rings on +his fingers, and in his turban a rich diamond. Finally they placed +before him a gigantic mirror, and left him. + +Everything had been conducted in complete silence, and Amyntas +throughout had preserved the most intense gravity. But when he was alone +he gave a little silent laugh of delight. It was obvious that at last he +was to be rewarded according to his deserts. He looked at the rings on +his fingers, resisting a desire to put one or two of them in his pocket +in case of a future rainy day. Then, catching sight of himself in the +mirror, he started. Was that really himself? How very delightful! He +made sure that no one could see, and then began to make bows to himself +in the mirror; he walked up and down the room, observing the stateliness +of his gesture; he waved his hands in a lordly and patronising fashion; +he turned himself round to look at his back; he was very annoyed that +he could not see his profile. He came to the conclusion that he looked +every inch a king's son, and his inner consciousness told him that +consequently the king's daughter could not be far off. + +But he would explore his palace! He girded his sword about him; it was a +scimitar of beautiful workmanship, and the scabbard was incrusted with +precious stones.... From the court he passed into many wonderful rooms, +one leading out of the other; there were rich carpets on the marble +floors, and fountains played softly in the centre, the walls were inlaid +with rare marbles; but he never saw a living soul. + +In the last hour Amyntas had become fully alive to his great importance, +and carried himself accordingly. He took long, dignified steps, and held +one hand on the jewelled hilt of his sword, with his elbows stuck out at +right angles to his body; his head was thrown back proudly and his +nostrils dilated with appropriate scorn. At last he came to a door +closed by a curtain; he raised it. But he started back and was so +surprised that he found no words to express his emotions. Four maidens +were sitting in the room, more beautiful than he had thought possible +in his most extravagant dreams. The gods had evidently not intended +Amyntas for single blessedness.... The young persons appeared not to +have noticed him. Two of them were seated on rugs playing a languid game +of chess, the others were lazily smoking cigarettes. + +'Mate!' murmured one of the players. + +'Oh!' sighed the other, yawning, 'another game finished! That makes five +million and twenty-three games against your five million and +seventy-nine.' + +They all yawned. + +But Amyntas felt he must give notice of his presence, and suddenly +remembering an expression he had learnt on board ship, he put on a most +ferocious look and cried out,-- + +'Shiver my timbers!' + +The maidens turned towards him with a little cry, but they quickly +recovered themselves and one of them came towards him. + +'You speak like a king's son, oh youth!' she said. + +There was a moment's hesitation, and the lady, with a smile, added, 'Oh, +ardently expected one, you are a compendium of the seven excellences!' + +Then they all began to pay him compliments, each one capping the other's +remark. + +'You have a face like the full moon, oh youth; your eyes are the eyes of +the gazelle; your walk is like the gait of the mountain partridge; your +chin is as an apple; your cheeks are pomegranates.' + +But Amyntas interrupted them. + +'For God's sake, madam,' he said, 'let us have no palavering, and if you +love me give me some victuals!...' + +Immediately female slaves came in with salvers laden with choice food, +and the four maidens plied Amyntas with delicacies. At the end of the +repast they sprinkled him with rose-water, and the eldest of them put a +crown of roses on his hair. Amyntas thought that after all life was not +an empty dream. + + +XIII + +'And now, may it please you, oh stranger, to hear our story. + +'Know then that our father was a Moor, one of the wealthiest of his +people, and he dwelt with his fellows in Spain, honoured and beloved. +Now, when Allah--whose name be exalted!--decreed that our nation should +be driven from the country, he, unwilling to leave the land of his +birth, built him, with the aid of magic arts, this palace. Here he +brought us, his four daughters and all his riches; he peopled it with +slaves and filled it with all necessary things, and here we lived in +peace and prosperity for many years; but at last a great misfortune +befell us, for our father, who was a very learned man and accustomed to +busy himself with many abstruse matters, one day got lost in a +metaphysical speculation--and has never been found again.' + +Here she stopped, and they all sighed deeply. + +'We searched high and low, but in vain, and he has not been found to +this day. So we took his will, and having broken the seal, read the +following,--"My daughters, I know by my wisdom that the time will come +when I shall be lost to you; then you will live alone enjoying the +riches and the pleasures which I have put at your disposal; but I +foresee that at the end of many years a youth will find his way to this +your palace. And though my magic arts have been able to build this +paradise for your habitation, though they have endowed you with +perpetual youth and loveliness, and, greatest deed of all, have banished +hence the dark shadow of Death, yet have they not the power to make four +maidens live in happiness and unity with but one man! Therefore, I have +given unto each of you certain gifts, and of you four the youth shall +choose one to be his love; and to him and her shall belong this palace, +and all my riches, and all my power; while the remaining three shall +leave everything here to these two, and depart hence for ever." + +'Now, gentle youth, it is with you to choose which of us four you will +have remain.' + +Amyntas looked at the four damsels standing before him, and his heart +beat violently. + +'I,' resumed the speaker--'I am the eldest of the four, and it is my +right to speak first.' + +She stepped forward and stood alone in front of Amyntas; her aspect was +most queenly, her features beautiful and clear, her eyes proud and +fiery; and masses of raven hair contrasted with the red flaming of her +garments. With an imperious gesture she flung back her hair, and spoke +thus,-- + +'Know, youth, that the gift which my father gave me was the gift of war, +and I have the power to make a great warrior of him whose love I am. I +will make you a king, youth; you shall command mighty armies, and you +shall lead them to battle on a prancing horse; your enemies shall quail +before your face, and at last you shall die no sluggard's death, but +pierced by honourable wounds, and the field of battle shall be your +deathbed; a nation shall mourn your loss, and your name shall go down +famous to after ages.' + +'You are very beautiful,' said Amyntas, 'but I am not so eager for +warlike exploits as when I wandered through the green lanes of my native +land. Let me hear the others.' + +A second stepped forward. She was clad most gorgeously of all; a crown +of diamonds was on her head, and her robes were of cloth of gold sewn +with rubies and emeralds and sapphires. + +'The gift I have to give is wealth, riches--riches innumerable, riches +greater than man can dream of. Do you want to be a king, the riches I +can give will make you one; do you want armies, riches can procure +them; do you want victory, riches can buy it--all these that my sister +offers you can I with my riches give you; and more than that, for +everything in the world can be got with riches, and you shall be +all-powerful. Take me to be your love and I will make you the Lord of +Gold.' + +Amyntas smiled. + +'You forget, lady, that I am but twenty.' + +The third stepped forward. She was beautiful and pale and thoughtful. +Her hair was yellow, like corn when the sun is shining on it; and her +dress was green, like the young grass of the spring. She spoke without +the animation of the others, mournfully rather than proudly, and she +looked at Amyntas with melancholy eyes. + +'I am the Lady of Art; all that is beautiful and good and wise is in my +province. Live with me; I will make you a poet, and you shall sing +beautiful songs. You shall be wise; and in perfect wisdom, oh youth! is +perfect happiness.' + +'The poet has said that wisdom is weariness, oh lady!' said Amyntas. 'My +father is a poet; he has written ten thousand Latin hexameters, and a +large number of Greek iambics.' ... + +Then came forward the last. As she stood before Amyntas a cry burst from +him; he had never in his life seen anyone so ravishingly beautiful. She +was looking down, and her long eyelashes prevented her eyes from being +seen, but her lips were like a perfect rose, and her skin was like a +peach; her hair fell to her waist in great masses of curls, and their +sparkling auburn, many-hued and indescribable, changed in the sunbeams +from richest brown to gold, tinged with deep red. She wore a simple +tunic of thin silk, clasped at her waist with a jewelled belt of gold. + +She stood before Amyntas, letting him gaze; then suddenly she lifted her +eyes to his. Amyntas's heart gave a mighty beat against his chest. Her +eyes, her eyes were the very lights of love, carrying passionate kisses +on their beams. A sob of ecstasy choked the youth, and he felt that he +could kneel down and worship before them. + +Slowly her lips broke into a smile, and her voice was soft and low. + +'I am the Lady of Love,' she said. 'Look!' She raised her arms, and the +thin, loose sleeves falling back displayed their roundness and +exquisite shape; she lifted her head, and Amyntas thrilled to cover her +neck with kisses. At last she loosened her girdle, and when the silken +tunic fell to her feet she stood before him in perfect loveliness. + +'I cannot give you fame, or riches, or wisdom; I can only give you Love, +Love, Love.... Oh, what an eternity of delight shall we enjoy in one +another's arms! Come, my beloved, come!' + +'Yes, I come, my darling!' Amyntas stepped forward with outstretched +arms, and took her hands in his. 'I take you for my love; I want not +wealth nor great renown, but only you. You will give me love-alluring +kisses, and we will live in never-ending bliss.' + +He drew her to him, and, with his arms around her, pressed back her head +and covered her lips with kisses. + + +XIV + + +And while Amyntas lost his soul in the eyes of his beloved, the three +sisters went sadly away. They ascended the stately barge which awaited +them, and the water bore them down the long avenue of columns into the +darkness. After a long time they reached the entrance of the cavern, and +having placed a great stone against it, that none might enter more, they +separated, wandering in different directions. + +The Lady of War passed through Spain, finding none there worthy of her. +She crossed the mountains, and presently she fell in love with a little +artillery officer, and raised him to dignity and power; and together +they ran through the lands, wasting and burning, making women widows and +children orphans, ruthless, unsparing, caring for naught but the +voluptuousness of blood. But she sickened of the man at last and left +him; then the blood he had spilt rose up against him, and he was cast +down and died an exile on a lonely isle. And now they say she dwells in +the palaces of a youth with a withered hand; together they rule a +mighty empire, and their people cry out at the oppression, but the ruler +heeds nothing but the burning kisses of his love. + +The Lady of Riches, too, passed out of Spain. But she was not content +with one love, nor with a hundred. She gave her favours to the first +comer, and everyone was welcome; she wandered carelessly through the +world, but chiefly she loved an island in the north; and in its capital +she has her palace, and the inhabitants of the isle have given +themselves over, body and soul, to her domination; they pander and lie +and cheat, and forswear themselves; to gain her smile they will shrink +from no base deed, no meanness; and she, too, makes women widows and +children orphans.... But her subjects care not; they are fat and +well-content; the goddess smiles on them, and they are the richest in +the world. + +The Lady of Art has not found an emperor nor a mighty people to be her +lovers. She wanders lonely through the world; now and then a youthful +dreamer sees her in his sleep and devotes his life to her pursuit; but +the way is hard, very hard; so he turns aside to worship at the throne +of her sister of Riches, and she repays him for the neglect he has +suffered; she showers gold upon him and makes him one of her knights. +But sometimes the youth remains faithful, and goes through his life in +the endless search; and at last, when his end has come, she comes down +to the garret in which he lies cold and dead, and stooping down, kisses +him gently--and lo! he is immortal. + +But as for Amyntas, when the sisters had retired, he again took his +bride in his arms, and covered her lips with kisses; and she, putting +her arms round his neck, said with a smile,-- + +'I have waited for you so long, my love, so long!' + +And here it is fit that we should follow the example of the three +sisters, and retire also. + +The moral of this story is, that if your godfathers and godmothers at +your baptism give you a pretty name, you will probably marry the most +beautiful woman in the world and live happily ever afterwards.... And +the platitudinous philosopher may marvel at the tremendous effects of +the most insignificant causes, for if Amyntas had been called Peter or +John, as his mother wished, William II. might be eating sauerkraut as +peacefully as his ancestors, the Lord Mayor of London might not drive +about in a gilded carriage, and possibly even--Mr Alfred Austin might +not be Poet Laureate.... + + + + +DAISY + + +I + +It was Sunday morning--a damp, warm November morning, with the sky +overhead grey and low. Miss Reed stopped a little to take breath before +climbing the hill, at the top of which, in the middle of the churchyard, +was Blackstable Church. Miss Reed panted, and the sultriness made her +loosen her jacket. She stood at the junction of the two roads which led +to the church, one from the harbour end of the town and the other from +the station. Behind her lay the houses of Blackstable, the wind-beaten +houses with slate roofs of the old fishing village and the red brick +villas of the seaside resort which Blackstable was fast becoming; in the +harbour were the masts of the ships, colliers that brought coal from the +north; and beyond, the grey sea, very motionless, mingling in the +distance with the sky.... The peal of the church bells ceased, and was +replaced by a single bell, ringing a little hurriedly, querulously, +which denoted that there were only ten minutes before the beginning of +the service. Miss Reed walked on; she looked curiously at the people who +passed her, wondering.... + +'Good-morning, Mr Golding!' she said to a fisherman who pounded by her, +ungainly in his Sunday clothes. + +'Good-morning, Miss Reed!' he replied. 'Warm this morning.' + +She wondered whether he knew anything of the subject which made her +heart beat with excitement whenever she thought of it, and for thinking +of it she hadn't slept a wink all night. + +'Have you seen Mr Griffith this morning?' she asked, watching his face. + +'No; I saw Mrs Griffith and George as I was walking up.' + +'Oh! they are coming to church, then!' Miss Reed cried with the utmost +surprise. + +Mr Golding looked at her stupidly, not understanding her agitation. But +they had reached the church. Miss Reed stopped in the porch to wipe her +boots and pass an arranging hand over her hair. Then, gathering herself +together, she walked down the aisle to her pew. + +She arranged the hassock and knelt down, clasping her hands and closing +her eyes; she said the Lord's Prayer; and being a religious woman, she +did not immediately rise, but remained a certain time in the same +position of worship to cultivate a proper frame of mind, her long, +sallow face upraised, her mouth firmly closed, and her eyelids quivering +a little from the devotional force with which she kept her eyes shut; +her thin bust, very erect, was encased in a black jacket as in a coat of +steel. But when Miss Reed considered that a due period had elapsed, she +opened her eyes, and, as she rose from her knees, bent over to a lady +sitting just in front of her. + +'Have you heard about the Griffiths, Mrs Howlett?' + +'No!... What is it?' answered Mrs Howlett, half turning round, intensely +curious. + +Miss Reed waited a moment to heighten the effect of her statement. + +'Daisy Griffith has eloped--with an officer from the dépôt at +Tercanbury.' + +Mrs Howlett gave a little gasp. + +'You don't say so!' + +'It's all they could expect,' whispered Miss Reed. 'They ought to have +known something was the matter when she went into Tercanbury three or +four times a week.' + +Blackstable is six miles from Tercanbury, which is a cathedral city and +has a cavalry dépôt. + +'I've seen her hanging about the barracks with my own eyes,' said Mrs +Howlett, 'but I never suspected anything.' + +'Shocking! isn't it?' said Miss Reed, with suppressed delight. + +'But how did you find out?' asked Mrs Howlett. + +'Ssh!' whispered Miss Reed--the widow, in her excitement, had raised her +voice a little and Miss Reed could never suffer the least irreverence in +church.... 'She never came back last night, and George Browning saw them +get into the London train at Tercanbury.' + +'Well, I never!' exclaimed Mrs Howlett. + +'D'you think the Griffiths'll have the face to come to church?' + +'I shouldn't if I was them,' said Miss Reed. + +But at that moment the vestry door was opened and the organ began to +play the hymn. + +'I'll see you afterwards,' Miss Reed whispered hurriedly; and rising +from their seats, both ladies began to sing,-- + + _O Jesu, thou art standing_ + _Outside the fast closed door,_ + _In lowly patience waiting_ + _To pass the threshold o'er;_ + _We bear the name of Christians_.... + +Miss Reed held the book rather close to her face, being shortsighted; +but, without even lifting her eyes, she had become aware of the entrance +of Mrs Griffith and George. She glanced significantly at Mrs Howlett. Mr +Griffith hadn't come, although he was churchwarden, and Mrs Howlett gave +an answering look which meant that it was then evidently quite true. But +they both gathered themselves together for the last verse, taking +breath. + + _O Jesus, thou art pleading_ + _In accents meek and low_.... + +A--A--men! The congregation fell to its knees, and the curate, rolling +his eyes to see who was in church, began gabbling the morning +prayers--'_Dearly beloved brethren._' ... + + +II + + +At the Sunday dinner, the vacant place of Daisy Griffith stared at them. +Her father sat at the head of the table, looking down at his plate, in +silence; every now and then, without raising his head, he glanced up at +the empty space, filled with a madness of grief.... He had gone into +Tercanbury in the morning, inquiring at the houses of all Daisy's +friends, imagining that she had spent the night with one of them. He +could not believe that George Browning's story was true, he could so +easily have been mistaken in the semi-darkness of the station. And even +he had gone to the barracks--his cheeks still burned with the +humiliation--asking if they knew a Daisy Griffith. + +He pushed his plate away with a groan. He wished passionately that it +were Monday, so that he could work. And the post would surely bring a +letter, explaining. + +'The vicar asked where you were,' said Mrs Griffith. + +Robert, the father, looked at her with his pained eyes, but her eyes +were hard and shining, her lips almost disappeared in the tight closing +of the mouth. She was willing to believe the worst. He looked at his +son; he was frowning; he looked as coldly angry as the mother. He, too, +was willing to believe everything, and they neither seemed very +sorry.... Perhaps they were even glad. + +'I was the only one who loved her,' he muttered to himself, and pushing +back his chair he got up and left the room. He almost tottered; he had +aged twenty years in the night. + +'Aren't you going to have any pudding?' asked his wife. + +He made no answer. + +He walked out into the courtyard quite aimlessly, but the force of habit +took him to the workshop, where, every Sunday afternoon, he was used to +going after dinner to see that everything was in order, and to-day also +he opened the window, put away a tool which the men had left about, +examined the Saturday's work.... + +Mrs Griffith and George, stiff and ill at ease in his clumsy Sunday +clothes, went on with their dinner. + +'D'you think the vicar knew?' he asked as soon as the father had closed +the door. + +'I don't think he'd have asked if he had. Mrs Gray might, but he's too +simple--unless she put him up to it.' + +'I thought I should never get round with the plate,' said George. Mr +Griffith, being a carpenter, which is respectable and well-to-do, which +is honourable, had been made churchwarden, and part of his duty was to +take round the offertory plate. This duty George performed in his +father's occasional absences, as when a coffin was very urgently +required. + +'I wasn't going to let them get anything out of me,' said Mrs Griffith, +defiantly. + +All through the service a number of eyes had been fixed on them, eager +to catch some sign of emotion, full of horrible curiosity to know what +the Griffiths felt and thought; but Mrs Griffith had been inscrutable. + + +III + +Next day the Griffiths lay in wait for the postman; George sat by the +parlour window, peeping through the muslin curtains. + +'Fanning's just coming up the street,' he said at last. Until the post +had come old Griffith could not work; in the courtyard at the back was +heard the sound of hammering. + +There was a rat-tat at the door, the sound of a letter falling on the +mat, and Fanning the postman passed on. George leaned back quickly so +that he might not see him. Mr Griffith fetched the letter, opened it +with trembling hands.... He gave a little gasp of relief. + +'She's got a situation in London.' + +'Is that all she says?' asked Mrs Griffith. 'Give me the letter,' and +she almost tore it from her husband's hand. + +She read it through and uttered a little ejaculation of contempt--almost +of triumph. 'You don't mean to say you believe that?' she cried. + +'Let's look, mother,' said George. He read the letter and he too gave a +snort of contempt. + +'She says she's got a situation,' repeated Mrs Griffith, with a sneer at +her husband, 'and we're not to be angry or anxious, and she's quite +happy--and we can write to Charing Cross Post Office. I know what sort +of a situation she's got.' + +Mr Griffith looked from his wife to his son. + +'Don't you think it's true?' he asked helplessly. At the first moment he +had put the fullest faith in Daisy's letter, he had been so anxious to +believe it; but the scorn of the others.... + +'There's Miss Reed coming down the street,' said George. 'She's looking +this way, and she's crossing over. I believe she's coming in.' + +'What does she want?' asked Mrs Griffith, angrily. + +There was another knock at the door, and through the curtains they saw +Miss Reed's eyes looking towards them, trying to pierce the muslin. Mrs +Griffith motioned the two men out of the room, and hurriedly put +antimacassars on the chairs. The knock was repeated, and Mrs Griffith, +catching hold of a duster, went to the door. + +'Oh, Miss Reed! Who'd have thought of seeing you?' she cried with +surprise. + +'I hope I'm not disturbing,' answered Miss Reed, with an acid smile. + +'Oh, dear no!' said Mrs Griffith. 'I was just doing the dusting in the +parlour. Come in, won't you? The place is all upside down, but you +won't mind that, will you?' + +Miss Reed sat on the edge of a chair. + +'I thought I'd just pop in to ask about dear Daisy. I met Fanning as I +was coming along and he told me you'd had a letter.' + +'Oh! Daisy?' Mrs Griffith had understood at once why Miss Reed came, but +she was rather at a loss for an answer.... 'Yes, we have had a letter +from her. She's up in London.' + +'Yes, I knew that,' said Miss Reed. 'George Browning saw them get into +the London train, you know.' + +Mrs Griffith saw it was no good fencing, but an idea occurred to her. + +'Yes, of course her father and I are very distressed about--her eloping +like that.' + +'I can quite understand that,' said Miss Reed. + +'But it was on account of his family. He didn't want anyone to know +about it till he was married.' + +'Oh!' said Miss Reed, raising her eyebrows very high. + +'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, 'that's what she said in her letter; they were +married on Saturday at a registry office.' + +'But, Mrs Griffith, I'm afraid she's been deceiving you. It's Captain +Hogan.... and he's a married man.' + +She could have laughed outright at the look of dismay on Mrs Griffith's +face. The blow was sudden, and notwithstanding all her power of +self-control, Mrs Griffith could not help herself. But at once she +recovered, an angry flush appeared on her cheek bones. + +'You don't mean it?' she cried. + +'I'm afraid it's quite true,' said Miss Reed, humbly. 'In fact I know it +is.' + +'Then she's a lying, deceitful hussy, and she's made a fool of all of +us. I give you my word of honour that she told us she was married; I'll +fetch you the letter.' Mrs Griffith rose from her chair, but Miss Reed +put out a hand to stop her. + +'Oh, don't trouble, Mrs Griffith; of course I believe you,' she said, +and Mrs Griffith immediately sat down again. + +But she burst into a storm of abuse of Daisy, for her deceitfulness and +wickedness. She vowed she should never forgive her. She assured Miss +Reed again and again that she had known nothing about it. Finally she +burst into a perfect torrent of tears. Miss Reed was mildly sympathetic; +but now she was anxious to get away to impart her news to the rest of +Blackstable. Mrs Griffith sobbed her visitor out of the front door, but, +when she had closed it, dried her tears. She went into the parlour and +flung open the door that led to the back room. Griffith was sitting with +his face hidden in his hands, and every now and then a sob shook his +great frame. George was very pale, biting his nails. + +'You heard what she said,' cried Mrs Griffith. 'He's married!' ... She +looked at her husband contemptuously. 'It's all very well for you to +carry on like that now. It was you who did it; it was all your fault. If +she'd been brought up as I wanted her to be, this wouldn't ever have +happened.' + +Again there was a knock, and George, going out, ushered in Mrs Gray, the +vicar's wife. She rushed in when she heard the sound of voices. + +'Oh, Mrs Griffith, it's dreadful! simply dreadful! Miss Reed has just +told me all about it. What is to be done? And what'll the dissenters +make of it? Oh, dear, it's simply dreadful!' + +'You've just come in time, Mrs Gray,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'It's +not my fault, I can tell you that. It's her father who's brought it +about. He would have her go into Tercanbury to be educated, and he would +have her take singing lessons and dancing lessons. The Church school was +good enough for George. It's been Daisy this and Daisy that all through. +Me and George have been always put by for Daisy. I didn't want her +brought up above her station, I can assure you. It's him who would have +her brought up as a lady; and see what's come of it! And he let her +spend any money she liked on her dress.... It wasn't me that let her go +into Tercanbury every day in the week if she wanted to. I knew she was +up to no good. There you see what you've brought her to; it's you who's +disgraced us all!' + +She hissed out the words with intense malignity, nearly screaming in the +bitterness she felt towards the beautiful daughter of better education +than herself, almost of different station. It was all but a triumph for +her that this had happened. It brought her daughter down; she turned the +tables, and now, from the superiority of her virtue, she looked down +upon her with utter contempt. + + +IV + + +On the following Sunday the people of Blackstable enjoyed an emotion; as +Miss Reed said,-- + +'It was worth going to church this morning, even for a dissenter.' + +The vicar was preaching, and the congregation paid a very languid +attention, but suddenly a curious little sound went through the +church--one of those scarcely perceptible noises which no comparison can +explain; it was a quick attraction of all eyes, an arousing of somnolent +intelligences, a slight, quick drawing-in of the breath. The listeners +had heeded very indifferently Mr Gray's admonitions to brotherly love +and charity as matters which did not concern them other than +abstractedly; but quite suddenly they had realised that he was bringing +his discourse round to the subject of Daisy Griffith, and they pricked +up both ears. They saw it coming directly along the highways of Vanity +and Luxuriousness; and everyone became intensely wide awake. + +'And we have in all our minds,' he said at last, 'the terrible fall +which has almost broken the hearts of sorrowing parents and brought +bitter grief--bitter grief and shame to all of us.'... + +He went on hinting at the scandal in the manner of the personal columns +in newspapers, and drawing a number of obvious morals. The Griffith +family were sitting in their pew well in view of the congregation; and +losing even the shadow of decency, the people turned round and stared at +them, ghoul-like.... Robert Griffith sat in the corner with his head +bent down, huddled up, his rough face speaking in all its lines the +terrible humiliation; his hair was all dishevelled. He was not more than +fifty, and he looked an old man. But Mrs Griffith sat next him, very +erect, not leaning against the back, with her head well up, her mouth +firmly closed, and she looked straight in front of her, her little eyes +sparkling, as if she had not an idea that a hundred people were staring +at her. In the other corner was George, very white, looking up at the +roof in simulation of indifference. Suddenly a sob came from the +Griffiths' pew, and people saw that the father had broken down; he +seemed to forget where he was, and he cried as if indeed his heart were +broken. The great tears ran down his cheeks in the sight of all--the +painful tears of men; he had not even the courage to hide his face in +his hands. Still Mrs Griffith made no motion, she never gave a sign that +she heard her husband's agony; but two little red spots appeared angrily +on her cheek bones, and perhaps she compressed her lips a little more +tightly.... + + +V + +Six months passed. One evening, when Mr Griffith was standing at the +door after work, smoking his pipe, the postman handed him a letter. He +changed colour and his hand shook when he recognised the handwriting. He +turned quickly into the house. + +'A letter from Daisy,' he said. They had not replied to her first +letter, and since then had heard nothing. + +'Give it me,' said his wife. + +He drew it quickly towards him, with an instinctive gesture of +retention. + +'It's addressed to me.' + +'Well, then, you'd better open it.' + +He looked up at his wife; he wanted to take the letter away and read it +alone, but her eyes were upon him, compelling him there and then to open +it. + +'She wants to come back,' he said in a broken voice. + +Mrs Griffith snatched the letter from him. + +'That means he's left her,' she said. + +The letter was all incoherent, nearly incomprehensible, covered with +blots, every other word scratched out. One could see that the girl was +quite distraught, and Mrs Griffith's keen eyes saw the trace of tears on +the paper.... It was a long, bitter cry of repentance. She begged them +to take her back, repeating again and again the cry of penitence, +piteously beseeching them to forgive her. + +'I'll go and write to her,' said Mr Griffith. + +'Write what?' + +'Why--that it's all right and she isn't to worry; and we want her back, +and that I'll go up and fetch her.' + +Mrs Griffith placed herself between him and the door. + +'What d'you mean?' she cried. 'She's not coming back into my house.' + +Mr Griffith started back. + +'You don't want to leave her where she is! She says she'll kill +herself.' + +'Yes, I believe that,' she replied scornfully; and then, gathering up +her anger, 'D'you mean to say you expect me to have her in the house +after what she's done? I tell you I won't. She's never coming in this +house again as long as I live; I'm an honest woman and she isn't. She's +a--' Mrs Griffith called her daughter the foulest name that can be +applied to her sex. + +Mr Griffith stood indecisively before his wife. + +'But think what a state she's in, mother. She was crying when she wrote +the letter.' + +'Let her cry; she'll have to cry a lot more before she's done. And it +serves her right; and it serves you right. She'll have to go through a +good deal more than that before God forgives her, I can tell you.' + +'Perhaps she's starving.' + +'Let her starve, for all I care. She's dead to us; I've told everyone in +Blackstable that I haven't got a daughter now, and if she came on her +bended knees before me I'd spit on her.' + +George had come in and listened to the conversation. + +'Think what people would say, father,' he said now; 'as it is, it's +jolly awkward, I can tell you. No one would speak to us if she was back +again. It's not as if people didn't know; everyone in Blackstable knows +what she's been up to.' + +'And what about George?' put in Mrs Griffith. 'D'you think the Polletts +would stand it?' George was engaged to Edith Pollett. + +'She'd be quite capable of breaking it off if Daisy came back,' said +George. 'She's said as much.' + +'Quite right too!' cried his mother. 'And I'm not going to be like Mrs +Jay with Lottie. Everyone knows about Lottie's goings-on, and you can +see how people treat them--her and her mother. When Mrs Gray passes them +in the street she always goes on the other side. No, I've always held my +head high, and I'm always going to. I've never done anything to be +ashamed of as far as I know, and I'm not going to begin now. Everyone +knows it was no fault of mine what Daisy did, and all through I've +behaved so that no one should think the worse of me.' + +Mr Griffith sank helplessly into a chair, the old habit of submission +asserted itself, and his weakness gave way as usual before his wife's +strong will. He had not the courage to oppose her. + +'What shall I answer, then?' he asked. + +'Answer? Nothing.' + +'I must write something. She'll be waiting for the letter, and waiting +and waiting.' + +'Let her wait.' + + +VI + +A few days later another letter came from Daisy, asking pitifully why +they didn't write, begging them again to forgive her and take her back. +The letter was addressed to Mr Griffith; the girl knew that it was only +from him she might expect mercy; but he was out when it arrived. Mrs +Griffith opened it, and passed it on to her son. They looked at one +another guiltily; the same thought had occurred to both, and each knew +it was in the other's mind. + +'I don't think we'd better let father see it,' Mrs Griffith said, a +little uncertainly; 'it'll do no good and it'll only distress him.' + +'And it's no good making a fuss, because we can't have her back.' + +'She'll never enter this door as long as I'm in the world.... I think +I'll lock it up.' + +'I'd burn it, if I was you, mother. It's safer.' + +Then every day Mrs Griffith made a point of going to the door herself +for the letters. Two more came from Daisy. + + _'I know it's not you; it's mother and George. They've always hated + me. Oh, don't be so cruel, father! You don't know what I've gone + through. I've cried and cried till I thought I should die. For + God's sake write to me! They might let you write just once. I'm + alone all day, day after day, and I think I shall go mad. You might + take me back; I'm sure I've suffered enough, and you wouldn't know + me now, I'm so changed. Tell mother that if she'll only forgive me + I'll be quite different. I'll do the housework and anything she + tells me. I'll be a servant to you, and you can send the girl + away. If you knew how I repent! Do forgive me and have me back. Oh, + I know that no one would speak to me; but I don't care about that, + if I can only be with you!'_ + +'She doesn't think about us,' said George--'what we should do if she was +back. No one would speak to us either.' + +But the next letter said that she couldn't bear the terrible silence; if +her father didn't write she'd come down to Blackstable. Mrs Griffith was +furious. + +'I'd shut the door in her face; I wonder how she can dare to come.' + +'It's jolly awkward,' said George. 'Supposing father found out we'd kept +back the letters?' + +'It was for his own good,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'I'm not ashamed +of what I've done, and I'll tell him so to his face if he says anything +to me.' + +'Well, it is awkward. You know what father is; if he saw her.'... + +Mrs Griffith paused a moment. + +'You must go up and see her, George!' + +'Me!' he cried in astonishment, a little in terror. + +'You must go as if you came from your father, to say we won't have +anything more to do with her and she's not to write.' + + +VII + +Next day George Griffith, on getting out of the station at Victoria, +jumped on a Fulham 'bus, taking his seat with the self-assertiveness of +the countryman who intends to show the Londoners that he's as good as +they are. He was in some trepidation and his best clothes. He didn't +know what to say to Daisy, and his hands sweated uncomfortably. When he +knocked at the door he wished she might be out--but that would only be +postponing the ordeal. + +'Does Mrs Hogan live here?' + +'Yes. Who shall I say?' + +'Say a gentleman wants to see her.' + +He followed quickly on the landlady's heels and passed through the door +the woman opened while she was giving the message. Daisy sprang to her +feet with a cry. + +'George!' + +She was very pale, her blue eyes dim and lifeless, with the lids heavy +and red; she was in a dressing gown, her beautiful hair dishevelled, +wound loosely into a knot at the back of her head. She had not half the +beauty of her old self.... George, to affirm the superiority of virtue +over vice, kept his hat on. + +She looked at him with frightened eyes, then her lips quivered, and +turning away her head she fell on a chair and burst into tears. George +looked at her sternly. His indignation was greater than ever now that he +saw her. His old jealousy made him exult at the change in her. + +'She's got nothing much to boast about now,' he said to himself, noting +how ill she looked. + +'Oh, George!'... she began, sobbing; but he interrupted her. + +'I've come from father,' he said, 'and we don't want to have anything +more to do with you, and you're not to write.' + +'Oh!' She looked at him now with her eyes suddenly quite dry. They +seemed to burn her in their sockets. 'Did he send you here to tell me +that?' + +'Yes; and you're not to come down.' + +She put her hand to her forehead, looking vacantly before her. + +'But what am I to do? I haven't got any money; I've pawned everything.' + +George looked at her silently; but he was horribly curious. + +'Why did he leave you?' he said. + +She made no answer; she looked before her as if she were going out of +her mind. + +'Has he left you any money?' asked George. + +Then she started up, her cheeks flaming red. + +'I wouldn't touch a halfpenny of his. I'd rather starve!' she screamed. + +George shrugged his shoulders. + +'Well, you understand?' he said. + +'Oh, how can you! It's all you and mother. You've always hated me. But +I'll pay you out, by God! I'll pay you out. I know what you are, all of +you--you and mother, and all the Blackstable people. You're a set of +damned hypocrites.' + +'Look here, Daisy! I'm not going to stand here and hear you talk like +that of me and mother,' he replied with dignity; 'and as for the +Blackstable people, you're not fit to--to associate with them. And I +can see where you learnt your language.' + +Daisy burst into hysterical laughter. George became more +angry--virtuously indignant. + +'Oh, you can laugh as much as you like! I know your repentance is a lot +of damned humbug. You've always been a conceited little beast. And +you've been stuck up and cocky because you thought yourself +nice-looking, and because you were educated in Tercanbury. And no one +was good enough for you in Blackstable. And I'm jolly glad that all this +has happened to you; it serves you jolly well right. And if you dare to +show yourself at Blackstable, we'll send for the police.' + +Daisy stepped up to him. + +'I'm a damned bad lot,' she said, 'but I swear I'm not half as bad as +you are.... You know what you're driving me to.' + +'You don't think I care what you do,' he answered, as he flung himself +out of the door. He slammed it behind him, and he also slammed the front +door to show that he was a man of high principles. And even George +Washington when he said, 'I cannot tell a lie; I did it with my little +hatchet,' did not feel so righteous as George Griffith at that moment. + +Daisy went to the window to see him go, and then, throwing up her arms, +she fell on her knees, weeping, weeping, and she cried,-- + +'My God, have pity on me!' + + +VIII + +'I wouldn't go through it again for a hundred pounds,' said George, when +he recounted his experience to his mother. 'And she wasn't a bit humble, +as you'd expect.' + +'Oh! that's Daisy all over. Whatever happens to her, she'll be as bold +as brass.' + +'And she didn't choose her language,' he said, with mingled grief and +horror. + + * * * * * + +They heard nothing more of Daisy for over a year, when George went up to +London for the choir treat. He did not come back till three o'clock in +the morning, but he went at once to his mother's room. + +He woke her very carefully, so as not to disturb his father. She started +up, about to speak, but he prevented her with his hand. + +'Come outside; I've got something to tell you.' + +Mrs Griffith was about to tell him rather crossly to wait till the +morrow, but he interrupted her,-- + +'I've seen Daisy.' + +She quickly got out of bed, and they went together into the parlour. + +'I couldn't keep it till the morning,' he said.... 'What d'you think +she's doing now? Well, after we came out of the Empire, I went down +Piccadilly, and--well, I saw Daisy standing there.... It did give me a +turn, I can tell you; I thought some of the chaps would see her. I +simply went cold all over. But they were on ahead and hadn't noticed +her.' + +'Thank God for that!' said Mrs Griffith, piously. + +'Well, what d'you think I did? I went straight up to her and looked her +full in the face. But d'you think she moved a muscle? She simply looked +at me as if she'd never set eyes on me before. Well, I was taken aback, +I can tell you. I thought she'd faint. Not a bit of it.' + +'No, I know Daisy,' said Mrs Griffith; 'you think she's this and that, +because she looks at you with those blue eyes of hers, as if she +couldn't say bo to a goose, but she's got the very devil inside her.... +Well, I shall tell her father that, just so as to let him see what she +has come to.'... + + * * * * * + +The existence of the Griffith household went on calmly. Husband and wife +and son led their life in the dull little fishing town, the seasons +passed insensibly into one another, one year slid gradually into the +next; and the five years that went by seemed like one long, long day. +Mrs Griffith did not alter an atom; she performed her housework, went to +church regularly, and behaved like a Christian woman in that state of +life in which a merciful Providence had been pleased to put her. George +got married, and on Sunday afternoons could be seen wheeling an infant +in a perambulator along the street. He was a good husband and an +excellent father. He never drank too much, he worked well, he was +careful of his earnings, and he also went to church regularly; his +ambition was to become churchwarden after his father. And even in Mr +Griffith there was not so very much change. He was more bowed, his hair +and beard were greyer. His face was set in an expression of passive +misery, and he was extremely silent. But as Mrs Griffith said,-- + +'Of course, he's getting old. One can't expect to remain young for +ever'--she was a woman who frequently said profound things--'and I've +known all along he wasn't the sort of man to make old bones. He's never +had the go in him that I have. Why, I'd make two of him.' + +The Griffiths were not so well-to-do as before. As Blackstable became a +more important health resort, a regular undertaker opened a shop there; +and his window, with two little model coffins and an arrangement of +black Prince of Wales's feathers surrounded by a white wreath, took the +fancy of the natives, so that Mr Griffith almost completely lost the +most remunerative part of his business. Other carpenters sprang into +existence and took away much of the trade. + +'I've no patience with him,' said Mrs Griffith, of her husband. 'He lets +these newcomers come along and just take the bread out of his hands. +Oh, if I was a man, I'd make things different, I can tell you! He +doesn't seem to care.'... + + * * * * * + +At last, one day George came to his mother in a state of tremendous +excitement. + +'I say, mother, you know the pantomime they've got at Tercanbury this +week?' + +'Yes.' + +'Well, the principal boy's Daisy.' + +Mrs Griffith sank into a chair, gasping. + +'Harry Ferne's been, and he recognised her at once. It's all over the +town.' + +Mrs Griffith, for the first time in her life, was completely at a loss +for words. + +'To-morrow's the last night,' added her son, after a little while, 'and +all the Blackstable people are going.' + +'To think that this should happen to me!' said Mrs Griffith, +distractedly. 'What have I done to deserve it? Why couldn't it happen to +Mrs Garman or Mrs Jay? If the Lord had seen fit to bring it upon +them--well, I shouldn't have wondered.' + +'Edith wants us to go,' said George--Edith was his wife. + +'You don't mean to say you're going, with all the Blackstable people +there?' + +'Well, Edith says we ought to go, just to show them we don't care.' + +'Well, I shall come too!' cried Mrs Griffith. + + +IX + +Next evening half Blackstable took the special train to Tercanbury, +which had been put on for the pantomime, and there was such a crowd at +the doors that the impresario half thought of extending his stay. The +Rev. Charles Gray and Mrs Gray were there, also James, their nephew. Mr +Gray had some scruples about going to a theatre, but his wife said a +pantomime was quite different; besides, curiosity may gently enter even +a clerical bosom. Miss Reed was there in black satin, with her friend +Mrs Howlett; Mrs Griffith sat in the middle of the stalls, flanked by +her dutiful son and her daughter-in-law; and George searched for female +beauty with his opera-glass, which is quite the proper thing to do on +such occasions.... + +The curtain went up, and the villagers of Dick Whittington's native +place sang a chorus. + +'Now she's coming,' whispered George. + +All those Blackstable hearts stood still. And Daisy, as Dick +Whittington, bounded on the stage--in flesh-coloured tights, with +particularly scanty trunks, and her bodice--rather low. The vicar's +nephew sniggered, and Mrs Gray gave him a reproachful glance; all the +other Blackstable people looked pained; Miss Reed blushed. But as Daisy +waved her hand and gave a kick, the audience broke out into prolonged +applause; Tercanbury people have no moral sense, although Tercanbury is +a cathedral city. + +Daisy began to sing,-- + + _I'm a jolly sort of boy, tol, lol,_ + _And I don't care a damn who knows it._ + _I'm fond of every joy, tol, lol,_ + _As you may very well suppose it._ + _Tol, lol, lol,_ + _Tol, lol, lol._ + +Then the audience, the audience of a cathedral city, as Mr Gray said, +took up the refrain,-- + + _Tol, lol, lol,_ + _Tol, lol, lol._ + +However, the piece went on to the bitter end, and Dick Whittington +appeared in many different costumes and sang many songs, and kicked many +kicks, till he was finally made Lord Mayor--in tights. + +Ah, it was an evening of bitter humiliation for Blackstable people. Some +of them, as Miss Reed said, behaved scandalously; they really appeared +to enjoy it. And even George laughed at some of the jokes the cat made, +though his wife and his mother sternly reproved him. + +'I'm ashamed of you, George, laughing at such a time!' they said. + +Afterwards the Grays and Miss Reed got into the same railway carriage +with the Griffiths. + +'Well, Mrs Griffith,' said the vicar's wife, 'what do you think of your +daughter now?' + +'Mrs Gray,' replied Mrs Griffith, solemnly, 'I haven't got a daughter.' + +'That's a very proper spirit in which to look at it,' answered the +lady.... 'She was simply covered with diamonds.' + +'They must be worth a fortune,' said Miss Reed. + +'Oh, I daresay they're not real,' said Mrs Gray; 'at that distance and +with the lime-light, you know, it's very difficult to tell.' + +'I'm sorry to say,' said Mrs Griffith, with some asperity, feeling the +doubt almost an affront to her--'I'm sorry to say that I _know_ they're +real.' + +The ladies coughed discreetly, scenting a little scandalous mystery +which they must get out of Mrs Griffith at another opportunity. + +'My nephew James says she earns at least thirty or forty pounds a week.' + +Miss Reed sighed at the thought of such depravity. + +'It's very sad,' she remarked, 'to think of such things happening to a +fellow-creature.'... + + * * * * * + +'But what I can't understand,' said Mrs Gray, next morning, at the +breakfast-table, 'is how she got into such a position. We all know that +at one time she was to be seen in--well, in a very questionable place, +at an hour which left no doubt about her--her means of livelihood. I +must say I thought she was quite lost.'... + +'Oh, well, I can tell you that easily enough,' replied her nephew. +'She's being kept by Sir Somebody Something, and he's running the show +for her.' + +'James, I wish you would be more careful about your language. It's not +necessary to call a spade a spade, and you can surely find a less +objectionable expression to explain the relationship between the +persons.... Don't you remember his name?' + +'No; I heard it, but I've really forgotten.' + +'I see in this week's _Tercanbury Times_ that there's a Sir Herbert +Ously-Farrowham staying at the "George" just now.' + +'That's it. Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham.' + +'How sad! I'll look him out in Burke.' + +She took down the reference book, which was kept beside the clergy list. + +'Dear me, he's only twenty-nine.... And he's got a house in Cavendish +Square and a house in the country. He must be very well-to-do; and he +belongs to the Junior Carlton and two other clubs.... And he's got a +sister who's married to Lord Edward Lake.' Mrs Gray closed the book and +held it with a finger to mark the place, like a Bible. 'It's very sad to +think of the dissipation of so many members of the aristocracy. It sets +such a bad example to the lower classes.' + + +X + + +They showed old Griffith a portrait of Daisy in her theatrical costume. + +'Has she come to that?' he said. + +He looked at it a moment, then savagely tore it in pieces and flung it +in the fire. + +'Oh, my God!' he groaned; he could not get out of his head the picture, +the shamelessness of the costume, the smile, the evident prosperity and +content. He felt now that he had lost his daughter indeed. All these +years he had kept his heart open to her, and his heart had bled when he +thought of her starving, ragged, perhaps dead. He had thought of her +begging her bread and working her beautiful hands to the bone in some +factory. He had always hoped that some day she could return to him, +purified by the fire of suffering.... But she was prosperous and happy +and rich. She was applauded, worshipped; the papers were full of her +praise. Old Griffith was filled with a feeling of horror, of immense +repulsion. She was flourishing in her sin, and he loathed her. He had +been so ready to forgive her when he thought her despairing and +unhappy; but now he was implacable. + + * * * * * + +Three months later Mrs Griffith came to her husband, trembling with +excitement, and handed him a cutting from a paper,-- + + '_We hear that Miss Daisy Griffith, who earned golden opinions in + the provinces last winter with her Dick Whittington, is about to be + married to Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham. Her friends, and their name + is legion, will join with us in the heartiest congratulations._' + +He returned the paper without answering. + +'Well?' asked his wife. + +'It is nothing to me. I don't know either of the parties mentioned.' + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Mrs Gray and Miss Reed +entered, having met on the doorstep. Mrs Griffith at once regained her +self-possession. + +'Have you heard the news, Mrs Griffith?' said Miss Reed. + +'D'you mean about the marriage of Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham?' She +mouthed the long name. + +'Yes,' replied the two ladies together. + +'It is nothing to me.... I have no daughter, Mrs Gray.' + +'I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mrs Griffith,' said Mrs Gray very +stiffly. 'I think you show a most unforgiving spirit.' + +'Yes,' said Miss Reed; 'I can't help thinking that if you'd treated poor +Daisy in a--well, in a more _Christian_ way, you might have saved her +from a great deal.' + +'Yes,' added Mrs Gray. 'I must say that all through I don't think you've +shown a nice spirit at all. I remember poor, dear Daisy quite well, and +she had a very sweet character. And I'm sure that if she'd been treated +a little more gently, nothing of all this would have happened.' + +Mrs Gray and Miss Reed looked at Mrs Griffith sternly and reproachfully; +they felt themselves like God Almighty judging a miserable sinner. Mrs +Griffith was extremely angry; she felt that she was being blamed most +unjustly, and, moreover, she was not used to being blamed. + +'I'm sure you're very kind, Mrs Gray and Miss Reed, but I must take the +liberty of saying that I know best what my daughter was.' + +'Mrs Griffith, all I say is this--you are not a good mother.' + +'Excuse me, madam.'... said Mrs Griffith, having grown red with anger; +but Mrs Gray interrupted. + +'I am truly sorry to have to say it to one of my parishioners, but you +are not a good Christian. And we all know that your husband's business +isn't going at all well, and I think it's a judgment of Providence.' + +'Very well, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffith, getting up. 'You're at liberty to +think what you please, but I shall not come to church again. Mr Friend, +the Baptist minister, has asked me to go to his chapel, and I'm sure he +won't treat me like that.' + +'I'm sure we don't want you to come to church in that spirit, Mrs +Griffith. That's not the spirit with which you can please God, Mrs +Griffith. I can quite imagine now why dear Daisy ran away. You're no +Christian.' + +'I'm sure I don't care what you think, Mrs Gray, but I'm as good as you +are.' + +'Will you open the door for me, Mrs Griffith?' said Mrs Gray, with +outraged dignity. + +'Oh, you can open it yourself, Mrs Gray!' replied Mrs Griffith. + + +XI + +Mrs Griffith went to see her daughter-in-law. + +'I've never been spoken to in that way before,' she said. 'Fancy me not +being a Christian! I'm a better Christian than Mrs Gray, any day. I like +Mrs Gray, with the airs she gives herself--as if she'd got anything to +boast about!... No, Edith, I've said it, and I'm not the woman to go +back on what I've said--I'll not go to church again. From this day I go +to chapel.' + + * * * * * + +But George came to see his mother a few days later. + +'Look here, mother, Edith says you'd better forgive Daisy now.' + +'George,' cried his mother, 'I've only done my duty all through, and if +you think it's my duty to forgive my daughter now she's going to enter +the bonds of holy matrimony, I will do so. No one can say that I'm not a +Christian, and I haven't said the Lord's Prayer night and morning ever +since I remember for nothing.' + +Mrs Griffith sat down to write, looking up to her son for inspiration. + +'Dearest Daisy!' he said. + +'No, George,' she replied, 'I'm not going to cringe to my daughter, +although she is going to be a lady; I shall simply say, "Daisy."' + +The letter was very dignified, gently reproachful, for Daisy had +undoubtedly committed certain peccadilloes, although she was going to be +a baronet's wife; but still it was completely forgiving, and Mrs +Griffith signed herself, '_Your loving and forgiving mother, whose heart +you nearly broke._' + +But the letter was not answered, and a couple of weeks later the same +Sunday paper contained an announcement of the date of the marriage and +the name of the church. Mrs Griffith wrote a second time. + + '_MY DARLING DAUGHTER,--I am much surprised at receiving no answer + to my long letter. All is forgiven. I should so much like to see + you again before I die, and to have you married from your father's + house. All is forgiven.--Your loving mother,_ + +'_MARY ANN GRIFFITH._' + +This time the letter was returned unopened. + +'George,' cried Mrs Griffith, 'she's got her back up.' + +'And the wedding's to-morrow,' he replied. + +'It's most awkward, George. I've told all the Blackstable people that +I've forgiven her and that Sir Herbert has written to say he wants to +make my acquaintance. And I've got a new dress on purpose to go to the +wedding. Oh! she's a cruel and exasperating thing, George; I never liked +her. You were always my favourite.' + +'Well, I do think she's not acting as she should,' replied George. 'And +I'm sure I don't know what's to be done.' + +But Mrs Griffith was a woman who made up her mind quickly. + +'I shall go up to town and see her myself, George; and you must come +too.' + +'I'll come up with you, mother, but you'd better go to her alone, +because I expect she's not forgotten the last time I saw her.' + +They caught a train immediately, and having arrived at Daisy's house, +Mrs Griffith went up the steps while George waited in a neighbouring +public-house. The door was opened by a smart maid--much smarter than +the Vicarage maid at Blackstable, as Mrs Griffith remarked with +satisfaction. On finding that Daisy was at home, she sent up a message +to ask if a lady could see her. + +The maid returned. + +'Would you give your name, madam? Miss Griffith cannot see you without.' + +Mrs Griffith had foreseen the eventuality, and, unwilling to give her +card, had written another little letter, using Edith as amanuensis, so +that Daisy should at least open it. She sent it up. In a few minutes the +maid came down again. + +'There's no answer,' and she opened the door for Mrs Griffith to go out. + +That lady turned very red. Her first impulse was to make a scene and +call the housemaid to witness how Daisy treated her own mother; but +immediately she thought how undignified she would appear in the maid's +eyes. So she went out like a lamb.... + +She told George all about it as they sat in the private bar of the +public-house, drinking a little Scotch whisky. + +'All I can say,' she remarked, 'is that I hope she'll never live to +repent it. Fancy treating her own mother like that! + +'But I shall go to the wedding; I don't care. I will see my own daughter +married.' + +That had been her great ambition, and she would have crawled before +Daisy to be asked to the ceremony.... But George dissuaded her from +going uninvited. There were sure to be one or two Blackstable people +present, and they would see that she was there as a stranger; the +humiliation would be too great. + +'I think she's an ungrateful girl,' said Mrs Griffith, as she gave way +and allowed George to take her back to Blackstable. + + +XII + +But the prestige of the Griffiths diminished. Everyone in Blackstable +came to the conclusion that the new Lady Ously-Farrowham had been very +badly treated by her relatives, and many young ladies said they would +have done just the same in her place. Also Mrs Gray induced her husband +to ask Griffith to resign his churchwardenship. + +'You know, Mr Griffith,' said the vicar, deprecatingly, 'now that your +wife goes to chapel I don't think we can have you as churchwarden any +longer; and besides, I don't think you've behaved to your daughter in a +Christian way.' + +It was in the carpenter's shop; the business had dwindled till Griffith +only kept one man and a boy; he put aside the saw he was using. + +'What I've done to my daughter, I'm willing to take the responsibility +for; I ask no one's advice and I want no one's opinion; and if you think +I'm not fit to be churchwarden you can find someone else better.' + +'Why don't you make it up with your daughter, Griffith?' + +'Mind your own business!' + +The carpenter had brooded and brooded over his sorrow till now his +daughter's name roused him to fury. He had even asserted a little +authority over his wife, and she dared not mention her daughter before +him. Daisy's marriage had seemed like the consummation of her shame; it +was vice riding triumphant in a golden chariot.... + +But the name of Lady Ously-Farrowham was hardly ever out of her mother's +lips; and she spent a good deal more money in her dress to keep up her +dignity. + +'Why, that's another new dress you've got on!' said a neighbour. + +'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, complacently, 'you see we're in quite a +different position now. I have to think of my daughter, Lady +Ously-Farrowham. I don't want her to be ashamed of her mother. I had +such a nice long letter from her the other day. She's so happy with Sir +Herbert. And Sir Herbert's so good to her.' ... + +'Oh, I didn't know you were.' ... + +'Oh, yes! Of course she was a little--well, a little wild when she was a +girl, but _I've_ forgiven that. It's her father won't forgive her. He +always was a hard man, and he never loved her as I did. She wants to +come and stay with me, but he won't let her. Isn't it cruel of him? I +should so like to have Lady Ously-Farrowham down here.' ... + + +XIII + +But at last the crash came. To pay for the new things which Mrs Griffith +felt needful to preserve her dignity, she had drawn on her husband's +savings in the bank; and he had been drawing on them himself for the +last four years without his wife's knowledge. For, as his business +declined, he had been afraid to give her less money than usual, and +every week had made up the sum by taking something out of the bank. +George only earned a pound a week--he had been made clerk to a coal +merchant by his mother, who thought that more genteel than +carpentering--and after his marriage he had constantly borrowed from his +parents. At last Mrs Griffith learnt to her dismay that their savings +had come to an end completely. She had a talk with her husband, and +found out that he was earning almost nothing. He talked of sending his +only remaining workman away and moving into a smaller place. If he kept +his one or two old customers, they might just manage to make both ends +meet. + +Mrs Griffith was burning with anger. She looked at her husband, sitting +in front of her with his helpless look. + +'You fool!' she said. + +She thought of herself coming down in the world, living in a pokey +little house away from the High Street, unable to buy new dresses, +unnoticed by the chief people of Blackstable--she who had always held up +her head with the best of them! + +George and Edith came in, and she told them, hurling contemptuous +sarcasms at her husband. He sat looking at them with his pained, unhappy +eyes, while they stared back at him as if he were some despicable, +noxious beast. + +'But why didn't you say how things were going before, father?' George +asked him. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +'I didn't like to,' he said hoarsely; those cold, angry eyes crushed +him; he felt the stupid, useless fool he saw they thought him. + +'I don't know what's to be done,' said George. + +His wife looked at old Griffith with her hard, grey eyes; the sharpness +of her features, the firm, clear complexion, with all softness blown out +of it by the east winds, expressed the coldest resolution. + +'Father must get Daisy to help; she's got lots of money. She may do it +for him.' + +Old Griffith broke suddenly out of his apathy. + +'I'd sooner go to the workhouse; I'll never touch a penny of hers!' + +'Now then, father,' said Mrs Griffith, quickly understanding, 'you drop +that, you'll have to.' + +George at the same time got pen and paper and put them before the old +man. They stood round him angrily. He stared at the paper; a look of +horror came over his face. + +'Go on! don't be a fool!' said his wife. She dipped the pen in the ink +and handed it to him. + +Edith's steel-grey eyes were fixed on him, coldly compelling. + +'Dear Daisy,' she began. + +'Father always used to call her Daisy darling,' said George; 'he'd +better put that so as to bring back old times.' + +They talked of him strangely, as if he were absent or had not ears to +hear. + +'Very well,' replied Edith, and she began again; the old man wrote +bewilderedly, as if he were asleep. 'DAISY DARLING,-- ... Forgive me!... +I have been hard and cruel towards you.... On my knees I beg your +forgiveness.... The business has gone wrong ... and I am ruined.... If +you don't help me ... we shall have the brokers in ... and have to go +to the workhouse.... For God's sake ... have mercy on me! You can't let +me starve.... I know I have sinned towards you.--Your broken-hearted ... +FATHER.' + +She read through the letter. 'I think that'll do; now the envelope,' and +she dictated the address. + +When it was finished, Griffith looked at them with loathing, absolute +loathing--but they paid no more attention to him. They arranged to send +a telegram first, in case she should not open the letter,-- + + '_Letter coming; for God's sake open! In great distress._--FATHER.' + +George went out immediately to send the wire and post the letter. + + +XIV + +The letter was sent on a Tuesday, and on Thursday morning a telegram +came from Daisy to say she was coming down. Mrs Griffith was highly +agitated. + +'I'll go and put on my silk dress,' she said. + +'No, mother, that is a silly thing; be as shabby as you can.' + +'How'll father be?' asked George. 'You'd better speak to him, Edith.' + +He was called, the stranger in his own house. + +'Look here, father, Daisy's coming this morning. Now, you'll be civil, +won't you?' + +'I'm afraid he'll go and spoil everything,' said Mrs Griffith, +anxiously. + +At that moment there was a knock at the door. 'It's her!' + +Griffith was pushed into the back room; Mrs Griffith hurriedly put on a +ragged apron and went to the door. + +'Daisy!' she cried, opening her arms. She embraced her daughter and +pressed her to her voluminous bosom. 'Oh, Daisy!' + +Daisy accepted passively the tokens of affection, with a little sad +smile. She tried not to be unsympathetic. Mrs Griffith led her daughter +into the sitting-room where George and Edith were sitting. George was +very white. + +'You don't mean to say you walked here!' said Mrs Griffith, as she shut +the front door. 'Fancy that, when you could have all the carriages in +Blackstable to drive you about!' + +'Welcome to your home again,' said George, with somewhat the air of a +dissenting minister. + +'Oh, George!' she said, with the same sad, half-ironical smile, allowing +herself to be kissed. + +'Don't you remember me?' said Edith, coming forward. 'I'm George's wife; +I used to be Edith Pollett.' + +'Oh, yes!' Daisy put out her hand. + +They all three looked at her, and the women noticed the elegance of her +simple dress. She was no longer the merry girl they had known, but a +tall, dignified woman, and her great blue eyes were very grave. They +were rather afraid of her; but Mrs Griffith made an effort to be cordial +and at the same time familiar. + +'Fancy you being a real lady!' she said. + +Daisy smiled again. + +'Where's father?' she asked. + +'In the next room.' They moved towards the door and entered. Old +Griffith rose as he saw his daughter, but he did not come towards her. +She looked at him a moment, then turned to the others. + +'Please leave me alone with father for a few minutes.' + +They did not want to, knowing that their presence would restrain him; +but Daisy looked at them so firmly that they were obliged to obey. She +closed the door behind them. + +'Father!' she said, turning towards him. + +'They made me write the letter,' he said hoarsely. + +'I thought so,' she said. 'Won't you kiss me?' + +He stepped back as if in replusion. She looked at him with her beautiful +eyes full of tears. + +'I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy. But I've been unhappy too--oh, you +don't know what I've gone through!... Won't you forgive me?' + +'I didn't write the letter,' he repeated hoarsely; 'they stood over me +and made me.' + +Her lips trembled, but with an effort she commanded herself. They looked +at one another steadily, it seemed for a very long time; in his eyes +was the look of a hunted beast.... At last she turned away without +saying anything more, and left him. + +In the next room the three were anxiously waiting. She contemplated them +a moment, and then, sitting down, asked about the affairs. They +explained how things were. + +'I talked to my husband about it,' she said; 'he's proposed to make you +an allowance so that you can retire from business.' + +'Oh, that's Sir Herbert all over,' said Mrs Griffith, greasily--she knew +nothing about him but his name! + +'How much do you think you could live on?' asked Daisy. + +Mrs Griffith looked at George and then at Edith. What should they ask? +Edith and George exchanged a glance; they were in agonies lest Mrs +Griffith should demand too little. + +'Well,' said that lady, at last, with a little cough of uncertainty, 'in +our best years we used to make four pounds a week out of the +business--didn't we, George?' + +'Quite that!' answered he and his wife, in a breath. + +'Then, shall I tell my husband that if he allows you five pounds a week +you will be able to live comfortably?' + +'Oh, that's very handsome!' said Mrs Griffith. + +'Very well,' said Daisy, getting up. + +'You're not going?' cried her mother. + +'Yes.' + +'Well, that is hard. After not seeing you all these years. But you know +best, of course!' + +'There's no train up to London for two hours yet,' said George. + +'No; I want to take a walk through Blackstable.' + +'Oh, you'd better drive, in your position.' + +'I prefer to walk.' + +'Shall George come with you?' + +'I prefer to walk alone.' + +Then Mrs Griffith again enveloped her daughter in her arms, and told her +she had always loved her and that she was her only daughter; after +which, Daisy allowed herself to be embraced by her brother and his wife. +Finally they shut the door on her and watched her from the window walk +slowly down the High Street. + +'If you'd asked it, I believe she'd have gone up to six quid a week,' +said George. + + +XV + +Daisy walked down the High Street slowly, looking at the houses she +remembered, and her lips quivered a little; at every step smells blew +across to her full of memories--the smell of a tannery, the blood smell +of a butcher's shop, the sea-odour from a shop of fishermen's +clothes.... At last she came on to the beach, and in the darkening +November day she looked at the booths she knew so well, the boats drawn +up for the winter, whose names she knew, whose owners she had known from +her childhood; she noticed the new villas built in her absence. And she +looked at the grey sea; a sob burst from her; but she was very strong, +and at once she recovered herself. She turned back and slowly walked up +the High Street again to the station. The lamps were lighted now, and +the street looked as it had looked in her memory through the years; +between the 'Green Dragon' and the 'Duke of Kent' were the same groups +of men--farmers, townsfolk, fishermen--talking in the glare of the rival +inns, and they stared at her curiously as she passed, a tall figure, +closely veiled. She looked at the well-remembered shops, the stationery +shop with its old-fashioned, fly-blown knick-knacks, the milliner's with +cheap, gaudy hats, the little tailor's with his antiquated fashion +plates. At last she came to the station, and sat in the waiting-room, +her heart full of infinite sadness--the terrible sadness of the past.... + +And she could not shake it off in the train; she could only just keep +back the tears. + +At Victoria she took a cab and finally reached home. The servants said +her husband was in his study. + +'Hulloa!' he said. 'I didn't expect you to-night.' + +'I couldn't stay; it was awful.' Then she went up to him and looked into +his eyes. 'You do love me, Herbert, don't you?' she said, her voice +suddenly breaking. 'I want your love so badly.' + +'I love you with all my heart!' he said, putting his arms round her. + +But she could restrain herself no longer; the strong arms seemed to +take away the rest of her strength, and she burst into tears. + +'I will try and be a good wife to you, Herbert,' she said, as he kissed +them away. + +THE END + +_Colston & Coy, Limited, Printers, Edinburgh_ + +******************************************* + +NOTES FOR TRANSCRIBER IN PROGRESS + +spendour splendour +apparently be changed to apparently been +the the third changed to the third +make both end meet changed to make both ends meet +that to than +ratings to rantings + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Orientations, by William Somerset Maugham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORIENTATIONS *** + +***** This file should be named 31308-8.txt or 31308-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/0/31308/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/31308-8.zip b/31308-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..acea1d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/31308-8.zip diff --git a/31308-h.zip b/31308-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c26e231 --- /dev/null +++ b/31308-h.zip diff --git a/31308-h/31308-h.htm b/31308-h/31308-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9aabe8 --- /dev/null +++ b/31308-h/31308-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6698 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + <head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Orientations, by William Somerset Maugham. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top:.75em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.75em;text-indent:2%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.head {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;font-size:115%;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + +.quote {margin:5% auto 5% auto;} + +.sml {font-size:50%;font-weight:bold;line-height:40px;} + +div.french {margin:10% 15% 10% 15%;font-weight:bold;font-size:75%;} + + h2 {text-align:center;clear:both;} + + h1,h3 {margin-top:15%;text-align:center;clear:both;} + +.top5 {margin-top:5%;} + +.top15 {margin-top:15%;} + + hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + hr.full {width:100%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;border:4px double gray;} + + hr.short {width:8%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + table {margin:15% auto 5% auto;} + + body{margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%;background:#fdfdfd;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:95%;} + +.poem {margin-left:25%;white-space:nowrap;text-indent:0%;} + +</style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Orientations, by William Somerset Maugham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Orientations + +Author: William Somerset Maugham + +Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31308] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORIENTATIONS *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h1>ORIENTATIONS</h1> + +<table summary="ad" +cellpadding="0" +cellspacing="0" +style="border:2px black solid;padding:2%;"> +<tr><td align="center"><b>NOVELS AT SIX SHILLINGS EACH</b><br /> +<i><b>Uniform with this Volume</b></i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">————</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>An Outcast of the Islands.</b> By <span class="smcap">Joseph Conrad</span>. Second Edition.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Almayer's Folly.</b> By <span class="smcap">Joseph Conrad</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Ebbing of the Tide.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louis Becke</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>A First Fleet Family.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louis Becke</span> and <span class="smcap">Walter Jeffery</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Paddy's Woman.</b> By <span class="smcap">Humphrey James</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Clara Hopgood.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mark Rutherford</span>. Second Edition.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Tales of John Oliver Hobbes.</b> Portrait of the Author. Second Edition.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Stickit Minister.</b> By <span class="smcap">S. R. Crockett</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Lilac Sunbonnet.</b> By <span class="smcap">S. R. Crockett</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Raiders.</b> By <span class="smcap">S. R. Crockett</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Grey Man.</b> By <span class="smcap">S. R. Crockett</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>In a Man's Mind.</b> By <span class="smcap">J. R. Watson</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>A Daughter of the Fen.</b> By <span class="smcap">J. T. Bealby</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Herb-Moon.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Oliver Hobbes</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Nancy Noon.</b> By <span class="smcap">Benjamin Swift</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Hugh Wynne.</b> By <span class="smcap">S. Weir Mitchell</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Tormentor.</b> By <span class="smcap">Benjamin Swift</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Mutineer.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louis Becke</span> and <span class="smcap">Walter Jeffery</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Destroyer.</b> By <span class="smcap">Benjamin Swift</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Gods, Some Mortals, and Lord Wickenham.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Oliver Hobbes</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Mrs Keith's Crime.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">W. K. Clifford</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Prisoners of Conscience.</b> By <span class="smcap">Amelia E. Barr</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Pacific Tales.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louis Becke</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The People of Clopton.</b> By <span class="smcap">George Bartram</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Outlaws of the Marches.</b> By Lord <span class="smcap">Ernest Hamilton</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Silver Christ.</b> Stories by <span class="smcap">Ouida</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The White-Headed Boy.</b> By <span class="smcap">George Bartram</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Tales of Unrest.</b> By <span class="smcap">Joseph Conrad</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The School for Saints.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Oliver Hobbes</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Evelyn Innes.</b> By <span class="smcap">George Moore</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Rodman, the Boatsteerer.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louis Becke</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Romance of a Midshipman.</b> By <span class="smcap">W. Clark Russell</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Making of a Saint.</b> By <span class="smcap">W. Somerset Maugham</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Two Standards.</b> By <span class="smcap">W. Barry</span>, D.D.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>The Mawkin of the Flow.</b> By Lord <span class="smcap">Ernest Hamilton</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Love is not so Light.</b> By <span class="smcap">Constance Cotterell</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>Moonlight.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Mann</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><b>I, Thou, and the Other One.</b> By <span class="smcap">Amelia E. Barr.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" +class="sml">/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><b>London<br /> +T. FISHER UNWIN, Paternoster Square, E.C.</b></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<h1>ORIENTATIONS</h1> + +<p class="c">By</p> +<h3 class="top5">William Somerset Maugham</h3> +<p class="c">Author of 'Liza of Lambeth,' 'The Making of a Saint'</p> + +<p class="c top15">London<br /> +T. Fisher Unwin<br /> +Paternoster Square<br /> +1899</p> + + +<p class="c">[<i>All Rights reserved</i>]</p> + + +<p class="c top15">To<br /> +MRS EDWARD JOHNSTON</p> + + + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<table summary="toc" +cellspacing="0" +cellpadding="2"> + +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" class="sml">PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_PUNCTILIOUSNESS_OF_DON_SEBASTIAN">THE PUNCTILIOUSNESS OF DON SEBASTIAN</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#A_BAD_EXAMPLE">A BAD EXAMPLE</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_37">37</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#DE_AMICITIA">DE AMICITIA</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_97">97</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#FAITH">FAITH</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_CHOICE_OF_AMYNTAS">THE CHOICE OF AMYNTAS</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#DAISY">DAISY</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_219">219</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<div class="french"><p><i>C'est surtout, par ses nouvelles d'un jeune écrivain qu'on peut se +rendre compte du tour de son esprit. Il y cherche la voie qui lui +est propre dans une série d'essais de genre et de style différents, +qui sont comme des orientations, pour trouver son moi littéraire.</i></p></div> + + + +<h1><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>Orientations</h1> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_PUNCTILIOUSNESS_OF_DON_SEBASTIAN" id="THE_PUNCTILIOUSNESS_OF_DON_SEBASTIAN"></a>THE PUNCTILIOUSNESS<br />OF DON SEBASTIAN</h3> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">I</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Xiormonez</span> is the most inaccessible place in Spain. Only one train +arrives there in the course of the day, and that arrives at two o'clock +in the morning; only one train leaves it, and that starts an hour before +sunrise. No one has ever been able to discover what happens to the +railway officials during the intermediate one-and-twenty hours. A German +painter I met there, who had come by the only train, and had been +endeavouring for a fortnight to get up in time to go away, told me that +he had frequently gone to the station in order to clear up the mystery, +but had never been<a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a> able to do so; yet, from his inquiries, he was +inclined to suspect—that was as far as he would commit himself, being a +cautious man—that they spent the time in eating garlic and smoking +execrable cigarettes. The guide-books tell you that Xiormonez possesses +the eyebrows of Joseph of Arimathea, a cathedral of the greatest +quaintness, and battlements untouched since their erection in the +fourteenth century. And they strongly advise you to visit it, but +recommend you before doing so to add Keating's insect powder to your +other toilet necessaries.</p> + +<p>I was travelling to Madrid in an express train which had been rushing +along at the pace of sixteen miles an hour, when suddenly it stopped. I +leant out of the window, asking where we were.</p> + +<p>'Xiormonez!' answered the guard.</p> + +<p>'I thought we did not stop at Xiormonez.'</p> + +<p>'We do not stop at Xiormonez,' he replied impassively.</p> + +<p>'But we are stopping now!'</p> + +<p>'That may be; but we are going on again.'</p> + +<p>I had already learnt that it was folly to argue with a Spanish guard, +and, drawing<a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a> back my head, I sat down. But, looking at my watch, I saw +that it was only ten. I should never again have a chance of inspecting +the eyebrows of Joseph of Arimathea unless I chartered a special train, +so, seizing the opportunity and my bag, I jumped out.</p> + +<p>The only porter told me that everyone in Xiormonez was asleep at that +hour, and recommended me to spend the night in the waiting-room, but I +bribed him heavily; I offered him two pesetas, which is nearly +fifteenpence, and, leaving the train to its own devices, he shouldered +my bag and started off.</p> + +<p>Along a stony road we walked into the dark night, the wind blowing cold +and bitter, and the clouds chasing one another across the sky. In front, +I could see nothing but the porter hurrying along, bent down under the +weight of my bag, and the wind blew icily. I buttoned up my coat. And +then I regretted the warmth of the carriage, the comfort of my corner +and my rug; I wished I had peacefully continued my journey to Madrid—I +was on the verge of turning back as I heard the whistling of the train. +I hesitated, but the porter hurried on, and fearing to lose him in the +night, I sprang<a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a> forwards. Then the puffing of the engine, and on the +smoke the bright reflection of the furnace, and the train steamed away; +like Abd-er-Rahman, I felt that I had flung my scabbard into the flames.</p> + +<p>Still the porter hurried on, bent down under the weight of my bag, and I +saw no light in front of me to announce the approach to a town. On each +side, bordering the road, were trees, and beyond them darkness. And +great black clouds hastened after one another across the heavens. Then, +as we walked along, we came to a rough stone cross, and lying on the +steps before it was a woman with uplifted hands. And the wind blew +bitter and keen, freezing the marrow of one's bones. What prayers had +she to offer that she must kneel there alone in the night? We passed +another cross standing up with its outstretched arms like a soul in +pain. At last a heavier night rose before me, and presently I saw a +great stone arch. Passing beneath it, I found myself immediately in the +town.</p> + +<p>The street was tortuous and narrow, paved with rough cobbles; and it +rose steeply, so that the porter bent lower beneath his burden, panting. +With the bag<a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a> on his shoulders he looked like some hunchbacked gnome, a +creature of nightmare. On either side rose tall houses, lying crooked +and irregular, leaning towards one another at the top, so that one could +not see the clouds, and their windows were great, black apertures like +giant mouths. There was not a light, not a soul, not a sound—except +that of my own feet and the heavy panting of the porter. We wound +through the streets, round corners, through low arches, a long way up +the steep cobbles, and suddenly down broken steps. They hurt my feet, +and I stumbled and almost fell, but the hunchback walked along nimbly, +hurrying ever. Then we came into an open space, and the wind caught us +again, and blew through our clothes, so that I shrank up, shivering. And +never a soul did we see as we walked on; it might have been a city of +the dead. Then past a tall church: I saw a carved porch, and from the +side grim devils grinning down upon me; the porter dived through an +arch, and I groped my way along a narrow passage. At length he stopped, +and with a sigh threw down the bag. He beat with his fists against an +iron door, making the metal ring. A<a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a> window above was thrown open, and a +voice cried out. The porter answered; there was a clattering down the +stairs, an unlocking, and the door was timidly held open, so that I saw +a woman, with the light of her candle throwing a strange yellow glare on +her face.</p> + +<p>And so I arrived at the hotel of Xiormonez.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">II</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">My</span> night was troubled by the ghostly crying of the watchman: 'Protect +us, Mary, Queen of Heaven; protect us, Mary!' Every hour it rang out +stridently as soon as the heavy bells of the cathedral had ceased their +clanging, and I thought of the woman kneeling at the cross, and wondered +if her soul had found peace.</p> + +<p>In the morning I threw open the windows and the sun came dancing in, +flooding the room with gold. In front of me the great wall of the +cathedral stood grim and grey, and the gargoyles looked savagely across +the square.... The cathedral is admirable;<a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a> when you enter you find +yourself at once in darkness, and the air is heavy with incense; but, as +your eyes become accustomed to the gloom, you see the black forms of +penitents kneeling by pillars, looking towards an altar, and by the +light of the painted windows a reredos, with the gaunt saints of an +early painter, and aureoles shining dimly.</p> + +<p>But the gem of the Cathedral of Xiormonez is the Chapel of the Duke de +Losas, containing, as it does, the alabaster monument of Don Sebastian +Emanuel de Mantona, Duque de Losas, and of the very illustrious Seņora +Doņa Sodina de Berruguete, his wife. Like everything else in Spain, the +chapel is kept locked up, and the guide-book tells you to apply to the +porter at the palace of the present duke. I sent a little boy to fetch +that worthy, who presently came back, announcing that the porter and his +wife had gone into the country for the day, but that the duke was coming +in person.</p> + +<p>And immediately I saw walking towards me a little, dark man, wrapped up +in a big <i>capa</i>, with the red and blue velvet of the lining flung +gaudily over his shoulder. He bowed courteously as he approached, and I +perceived that on the crown his hair<a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a> was somewhat more than thin. I +hesitated a little, rather awkwardly, for the guide-book said that the +porter exacted a fee of one peseta for opening the chapel—one could +scarcely offer sevenpence-halfpenny to a duke. But he quickly put an end +to all doubt, for, as he unlocked the door, he turned to me and said,—</p> + +<p>'The fee is one franc.'</p> + +<p>As I gave it him he put it in his pocket and gravely handed me a little +printed receipt. <i>Baedeker</i> had obligingly informed me that the Duchy of +Losas was shorn of its splendour, but I had not understood that the +present representative added to his income by exhibiting the bones of +his ancestors at a franc a head....</p> + +<p>We entered, and the duke pointed out the groining of the roof and the +tracery of the windows.</p> + +<p>'This chapel contains some of the finest Gothic in Spain,' he said.</p> + +<p>When he considered that I had sufficiently admired the architecture, he +turned to the pictures, and, with the fluency of a professional guide, +gave me their subjects and the names of the artists.</p> + +<p>'Now we come to the tombs of Don<a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a> Sebastian, the first Duke of Losas, +and his spouse, Doņa Sodina—not, however, the first duchess.'</p> + +<p>The monument stood in the middle of the chapel, covered with a great +pall of red velvet, so that no economical tourist should see it through +the bars of the gate and thus save his peseta. The duke removed the +covering and watched me silently, a slight smile trembling below his +little, black moustache.</p> + +<p>The duke and his wife, who was not his duchess, lay side by side on a +bed of carved alabaster; at the corners were four twisted pillars, +covered with little leaves and flowers, and between them bas-reliefs +representing Love, and Youth, and Strength, and Pleasure, as if, even in +the midst of death, death must be forgotten. Don Sebastian was in full +armour. His helmet was admirably carved with a representation of the +battle between the Centaurs and the Lapithæ; on the right arm-piece were +portrayed the adventures of Venus and Mars, on the left the emotions of +Vulcan; but on the breast-plate was an elaborate Crucifixion, with +soldiers and women and apostles. The visor was raised, and showed a +stern, heavy<a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a> face, with prominent cheek bones, sensual lips and a +massive chin.</p> + +<p>'It is very fine,' I remarked, thinking the duke expected some remark.</p> + +<p>'People have thought so for three hundred years,' he replied gravely.</p> + +<p>He pointed out to me the hands of Don Sebastian.</p> + +<p>'The guide-books have said that they are the finest hands in Spain. +Tourists especially admire the tendons and veins, which, as you +perceive, stand out as in no human hand would be possible. They say it +is the summit of art.'</p> + +<p>And he took me to the other side of the monument, that I might look at +Doņa Sodina.</p> + +<p>'They say she was the most beautiful woman of her day,' he said, 'but in +that case the Castilian lady is the only thing in Spain which has not +degenerated.'</p> + +<p>She was, indeed, not beautiful: her face was fat and broad, like her +husband's; a short, ungraceful nose, and a little, nobbly chin; a thick +neck, set dumpily on her marble shoulders. One could not but hope that +the artist had done her an injustice.<a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a></p> + +<p>The Duke of Losas made me observe the dog which was lying at her feet.</p> + +<p>'It is a symbol of fidelity,' he said.</p> + +<p>'The guide-book told me she was chaste and faithful.'</p> + +<p>'If she had been,' he replied, smiling, 'Don Sebastian would perhaps +never have become Duque de Losas.'</p> + +<p>'Really!'</p> + +<p>'It is an old history which I discovered one day among some family +papers.'</p> + +<p>I pricked up my ears, and discreetly began to question him.</p> + +<p>'Are you interested in old manuscripts?' said the duke. 'Come with me +and I will show you what I have.'</p> + +<p>With a flourish of the hand he waved me out of the chapel, and, having +carefully locked the doors, accompanied me to his palace. He took me +into a Gothic chamber, furnished with worn French furniture, the walls +covered with cheap paper. Offering me a cigarette, he opened a drawer +and produced a faded manuscript.</p> + +<p>'This is the document in question,' he said. 'Those crooked and +fantastic characters are terrible. I often wonder if the writers were +able to read them.'<a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a></p> + +<p>'You are fortunate to be the possessor of such things,' I remarked.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>'What good are they? I would sooner have fifty pesetas than this musty +parchment.'</p> + +<p>An offer! I quickly reckoned it out into English money. He would +doubtless have taken less, but I felt a certain delicacy in bargaining +with a duke over his family secrets....</p> + +<p>'Do you mean it? May I—er—'</p> + +<p>He sprang towards me.</p> + +<p>'Take it, my dear sir, take it. Shall I give you a receipt?'</p> + +<p>And so, for thirty-one shillings and threepence, I obtained the only +authentic account of how the frailty of the illustrious Seņora Doņa +Sodina was indirectly the means of raising her husband to the highest +dignities in Spain.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">III</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Don Sebastian</span> and his wife had lived together for fifteen years, with +the entirest<a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a> happiness to themselves and the greatest admiration of +their neighbours. People said that such an example of conjugal felicity +was not often seen in those degenerate days, for even then they prated +of the golden age of their grandfathers, lamenting their own +decadence.... As behoved good Castilians, burdened with such a line of +noble ancestors, the fortunate couple conducted themselves with all +imaginable gravity. No strange eye was permitted to witness a caress +between the lord and his lady, or to hear an expression of endearment; +but everyone could see the devotion of Don Sebastian, the look of +adoration which filled his eyes when he gazed upon his wife. And people +said that Doņa Sodina was worthy of all his affection. They said that +her virtue was only matched by her piety, and her piety was patent to +the whole world, for every day she went to the cathedral at Xiormonez +and remained long immersed in her devotions. Her charity was exemplary, +and no beggar ever applied to her in vain.</p> + +<p>But even if Don Sebastian and his wife had not possessed these conjugal +virtues, they would have been in Xiormonez persons of note, since not +only did they belong to an<a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a> old and respected family, which was rich as +well, but the gentleman's brother was archbishop of the See, who, when +he graced the cathedral city with his presence, paid the greatest +attention to Don Sebastian and Doņa Sodina. Everyone said that the +Archbishop Pablo would shortly become a cardinal, for he was a great +favourite with the king, and with the latter His Holiness the Pope was +then on terms of quite unusual friendship.</p> + +<p>And in those days, when the priesthood was more noticeable for its +gallantry than for its good works, it was refreshing to find so +high-placed a dignitary of the Church a pattern of Christian virtues, +who, notwithstanding his gorgeous habit of life, his retinue, his +palaces, recalled, by his freedom from at least two of the seven deadly +sins, the simplicity of the apostles, which the common people have often +supposed the perfect state of the minister of God.</p> + +<p>Don Sebastian had been affianced to Doņa Sodina when he was a boy of +ten, and before she could properly pronounce the viperish sibilants of +her native tongue. When the lady attained her sixteenth year, the pair +were solemnly espoused, and the young<a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a> priest Pablo, the bridegroom's +brother, assisted at the ceremony. In these days the union would have +been instanced as a triumphant example of the success of the <i>mariage de +convenance</i>, but at that time such arrangements were so usual that it +never occurred to anyone to argue for or against them. Yet it was not +customary for a young man of two-and-twenty to fall madly in love with +the bride whom he saw for the first time a day or two before his +marriage, and it was still less customary for the bride to give back an +equal affection. For fifteen years the couple lived in harmony and +contentment, with nothing to trouble the even tenor of their lives; and +if there was a cloud in their sky, it was that a kindly Providence had +vouchsafed no fruit to the union, notwithstanding the prayers and +candles which Doņa Sodina was known to have offered at the shrine of +more than one saint in Spain who had made that kind of miracle +particularly his own.</p> + +<p>But even felicitous marriages cannot last for ever, since if the love +does not die the lovers do. And so it came to pass that Doņa Sodina, +having eaten excessively of pickled shrimps, which the abbess of a +highly<a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a> respected convent had assured her were of great efficacy in the +begetting of children, took a fever of the stomach, as the chronicle +inelegantly puts it, and after a week of suffering was called to the +other world, from which, as from the pickled shrimps, she had always +expected much. There let us hope her virtues have been rewarded, and she +rests in peace and happiness.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> Don Sebastian walked from the cathedral to his house after the +burial of his wife, no one saw a trace of emotion on his face, and it +was with his wonted grave courtesy that he bowed to a friend as he +passed him. Sternly and briefly, as usual, he gave orders that no one +should disturb him, and went to the room of Doņa Sodina; he knelt on the +praying-stool which Doņa Sodina had daily used for so many years, and he +fixed his eyes on the crucifix hanging on the wall above it. The day +passed, and the night passed, and Don Sebastian never<a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a> moved—no thought +or emotion entered him; being alive, he was like the dead; he was like +the dead that linger on the outer limits of hell, with never a hope for +the future, dull with the despair that shall last for ever and ever and +ever. But when the woman who had nursed him in his childhood lovingly +disobeyed his order and entered to give him food, she saw no tear in his +eye, no sign of weeping.</p> + +<p>'You are right!' he said, painfully rising from his knees. 'Give me to +eat.'</p> + +<p>Listlessly taking the food, he sank into a chair and looked at the bed +on which had lately rested the corpse of Doņa Sodina; but a kindly +nature relieved his unhappiness, and he fell into a weary sleep.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, the night was far advanced; the house, the town were +filled with silence; all round him was darkness, and the ivory crucifix +shone dimly, dimly. Outside the door a page was sleeping; he woke him +and bade him bring light.... In his sorrow, Don Sebastian began to look +at the things his wife had loved; he fingered her rosary, and turned +over the pages of the half-dozen pious books which formed her library; +he looked at the jewels which he had seen<a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a> glittering on her bosom; the +brocades, the rich silks, the cloths of gold and silver that she had +delighted to wear. And at last he came across an old breviary which he +thought she had lost—how glad she would have been to find it, she had +so often regretted it! The pages were musty with their long concealment, +and only faintly could be detected the scent which Doņa Sodina used +yearly to make and strew about her things. Turning over the pages +listlessly, he saw some crabbed writing; he took it to the +light—'<i>To-night, my beloved, I come.</i>' And the handwriting was that of +Pablo, Archbishop of Xiormonez. Don Sebastian looked at it long. Why +should his brother write such words in the breviary of Doņa Sodina? He +turned the pages and the handwriting of his wife met his eye and the +words were the same—'<i>To-night, my beloved, I come</i>'—as if they were +such delight to her that she must write them herself. The breviary +dropped from Don Sebastian's hand.</p> + +<p>The taper, flickering in the draught, threw glaring lights on Don +Sebastian's face, but it showed no change in it. He sat looking at the +fallen breviary, and, in his mind, at<a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a> the love which was dead. At last +he passed his hand over his forehead.</p> + +<p>'And yet,' he whispered, 'I loved thee well!'</p> + +<p>But as the day came he picked up the breviary and locked it in a casket; +he knelt again at the praying-stool and, lifting his hands to the +crucifix, prayed silently. Then he locked the door of Doņa Sodina's +room, and it was a year before he entered it again.</p> + +<p>That day the Archbishop Pablo came to his brother to offer consolation +for his loss, and Don Sebastian at the parting kissed him on either +cheek.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">V</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> people of Xiormonez said that Don Sebastian was heart-broken, for +from the date of his wife's interment he was not seen in the streets by +day. A few, returning home from some riot, had met him wandering in the +dead of the night, but he passed them silently by. But he sent his +servants to Toledo and Burgos, to Salamanca,<a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a> Cordova, even to Paris and +Rome; and from all these places they brought him books—and day after +day he studied in them, till the common folk asked if he had turned +magician.</p> + +<p>So passed eleven months, and nearly twelve, till it wanted but five days +to the anniversary of the death of Doņa Sodina. Then Don Sebastian wrote +to his brother the letter which for months he had turned over in his +mind,—</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>Seeing the instability of all human things, and the uncertain +length of our exile upon earth, I have considered that it is evil +for brothers to remain so separate. Therefore I implore you—who +are my only relative in this world, and heir to all my goods and +estates—to visit me quickly, for I have a presentiment that death +is not far off, and I would see you before we are parted by the +immense sea.</i>'</p> + +<p>The archbishop was thinking that he must shortly pay a visit to his +cathedral city, and, as his brother had desired, came to Xiormonez +immediately. On the anniversary of Doņa Sodina's interment, Don +Sebastian entertained Archbishop Pablo to supper.<a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a></p> + +<p>'My brother,' said he, to his guest, 'I have lately received from +Cordova a wine which I desire you to taste. It is very highly prized in +Africa, whence I am told it comes, and it is made with curious art and +labour.'</p> + +<p>Glass cups were brought, and the wine poured in. The archbishop was a +connoisseur, and held it between the light and himself, admiring the +sparkling clearness, and then inhaled the odour.</p> + +<p>'It is nectar,' he said.</p> + +<p>At last he sipped it.</p> + +<p>'The flavour is very strange.'</p> + +<p>He drank deeply. Don Sebastian looked at him and smiled as his brother +put down the empty glass. But when he was himself about to drink, the +cup fell between his hands and the steward's, breaking into a hundred +fragments, and the wine spilt on the floor.</p> + +<p>'Fool!' cried Don Sebastian, and in his anger struck the servant.</p> + +<p>But being a man of peace, the archbishop interposed.</p> + +<p>'Do not be angry with him; it was an accident. There is more wine in the +flagon.'<a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a></p> + +<p>'No, I will not drink it,' said Don Sebastian, wrathfully. 'I will drink +no more to-night.'</p> + +<p>The archbishop shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>When they were alone, Don Sebastian made a strange request.</p> + +<p>'My brother, it is a year to-day that Sodina was buried, and I have not +entered her room since then. But now I have a desire to see it. Will you +come with me?'</p> + +<p>The archbishop consented, and together they crossed the long corridor +that led to Doņa Sodina's apartment, preceded by a boy with lights.</p> + +<p>Don Sebastian unlocked the door, and, taking the taper from the page's +hand, entered. The archbishop followed. The air was chill and musty, and +even now an odour of recent death seemed to pervade the room.</p> + +<p>Don Sebastian went to a casket, and from it took a breviary. He saw his +brother start as his eye fell on it. He turned over the leaves till he +came to a page on which was the archbishop's handwriting, and handed it +to him.</p> + +<p>'Oh God!' exclaimed the priest, and looked quickly at the door. Don +Sebastian<a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a> was standing in front of it. He opened his mouth to cry out, +but Don Sebastian interrupted him.</p> + +<p>'Do not be afraid! I will not touch you.'</p> + +<p>For a while they looked at one another silently; one pale, sweating with +terror, the other calm and grave as usual. At last Don Sebastian spoke, +hoarsely.</p> + +<p>'Did she—did she love you?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, my brother, forgive her. It was long ago—and she repented +bitterly. And I—I!'</p> + +<p>'I have forgiven you.'</p> + +<p>The words were said so strangely that the archbishop shuddered. What did +he mean?</p> + +<p>Don Sebastian smiled.</p> + +<p>'You have no cause for anxiety. From now it is finished. I will forget.' +And, opening the door, he helped his brother across the threshold. The +archbishop's hand was clammy as a hand of death.</p> + +<p>When Don Sebastian bade his brother good-night, he kissed him on either +cheek.<a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> priest returned to his palace, and when he was in bed his secretary +prepared to read to him, as was his wont, but the archbishop sent him +away, desiring to be alone. He tried to think; but the wine he had drunk +was heavy upon him, and he fell asleep. But presently he awoke, feeling +thirsty; he drank some water.... Then he became strangely wide-awake, a +feeling of uneasiness came over him as of some threatening presence +behind him, and again he felt the thirst. He stretched out his hand for +the flagon, but now there was a mist before his eyes and he could not +see, his hand trembled so that he spilled the water. And the uneasiness +was magnified till it became a terror, and the thirst was horrible. He +opened his mouth to call out, but his throat was dry, so that no sound +came. He tried to rise from his bed, but his limbs were heavy and he +could not move. He breathed quicker and quicker, and his skin was +extraordinarily dry. The terror became an agony; it was unbearable. He +wanted to bury his face in the pillows to hide it from<a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a> him; he felt the +hair on his head hard and dry, and it stood on end! He called to God for +help, but no sound came from his mouth. Then the terror took shape and +form, and he knew that behind him was standing Doņa Sodina, and she was +looking at him with terrible, reproachful eyes. And a second Doņa Sodina +came and stood at the end of the bed, and another came by her side, and +the room was filled with them. And his thirst was horrible; he tried to +moisten his mouth with spittle, but the source of it was dry. Cramps +seized his limbs, so that he writhed with pain. Presently a red glow +fell upon the room and it became hot and hotter, till he gasped for +breath; it blinded him, but he could not close his eyes. And he knew it +was the glow of hell-fire, for in his ears rang the groans of souls in +torment, and among the voices he recognised that of Doņa Sodina, and +then—then he heard his own voice. And, in the livid heat, he saw +himself in his episcopal robes, lying on the ground, chained to Doņa +Sodina, hand and foot. And he knew that as long as heaven and earth +should last, the torment of hell would continue.</p> + +<p>When the priests came in to their master<a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a> in the morning, they found him +lying dead, with his eyes wide open, staring with a ghastly brilliancy +into the unknown. Then there was weeping and lamentation, and from house +to house the people told one another that the archbishop had died in his +sleep. The bells were set tolling, and as Don Sebastian, in his +solitude, heard them, referring to the chief ingredient of that strange +wine from Cordova, he permitted himself the only jest of his life.</p> + +<p>'It was <i>Belladonna</i> that sent his body to the worms; and it was +<i>Belladonna</i> that sent his soul to hell.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> chronicle does not state whether the thought of his brother's +heritage had ever entered Don Sebastian's head; but the fact remains +that he was sole heir, and the archbishop had gathered the loaves and +fishes to such purpose during his life that his death made Don Sebastian +one of the wealthiest men in Spain. The simplest<a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a> actions in this world, +oh Martin Tupper! have often the most unforeseen results.</p> + +<p>Now, Don Sebastian had always been ambitious, and his changed +circumstances made him realise more clearly than ever that his merit was +worthy of a brilliant arena. The times were propitious, for the old king +had just died, and the new one had sent away the army of priests and +monks which had turned every day into a Sunday; people said that God +Almighty had had His day, and that the heathen deities had come to rule +in His stead. From all corners of Spain gallants were coming to enjoy +the sunshine, and everyone who could make a compliment or a graceful bow +was sure of a welcome.</p> + +<p>So Don Sebastian prepared to go to Madrid. But before leaving his native +town he thought well to appease a possibly vengeful Providence by +erecting in the cathedral a chapel in honour of his patron saint; not +that he thought the saints would trouble themselves about the death of +his brother, even though the causes of it were not entirely natural, but +Don Sebastian remembered that Pablo was an archbishop, and the fact +caused him a certain anxiety.<a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a> He called together architects and +sculptors, and ordered them to erect an edifice befitting his dignity; +and being a careful man, as all Spaniards are, thought he would serve +himself as well as the saint, and bade the sculptors make an image of +Doņa Sodina and an image of himself, in order that he might use the +chapel also as a burial-place.</p> + +<p>To pay for this, Don Sebastian left the revenue of several of his +brother's farms, and then, with a peaceful conscience, set out for the +capital.</p> + +<p>At Madrid he laid himself out to gain the favour of his sovereign, and +by dint of unceasing flattery soon received much of the king's +attention; and presently Philip deigned to ask his advice on petty +matters. And since Don Sebastian took care to advise as he saw the king +desired, the latter concluded that the courtier was a man of stamina and +ability, and began to consult him on matters of state. Don Sebastian +opined that the pleasure of the prince must always come before the +welfare of the nation, and the king was so impressed with his sagacity +that one day he asked his opinion on a question of precedence—to the +indignation of the most famous councillors in the land.<a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a></p> + +<p>But the haughty soul of Don Sebastian chafed because he was only one +among many favourites. The court was full of flatterers as assiduous and +as obsequious as himself; his proud Castilian blood could brook no +companions.... But one day, as he was moodily waiting in the royal +antechamber, thinking of these things, it occurred to him that a certain +profession had always been in great honour among princes, and he +remembered that he had a cousin of eighteen, who was being educated in a +convent near Xiormonez. She was beautiful. With buoyant heart he went to +his house and told his steward to fetch her from the convent at once. +Within a fortnight she was at Madrid.... Mercia was presented to the +queen in the presence of Philip, and Don Sebastian noticed that the +royal eye lighted up as he gazed on the bashful maiden. Then all the +proud Castilian had to do was to shut his eyes and allow the king to +make his own opportunities. Within a week Mercia was created maid of +honour to the queen, and Don Sebastian was seized with an indisposition +which confined him to his room.</p> + +<p>The king paid his court royally, which is,<a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a> boldly; and Doņa Mercia had +received in the convent too religious an education not to know that it +was her duty to grant the king whatever it graciously pleased him to +ask....</p> + +<p>When Don Sebastian recovered from his illness, he found the world at his +feet, for everyone was talking of the king's new mistress, and it was +taken as a matter of course that her cousin and guardian should take a +prominent part in the affairs of the country. But Don Sebastian was +furious! He went to the king and bitterly reproached him for thus +dishonouring him.... Philip was a humane and generous-minded man, and +understood that with a certain temperament it might be annoying to have +one's ward philander with a king, so he did his best to console the +courtier. He called him his friend and brother; he told him he would +always love him, but Don Sebastian would not be consoled. And nothing +would comfort him except to be made High Admiral of the Fleet. Philip +was charmed to settle the matter so simply, and as he delighted in +generosity when to be generous cost him nothing, he also created Don +Sebastian Duke of Losas, and gave him, into the<a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a> bargain, the hand of +the richest heiress in Spain.</p> + +<p>And that is the end of the story of the punctiliousness of Don +Sebastian. With his second wife he lived many years, beloved of his +sovereign, courted by the world, honoured by all, till he was visited by +the Destroyer of Delights and the Leveller of the Grandeur of this +World....</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Towards</span> evening, the Duke of Losas passed my hotel, and, seeing me at +the door, asked if I had read the manuscript.</p> + +<p>'I thought it interesting,' I said, a little coldly, for, of course, I +knew no Englishman would have acted like Don Sebastian.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>'It is not half so interesting as a good dinner.'</p> + +<p>At these words I felt bound to offer him such hospitality as the hotel +afforded. I found him a very agreeable messmate. He told me the further +history of his family,<a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a> which nearly became extinct at the end of the +last century, since the only son of the seventh duke had, unfortunately, +not been born of any duchess. But Ferdinand, who was then King of Spain, +was unwilling that an ancient family should die out, and was, at the +same time, sorely in want of money; so the titles and honours of the +house were continued to the son of the seventh duke, and King Ferdinand +built himself another palace.</p> + +<p>'But now,' said my guest, mournfully shaking his head, 'it is finished. +My palace and a few acres of barren rock are all that remain to me of +the lands of my ancestors, and I am the last of the line.'</p> + +<p>But I bade him not despair. He was a bachelor and a duke, and not yet +forty. I advised him to go to the United States before they put a duty +on foreign noblemen; this was before the war; and I recommended him to +take Maida Vale and Manchester on his way. Personally, I gave him a +letter of introduction to an heiress of my acquaintance at Hampstead; +for even in these days it is not so bad a thing to be Duchess of Losas, +and the present duke has no brother.<a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a></p> + + +<p><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="A_BAD_EXAMPLE" id="A_BAD_EXAMPLE"></a>A BAD EXAMPLE</h3> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">I</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">James Clinton</span> was a clerk in the important firm of Haynes, Bryan & Co., and he +held in it an important position. He was the very essence of +respectability, and he earned one hundred and fifty-six pounds per +annum. James Clinton believed in the Church of England and the +Conservative party, in the greatness of Great Britain, in the need of +more ships for the navy, and in the superiority of city men to other +members of the commonweal.</p> + +<p>'It's the man of business that makes the world go round,' he was in the +habit of saying. 'D'you think, sir, that fifty thousand country squires +could rule Great Britain? No; it's the city man, the man who's 'ad a +sound business training, that's made England what it is. And that is why +I 'old the Conservative party most capable of governing this mighty +empire, because it 'as taken the business man to its 'eart. The +strength<a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a> of the Conservative party lies in its brewers and its city +men, its bankers and iron-founders and stockbrokers; and as long as the +Liberal party is a nest of Socialists and Trades-Unionists and +Anarchists, we city men cannot and will not give it our support.'</p> + +<p>Except for the lamentable conclusion of his career, he would undoubtedly +have become an Imperialist, and the Union of the Great Anglo-Saxon Races +would have found in him the sturdiest of supporters!</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton was a little, spindly-shanked man, with weak, myopic eyes, +protruding fishlike behind his spectacles. His hair was scant, worn long +to conceal the baldness of the crown—and Cæsar was pleased to wear a +wreath of laurel for the same purpose.... Mr Clinton wore small +side-whiskers, but was otherwise clean-shaven, and the lack of beard +betrayed the weakness of his mouth; his teeth were decayed and yellow. +He was always dressed in a black tail-coat, shiny at the elbows; and he +wore a shabby, narrow black tie, with a false diamond stud in his +dickey. His grey trousers were baggy at the knees and frayed at the +edges; his boots had a masculine and English breadth of toe.<a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a> His top +hat, of antiquated shape, was kept carefully brushed, but always looked +as if it were suffering from a recent shower. When he had deserted the +frivolous byways in which bachelordom is wont to disport itself for the +sober path of the married man, he had begun to carry to and from the +city a small black bag to impress upon the world at large his eminent +respectability. Mr Clinton was married to Amy, second daughter of John +Rayner, Esquire, of Peckham Rye....</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">II</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Every</span> morning Mr Clinton left his house in Camberwell in time to catch +the eight-fifty-five train for the city. He made his way up Ludgate +Hill, walking sideways, with a projection of the left part of his body, +a habit he had acquired from constantly slipping past and between people +who walked less rapidly than himself. Such persons always annoyed him; +if they were not in a hurry he was, and they had no right to obstruct +the way; and it was improper for a city man to loiter in the +morning—the luncheon-hour was the time<a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a> for loitering, no one was then +in haste; but in the morning and at night on the way back to the +station, one ought to walk at the same pace as everybody else. If Mr +Clinton had been head of a firm, he would never have had in his office a +man who sauntered in the morning. If a man wanted to loiter, let him go +to the West-end; there he could lounge about all day. But the city was +meant for business, and there wasn't time for West-end airs in the city.</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton reached his office at a quarter to ten, except when the +train, by some mistake, arrived up to time, when he arrived at +nine-thirty precisely. On these occasions he would sit in his room with +the door open, awaiting the coming of the office-boy, who used to arrive +two minutes before Mr Clinton and was naturally much annoyed when the +punctuality of the train prepared him a reprimand.</p> + +<p>'Is that you, Dick?' called Mr Clinton, when he heard a footstep.</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir,' answered the boy, appearing.</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton looked up from his nails, which he was paring with a pair of +pocket scissors.</p> + +<p>'What is the meaning of this? You don't call this 'alf-past nine, do +you?'<a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a></p> + +<p>'Very sorry,' said the boy; 'it wasn't my fault, sir; train was late.'</p> + +<p>'It's not the first time I've 'ad to speak to you about this, Dick; you +know quite well that the company is always unpunctual; you should come +by an earlier train.'</p> + +<p>The office-boy looked sulky and did not answer. Mr Clinton proceeded, 'I +'ad to open the office myself. As assistant-manager, you know quite well +that it is not my duty to open the office. You receive sixteen shillings +a week to be 'ere at 'alf-past nine, and if you don't feel yourself +capable of performing the duties for which you was engaged, you should +give notice.... Don't let it occur again.'</p> + +<p>But usually, on arriving, Mr Clinton took off his tail-coat and put on a +jacket, manufactured from the office paper a pair of false cuffs to keep +his own clean, and having examined the nibs in both his penholders and +sharpened his pencil, set to work. From then till one o'clock he +remained at his desk, solemnly poring over figures, casting accounts, +comparing balance-sheets, writing letters, occasionally going for some +purpose or another into the clerks' office or into the room of one of +the partners. At<a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a> one he went to luncheon, taking with him the portion +of his <i>Daily Telegraph</i> which he was in the habit of reading during +that meal. He went to an A. B. C. shop and ordered a roll and butter, a +cup of chocolate and a scone. He divided his pat of butter into two, one +half being for the roll and the other for the scone; he drank one moiety +of the cup of chocolate after eating the roll, and the other after +eating the scone. Meanwhile he read pages three and four of the <i>Daily +Telegraph</i>. At a quarter to two he folded the paper, put down sixpence +in payment, and slowly walked back to the office. He returned to his +desk and there spent the afternoon solemnly poring over figures, casting +accounts, comparing balance-sheets, writing letters, occasionally going +for some purpose or another into the clerks' office or into the room of +one of the partners. At ten minutes to six he wiped his pens and put +them back in the tray, tidied his desk and locked his drawer. He took +off his paper cuffs, washed his hands, wiped his face, brushed his hair, +arranging the long whisps over the occipital baldness, and combed his +whiskers. At six he left the office, caught the six-seventeen train from +Ludgate Hill,<a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a> and thus made his way back to Camberwell and the bosom of +his family.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">III</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">On</span> Sunday, Mr Clinton put on Sunday clothes, and heading the little +procession formed by Mrs Clinton and the two children, went to church, +carrying in his hand a prayer book and a hymn book. After dinner he took +a little walk with his wife along the neighbouring roads, avenues and +crescents, examining the exterior of the houses, stopping now and then +to look at a garden or a well-kept house, or trying to get a peep into +some room. Mr and Mrs Clinton criticised as they went along, comparing +the window curtains, blaming a door in want of paint, praising a +well-whitened doorstep....</p> + +<p>The Clintons lived in the fifth house down in the Adonis Road, and the +house was distinguishable from its fellows by the yellow curtains with +which Mrs Clinton had furnished all the windows. Mrs Clinton was a woman +of taste. Before marriage, the happy pair, accompanied by Mrs Clinton's +mother, had gone house-hunting, and fixed on the<a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a> Adonis Road, which was +cheap, respectable and near the station. Mrs Clinton would dearly have +liked a house on the right-hand side of the road, which had nooks and +angles and curiously-shaped windows. But Mr Clinton was firm in his +refusal, and his mother-in-law backed him up.</p> + +<p>'I dare say they're artistic,' he said, in answer to his wife's +argument, 'but a man in my position don't want art—he wants +substantiality. If the governor'—the governor was the senior partner of +the firm—'if the governor was going to take a 'ouse I'd 'ave nothing to +say against it, but in my position art's not necessary.'</p> + +<p>'Quite right, James,' said his mother-in-law; 'I 'old with what you say +entirely.'</p> + +<p>Even in his early youth Mr Clinton had a fine sense of the +responsibility of life, and a truly English feeling for the fitness of +things.</p> + +<p>So the Clintons took one of the twenty-three similar houses on the +left-hand side of the street, and there lived in peaceful happiness. But +Mr Clinton always pointed the finger of scorn at the houses opposite, +and he never rubbed the back of his hands so heartily as when he could +point out to his wife that such-and-such a number was having its roof +re<a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>paired; and when the builder went bankrupt, he cut out the notice in +the paper and sent it to his spouse anonymously....</p> + +<p>At the beginning of August, Mr Clinton was accustomed, with his wife and +family, to desert the sultry populousness of London for the solitude and +sea air of Ramsgate. He read the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> by the sad sea waves, +and made castles in the sand with his children. Then he changed his +pepper-and-salt trousers for white flannel, but nothing on earth would +induce him to forsake his top hat. He entirely agreed with the heroes of +England's proudest epoch—of course I mean the middle Victorian—that +the top hat was the sign-manual, the mark, the distinction of the true +Englishman, the completest expression of England's greatness. Mr Clinton +despised all foreigners, and although he would never have ventured to +think of himself in the same breath with an English lord, he felt +himself the superior of any foreign nobleman.</p> + +<p>'I dare say they're all right in their way, but with these foreigners +you don't feel they're gentlemen. I don't know what it is, but there's +something, you understand, don't you? And I do like a man to be a +gentleman. I thank God I'm an Englishman!'<a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, it chanced one day that the senior partner of the firm was summoned +to serve on a jury at a coroner's inquest, and Mr Clinton, furnished +with the excuse that Mr Haynes was out of town, was told to go in his +stead. Mr Clinton had never performed that part of a citizen's duties, +for on becoming a householder he had hit upon the expedient of being +summoned for his rates, so that his name should be struck off the +coroner's list; he was very indifferent to the implied dishonour. It was +with some curiosity, therefore, that he repaired to the court on the +morning of the inquest.</p> + +<p>The weather was cold and grey, and a drizzling rain was falling. Mr +Clinton did not take a 'bus, since by walking he could put in his pocket +the threepence which he meant to charge the firm for his fare. The +streets were wet and muddy, and people walked close against the houses +to avoid the splash of passing vehicles. Mr Clinton thought of the +jocose solicitor who was in the habit of taking an articled clerk with +him on muddy days, to walk on the outside of the street and<a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a> protect his +master from the flying mud. The story particularly appealed to Mr +Clinton; that solicitor must have been a fine man of business. As he +walked leisurely along under his umbrella, Mr Clinton looked without +envy upon the city men who drove along in hansoms.</p> + +<p>'Some of us,' he said, 'are born great, others achieve greatness. A man +like that'—he pointed with his mind's finger at a passing alderman—'a +man like that can go about in 'is carriage and nobody can say anything +against it. 'E's worked 'imself up from the bottom.'</p> + +<p>But when he came down Parliament Street to Westminster Abbey he felt a +different atmosphere, and he was roused to Jeremiac indignation at the +sight, in a passing cab, of a gilded youth in an opera hat, with his +coat buttoned up to hide his dress clothes.</p> + +<p>'That's the sort of young feller I can't abide,' said Mr Clinton. 'And +if I was a member of Parliament I'd stop it. That's what comes of 'aving +too much money and nothing to do. If I was a member of the aristocracy +I'd give my sons five years in an accountant's office. There's nothing +like a sound business training for making a man.'<a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a> He paused in the road +and waved his disengaged hand. 'Now, what should I be if I 'adn't 'ad a +sound business training?'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton arrived at the mortuary, a gay red and white building, which +had been newly erected and consecrated by a duke with much festivity and +rejoicing. Mr Clinton was sworn with the other jurymen, and with them +repaired to see the bodies on which they were to sit. But Mr Clinton was +squeamish.</p> + +<p>'I don't like corpses,' he said. 'I object to them on principle.'</p> + +<p>He was told he must look at them.</p> + +<p>'Very well,' said Mr Clinton. 'You can take a 'orse to the well but you +can't make 'im drink.' When it came to his turn to look through the pane +of glass behind which was the body, he shut his eyes.</p> + +<p>'I can't say I'm extra gone on corpses,' he said, as they walked back to +the Court. 'The smell of them ain't what you might call +<i>eau-de-Cologne</i>.' The other jurymen laughed. Mr Clinton often said +witty things like that.</p> + +<p>'Well, gentlemen,' said the coroner, rubbing his hands, 'we've only got +three cases this morning, so I sha'n't have to<a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a> keep you long. And they +all seem to be quite simple.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">V</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> first was an old man of seventy; he had been a respectable, +hard-working man till two years before, when a paralytic stroke had +rendered one side of him completely powerless. He lost his work. He was +alone in the world—his wife was dead, and his only daughter had not +been heard of for thirty years—and gradually he had spent his little +savings; one by one he sent his belongings to the pawn shop, his pots +and pans, his clothes, his arm-chair, finally his bedstead, then he +died. The doctor said the man was terribly emaciated, his stomach was +shrivelled up for want of food, he could have eaten nothing for two days +before death.... The jury did not trouble to leave the box; the foreman +merely turned round and whispered to them a minute; they all nodded, and +a verdict was returned in accordance with the doctor's evidence!<a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a></p> + +<p>The next inquiry was upon a child of two. The coroner leant his head +wearily on his hand, such cases were so common! The babe's mother came +forward to give her evidence—a pale little woman, with thin and hollow +cheeks, her eyes red and dim with weeping. She sobbed as she told the +coroner that her husband had left her, and she was obliged to support +herself and two children. She was out of work, and food had been rather +scanty; she had suckled the dead baby as long as she could, but her milk +dried up. Two days before, on waking up in the morning, the child she +held in her arms was cold and dead. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. +Want of food! And the jury returned their verdict, framed in a beautiful +and elaborate sentence, in accordance with the evidence.</p> + +<p>The last case was a girl of twenty. She had been found in the Thames; a +bargee told how he saw a confused black mass floating on the water, and +he put a boat-hook in the skirt, tying the body up to the boat while he +called the police, he was so used to such things! In the girl's pocket +was found a pathetic little letter to the coroner, begging his pardon +for the trouble she was causing,<a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a> saying she had been sent away from her +place, and was starving, and had resolved to put an end to her troubles +by throwing herself in the river. She was pregnant. The medical man +stated that there were signs on the body of very great privation, so the +jury returned a verdict that the deceased had committed suicide whilst +in a state of temporary insanity!</p> + +<p>The coroner stretched his arms and blew his nose, and the jury went +their way.</p> + +<p>But Mr Clinton stood outside the mortuary door, meditating, and the +coroner's officer remarked that it was a wet day.</p> + +<p>'Could I 'ave another look at the bodies?' timidly asked the clerk, +stirring himself out of his contemplation.</p> + +<p>The coroner's officer looked at him with surprise, and laughed.</p> + +<p>'Yes, if you like.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton looked through the glass windows at the bodies, and he +carefully examined their faces; he looked at them one after another +slowly, and it seemed as if he could not tear himself away. Finally he +turned round, his face was very pale, and it had quite a strange +expression on it; he felt very sick.<a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a></p> + +<p>'Thank you!' he said to the coroner's officer, and walked away. But +after a few steps he turned back, touching the man on the arm. 'D'you +'ave many cases like that?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Why, you look quite upset,' said the coroner's officer, with amusement. +'I can see you're not used to such things. You'd better go to the pub. +opposite and 'ave three 'aporth of brandy.'</p> + +<p>'They seemed rather painful cases,' said Mr Clinton, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>'Oh, it was a slack day to-day. Nothing like what it is usually this +time of year.'</p> + +<p>'They all died of starvation—starvation, and nothing else.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose they did, more or less,' replied the officer.</p> + +<p>'D'you 'ave many cases like that?'</p> + +<p>'Starvation cases? Lor' bless you! on a 'eavy day we'll 'ave 'alf a +dozen, easy.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' said Mr Clinton.</p> + +<p>'Well, I must be getting on with my work,' said the officer—they were +standing on the doorstep and he looked at the public-house opposite, but +Mr Clinton paid no further attention to him. He began to walk slowly +away citywards.<a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a></p> + +<p>'Well, you are a rummy old file!' said the coroner's officer.</p> + +<p>But presently a mist came before Mr Clinton's eyes, everything seemed +suddenly extraordinary, he had an intense pain and he felt himself +falling. He opened his eyes slowly, and found himself sitting on a +doorstep; a policeman was shaking him, asking what his name was. A woman +standing by was holding his top hat; he noticed that his trousers were +muddy, and mechanically he pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe +them.</p> + +<p>He looked vacantly at the policeman asking questions. The woman asked +him if he was better. He motioned her to give him his hat; he put it +feebly on his head and, staggering to his feet, walked unsteadily away.</p> + +<p>The rain drizzled down impassively, and cabs passing swiftly splashed up +the yellow mud....</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr Clinton</span> went back to the office; it was his boast that for ten years +he had never<a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a> missed a day. But he was dazed; he did his work +mechanically, and so distracted was he that, on going home in the +evening, he forgot to remove his paper cuffs, and his wife remarked upon +them while they were supping. Mrs Clinton was a short, stout person, +with an appearance of immense determination; her black, shiny hair was +parted in the middle—the parting was broad and very white—severely +brushed back and gathered into a little knot at the back of the head; +her face was red and strongly lined, her eyes spirited, her nose +aggressive, her mouth resolute. Everyone has some one procedure which +seems most exactly to suit him—a slim youth bathing in a shaded stream, +an alderman standing with his back to the fire and his thumbs in the +arm-holes of his waistcoat—and Mrs Clinton expressed her complete self, +exhibiting every trait and attribute, on Sunday in church, when she sat +in the front pew self-reliantly singing the hymns in the wrong key. It +was then that she seemed more than ever the personification of a full +stop. Her morals were above suspicion, and her religion Low Church.</p> + +<p>'They've moved into the second 'ouse<a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a> down,' she remarked to her +husband. 'And Mrs Tilly's taken 'er summer curtains down at last.' Mrs +Clinton spent most of her time in watching her neighbours' movements, +and she and her husband always discussed at the supper-table the events +of the day, but this time he took no notice of her remark. He pushed +away his cold meat with an expression of disgust.</p> + +<p>'You don't seem up to the mark to-night, Jimmy,' said Mrs Clinton.</p> + +<p>'I served on a jury to-day in place of the governor, and it gave me +rather a turn.'</p> + +<p>'Why, was there anything particular?'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton crumbled up his bread, rolling it about on the table.</p> + +<p>'Only some poor things starved to death.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton shrugged her shoulders. 'Why couldn't they go to the +workhouse, I wonder? I've no patience with people like that.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton looked at her for a moment, then rose from the table. 'Well, +dear, I think I'll get to bed; I daresay I shall be all right in the +morning.'</p> + +<p>'That's right,' said Mrs Clinton; 'you get to bed and I'll bring you +something 'ot. I expect you've got a bit of a chill and a good +perspiration'll do you a world of good.'<a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a></p> + +<p>She mixed bad whisky with harmless water, and stood over her husband +while he patiently drank the boiling mixture. Then she piled a couple of +extra blankets on him and went down stairs to have her usual nip, +'Scotch and cold,' before going to bed herself.</p> + +<p>All night Mr Clinton tossed from side to side; the heat was unbearable, +and he threw off the clothes. His restlessness became so great that he +got out of bed and walked up and down the room—a pathetically +ridiculous object in his flannel nightshirt, from which his thin legs +protruded grotesquely. Going back to bed, he fell into an uneasy sleep; +but waking or sleeping, he had before his eyes the faces of the three +horrible bodies he had seen at the mortuary. He could not blot out the +image of the thin, baby face with the pale, open eyes, the white face +drawn and thin, hideous in its starved, dead shapelessness. And he saw +the drawn, wrinkled face of the old man, with the stubbly beard; looking +at it, he felt the long pain of hunger, the agony of the hopeless +morrow. But he shuddered with terror at the thought of the drowned girl +with the sunken eyes, the horrible dis<a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>colouration of putrefaction; and +Mr Clinton buried his face in his pillow, sobbing, sobbing very silently +so as not to wake his wife....</p> + +<p>The morning came at last and found him feverish and parched, unable to +move. Mrs Clinton sent for the doctor, a slow, cautious Scotchman, in +whose wisdom Mrs Clinton implicitly relied, since he always agreed with +her own idea of her children's ailments. This prudent gentleman ventured +to assert that Mr Clinton had caught cold and had something wrong with +his lungs. Then, promising to send medicine and come again next day, +went off on his rounds. Mr Clinton grew worse; he became delirious. When +his wife, smoothing his pillow, asked him how he felt, he looked at her +with glassy eyes.</p> + +<p>'Lor' bless you!' he muttered, 'on a 'eavy day we'll 'ave 'alf a dozen, +easy.'</p> + +<p>'What's this he's talking about?' asked the doctor, next day.</p> + +<p>''E was serving on a jury the day before yesterday, and my opinion is +that it's got on 'is brain,' answered Mrs Clinton.</p> + +<p>'Oh, that's nothing. You needn't worry about that. I daresay it'll turn +to clothes<a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a> or religion before he's done. People talk of funny things +when they're in that state. He'll probably think he's got two hundred +pairs of trousers or a million pounds a year.'</p> + +<p>A couple of days later the doctor came to the final conclusion that it +was a case of typhoid, and pronounced Mr Clinton very ill. He was +indeed; he lay for days, between life and death, on his back, looking at +people with dull, unknowing eyes, clutching feebly at the bed-clothes. +And for hours he would mutter strange things to himself so quietly that +one could not hear. But at last Dame Nature and the Scotch doctor +conquered the microbes, and Mr Clinton became better.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> day Mrs Clinton was talking to a neighbour in the bedroom, the +patient was so quiet that they thought him asleep.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I've 'ad a time with 'im, I can tell<a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a> you,' said Mrs Clinton. 'No +one knows what I've gone through.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I must say,' said the friend, 'you haven't spared yourself; +you've nursed him like a professional nurse.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton crossed her hands over her stomach and looked at her husband +with self-satisfaction. But Mr Clinton was awake, staring in front of +him with wide-open, fixed eyes; various thoughts confusedly ran through +his head.</p> + +<p>'Isn't 'e looking strange?' whispered Mrs Clinton.</p> + +<p>The two women kept silence, watching him.</p> + +<p>'Amy, are you there?' asked Mr Clinton, suddenly, without turning his +eyes.</p> + +<p>'Yes, dear. Is there anything you want?'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton did not reply for several minutes; the women waited in +silence.</p> + +<p>'Bring me a Bible, Amy,' he said at last.</p> + +<p>'A Bible, Jimmy?' asked Mrs Clinton, in astonishment.</p> + +<p>'Yes, dear!'</p> + +<p>She looked anxiously at her friend.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I do 'ope the delirium isn't coming on again,' she whispered, and, +pretending to smooth his pillow, she passed her hand over<a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a> his forehead +to see if it was hot. 'Are you quite comfortable, dear?' she asked, +without further allusion to the Bible.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Amy, quite!'</p> + +<p>'Don't you think you could go to sleep for a little while?'</p> + +<p>'I don't feel sleepy, I want to read; will you bring me the Bible?'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton looked helplessly at her friend; she feared something was +wrong, and she didn't know what to do. But the neighbour, with a +significant look, pointed to the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, which was lying on a +chair. Mrs Clinton brightened up and took it to her husband.</p> + +<p>'Here's the paper, dear.' Mr Clinton made a slight movement of +irritation.</p> + +<p>'I don't want it; I want the Bible.' Mrs Clinton looked at her friend +more helplessly than ever.</p> + +<p>'I've never known 'im ask for such a thing before,' she whispered, 'and +'e's never missed reading the <i>Telegraph</i> a single day since we was +married.'</p> + +<p>'I don't think you ought to read,' she said aloud to her husband. 'But +the doctor'll be here soon, and I'll ask 'im then.'</p> + +<p>The doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully.<a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a> 'I don't think there'd be any +harm in letting him have a Bible,' he said, 'but you'd better keep an +eye on him.... I suppose there's no insanity in the family?'</p> + +<p>'No, doctor, not as far as I know. I've always 'eard that my mother's +uncle was very eccentric, but that wouldn't account for this, because we +wasn't related before we married.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton took the Bible, and, turning to the New Testament, began to +read. He read chapter after chapter, pausing now and again to meditate, +or reading a second time some striking passage, till at last he finished +the first gospel. Then he turned to his wife.</p> + +<p>'Amy, d'you know, I think I should like to do something for my +feller-creatures. I don't think we're meant to live for ourselves alone +in this world.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton was quite overcome; she turned away to hide the tears which +suddenly filled her eyes, but the shock was too much for her, and she +had to leave the room so that her husband might not see her emotion; she +immediately sent for the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Oh, doctor,' she said, her voice broken with sobs, 'I'm afraid—I'm +afraid my poor 'usband's going off 'is 'ead.'<a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a></p> + +<p>And she told him of the incessant reading and the remark Mr Clinton had +just made. The doctor looked grave, and began thinking.</p> + +<p>'You're quite sure there's no insanity in the family?' he asked again.</p> + +<p>'Not to the best of my belief, doctor.'</p> + +<p>'And you've noticed nothing strange in him? His mind hasn't been running +on money or clothes?'</p> + +<p>'No, doctor; I wish it 'ad. I shouldn't 'ave thought anything of that; +there's something natural in a man talking about stocks and shares and +trousers, but I've never 'eard 'im say anything like this before. He was +always a wonderfully steady man.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr Clinton</span> became daily stronger, and soon he was quite well. He resumed +his work at the office, and in every way seemed to have regained his old +self. He gave utterance to no more startling theories, and the casual +observer might have noticed no<a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a> difference between him and the model +clerk of six months back. But Mrs Clinton had received too great a shock +to look upon her husband with casual eyes, and she noticed in his manner +an alteration which disquieted her. He was much more silent than before; +he would take his supper without speaking a word, without making the +slightest sign to show that he had heard some remark of Mrs Clinton's. +He did not read the paper in the evening as he had been used to do, but +would go upstairs to the top of the house, and stand by an open window +looking at the stars. He had an enigmatical way of smiling which Mrs +Clinton could not understand. Then he had lost his old punctuality—he +would come home at all sorts of hours, and, when his wife questioned +him, would merely shrug his shoulders and smile strangely. Once he told +her that he had been wandering about looking at men's lives.</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton thought that a very unsatisfactory explanation of his +unpunctuality, and after a long consultation with the cautious doctor +came to the conclusion that it was her duty to discover what her husband +did during the long time that elasped between his leaving the office and +returning home.<a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a></p> + +<p>So one day, at about six, she stationed herself at the door of the big +building in which were Mr Clinton's offices, and waited. Presently he +appeared in the doorway, and after standing for a minute or two on the +threshold, ever with the enigmatical smile hovering on his lips, came +down the steps and walked slowly along the crowded street. His wife +walked behind him; and he was not difficult to follow, for he had lost +his old, quick, business-like step, and sauntered along, looking to the +right and to the left, carelessly, as if he had not awaiting him at home +his duties as the father of a family.... After a while he turned down a +side street, and his wife followed with growing astonishment; she could +not imagine where he was going. Just then a little flower-girl passed by +and offered him a yellow rose. He stopped and looked at her; Mrs Clinton +could see that she was a grimy little girl, with a shock of unkempt +brown hair and a very dirty apron; but Mr Clinton put his hand on her +head and looked into her eyes; then he gave her a penny, and, stooping +down, lightly kissed her hair.</p> + +<p>'Bless you, my dear!' he said, and passed on.<a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a></p> + +<p>'Well, I never!' said Mrs Clinton, quite aghast; and as she walked by +the flower girl, snorted at her and looked so savagely that the poor +little maiden quite started. Mr Clinton walked very slowly, stopping now +and then to look at a couple of women seated on a doorstep, or the +children round an ice-cream stall. Mrs Clinton saw him pay a penny and +give an ice to a little child who was looking with longing eyes at its +more fortunate companions as they licked out the little glass cups. He +remained quite a long while watching half a dozen young girls dancing to +the music of a barrel organ, and again, to his wife's disgust, Mr +Clinton gave money.</p> + +<p>'We shall end in the work'ouse if this goes on,' muttered Mrs Clinton, +and she pursed up her lips more tightly than ever, thinking of the +explanation she meant to have when her mate came home.</p> + +<p>At last Mr Clinton came to a narrow slum, down which he turned, and so +filthy was it that the lady almost feared to follow. But indignation, +curiosity, and a stern sense of duty prevailed. She went along with +up-turned nose, making her way carefully between cabbages and other +vegetable<a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a> refuse, sidling up against a house to avoid a dead cat which +lay huddled up in the middle of the way, with a great red wound in its +head.</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton was disgusted to see her husband enter a public-house.</p> + +<p>'Is this where he gets to?' she said to herself, and, looking through +the door, saw him talk with two or three rough men who were standing at +the bar, drinking 'four 'arf.'</p> + +<p>But she waited determinedly. She had made up her mind to see the matter +to the end, come what might; she was willing to wait all night.</p> + +<p>After a time he came out, and, going through a narrow passage made his +way into an alley. Then he went straight up to a big-boned, +coarse-featured woman in a white apron, who was standing at an open +door, and when he had said a few words to her, the two entered the house +and the door was closed behind them.</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton suddenly saw it all.</p> + +<p>'I am deceived!' she said tragically, and she crackled with virtuous +indignation.</p> + +<p>Her first impulse was to knock furiously at the door and force her way +in to bear her James away from the clutches of the<a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a> big-boned siren. But +she feared that her rival would meet her with brute force, and the +possibility of defeat made her see the unladylikeness of the proceeding. +So she turned on her heel, holding up her skirts and her nose against +the moral contamination and made her way out of the low place. She +walked tempestuously down to Fleet Street, jumped fiercely on a 'bus, +frantically caught the train to Camberwell, and, having reached her +house in the Adonis Road, flung herself furiously down on a chair and +gasped,—</p> + +<p>'Oh!'</p> + +<p>Then she got ready for her husband's return.</p> + +<p>'Well?' she said, when he came in; and she looked daggers.... 'Well?'</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid I'm later than usual, my dear.' It was, in fact, past nine +o'clock.</p> + +<p>'Don't talk to me!' she replied, with a vigorous jerk of her head. 'I +know what you've been up to.'</p> + +<p>'What do you mean, my love?' he gently asked.</p> + +<p>She positively snorted with indignation; she had rolled her handkerchief +into a ball, and nervously dabbed the palms of her<a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a> hands with it. 'I +followed you this afternoon, and I saw you go into that 'ouse with that +low woman. What now? Eh?' She spoke with the greatest possible emphasis.</p> + +<p>'Woman!' said Mr Clinton, with a smile, 'What are you to me?'</p> + +<p>'Don't call me woman!' said Mrs Clinton, very angrily. 'What am I to +you? I'm your wife, and I've got the marriage certificate in my pocket +at this moment.' She slapped her pocket loudly. 'I'm your wife, and you +ought to be ashamed of yourself.'</p> + +<p>'Wife! You are no more to me than any other woman!'</p> + +<p>'And you 'ave the audacity to tell me that to my face! Oh, you—you +villain! I won't stand it, I tell you; I won't stand it. I know I can't +get a divorce—the laws of England are scandalous—but I'll 'ave a +judicious separation.... I might have known it, you're all alike, every +one of you; that's 'ow you men treat women. You take advantage of their +youth and beauty, and then.... Oh, you villain! Here 'ave I worked +myself to the bone for you and brought up your children, and I don't +know what I 'aven't done, and now you go and take on with some woman, +and leave me.<a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a> Oh!' She burst into tears. Mr Clinton still smiled, and +there was a curious look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>'Woman! woman!' he said, 'you know not what you say!' He went up to his +wife and laid his hand on her shoulder. 'Dry your tears,' he said, 'and +I will tell you of these things.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton shook herself angrily, keeping her face buried in her pocket +handkerchief, but he turned away without paying more attention to her; +then, standing in front of the glass, he looked at himself earnestly and +began to speak.</p> + +<p>'It was during my illness that my eyes were opened. Lying in bed through +those long hours I thought of the poor souls whose tale I 'ad 'eard in +the coroner's court. And all night I saw their dead faces. I thought of +the misery of mankind and of the 'ardness of men's 'earts.... Then a ray +of light came to me, and I called for a Bible, and I read, and read; and +the light grew into a great glow, and I saw that man was not meant to +live for 'imself alone; that there was something else in life, that it +was man's duty to 'elp his fellers; and I resolved, when I was well, to +do all that in me lay to 'elp the poor<a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a> and the wretched, and faithfully +to carry out those precepts which the Book 'ad taught me.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' sobbed Mrs Clinton, who had looked up and listened +with astonishment to her husband's speech. 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is +he talking about?'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton turned towards her and again put his hand on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>'And that is 'ow I spend my time, Amy. I go into the most miserable +'ouses, into the dirtiest 'oles, the foulest alleys, and I seek to make +men 'appier. I do what I can to 'elp them in their distress, and to show +them that brilliant light which I see so gloriously lighting the way +before me. And now good-night!' He stretched out his arm, and for a +moment let his hand rest above her head; then, turning on his heel, he +left the room.</p> + +<p>Next day Mrs Clinton called on the doctor, and told him of her husband's +strange behaviour. The doctor slowly and meditatively nodded, then he +raised his eyebrows, and with his finger significantly tapped his +head....</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said, 'I think you'd better wait a while and see how things +go on. I'll just write out a prescription, and you can<a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a> give him the +medicine three times a day after meals,' and he ordered the unhappy Mr +Clinton another tonic, which, if it had no effect on that gentleman, +considerably reassured his wife.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IX</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr Clinton</span>, in fact, became worse. He came home later and later every +night, and his wife was disgusted at the state of uncleanness which his +curious wanderings brought about. He refused to take the baths which Mrs +Clinton prepared for him. He was more silent than ever, but when he +spoke it was in biblical language; and always hovered on his lips the +enigmatical smile, and his eyes always had the strange, disconcerting +look. Mrs Clinton perseveringly made him take his medicine, but she lost +faith in its power when, one night at twelve, Mr Clinton brought home +with him a very dirty, ragged man, who looked half-starved and smelt +distinctly alcoholic.</p> + +<p>'Jim,' she said, on seeing the miserable<a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a> object slinking in behind her +husband, 'Jim, what's that?'</p> + +<p>'That, Amy? That is your brother!'</p> + +<p>'My brother? What d'you mean?' cried Mrs Clinton, firing up. 'That's no +brother of mine. I 'aven't got a brother.'</p> + +<p>'It's your brother and my brother. Be good to him.'</p> + +<p>'I tell you it isn't my brother,' repeated Mrs Clinton; 'my brother +Adolphus died when he was two years old, and that's the only brother I +ever 'ad.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton merely looked at her with his usual gentle expression, and +she asked angrily,—</p> + +<p>'What 'ave you brought 'im 'ere for?'</p> + +<p>''E is 'ungry, and I am going to give 'im food; 'e is 'omeless, and I am +going to give 'im shelter.'</p> + +<p>'Shelter? Where?'</p> + +<p>'Here, in my 'ouse, in my bed.'</p> + +<p>'In my bed!' screamed Mrs Clinton. 'Not if I know it! 'Ere, you,' she +said, addressing the man, and pushing past her husband. 'Out you get! +I'm not going to 'ave tramps and loafers in my 'ouse. Get out!' Mrs +Clinton was an energetic woman, and a strong one. Catching hold of her<a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a> +husband's stick, and flourishing it, she opened the front door.</p> + +<p>'Amy! Amy!' expostulated Mr Clinton.</p> + +<p>'Now, then, you be quiet. I've 'ad about enough of you! Get on out, will +you?'</p> + +<p>The man made a rush for the door, and as he scrambled down the steps she +caught him a smart blow on the back, and slammed the door behind him. +Then, returning to the sitting-room, she sank panting on a chair. Mr +Clinton slowly recovered from his surprise.</p> + +<p>'Woman,' he said, this being now his usual mode of address—he spoke +solemnly and sadly—'you 'ave cast out your brother, you 'ave cast out +your husband, you 'ave cast out yourself.'</p> + +<p>'Don't talk to me!' said Mrs Clinton, very wrathfully. 'It's bed time +now; come along upstairs.'</p> + +<p>'I will not come to your bed again. You 'ave refused it to one who was +better than I; and why should I 'ave it? Go, woman; go and leave me.'</p> + +<p>'Now, then, don't come trying your airs on me,' said Mrs Clinton. 'They +won't wash. Come up to bed.'</p> + +<p>'I tell you I will not,' replied Mr Clinton, decisively. 'Go, woman, and +leave me!'<a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a></p> + +<p>'Well, if I do, I sha'n't leave the light; so there!' she said +spitefully, and, taking the lamp, left Mr Clinton in darkness.</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton was not henceforth on the very best of terms with her +husband, but he always treated her with his accustomed gentleness, +though he insisted on spending his nights on the dining-room sofa.</p> + +<p>But perhaps the most objectionable to Mrs Clinton of all her good man's +eccentricities, was that he no longer gave her his week's money every +Saturday afternoon as he had been accustomed to do; the coldness between +them made her unwilling to say anything about it, but the approach of +quarter day forced her to pocket her dignity and ask for the money.</p> + +<p>'Oh, James!'—she no longer called him Jimmy—'will you give me the +money for the rent?'</p> + +<p>'Money?' he answered with the usual smile on his lips. 'I 'ave no +money.'</p> + +<p>'What d'you mean? You've not given me a farthing for ten weeks.'</p> + +<p>'I 'ave given it to those who want it more than I.'</p> + +<p>'You don't mean to tell me that you've given your salary away?'<a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a></p> + +<p>'Yes, dear.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton groaned.</p> + +<p>'Oh, you're dotty!... I can understand giving a threepenny bit, or even +sixpence, at the offertory on Sunday at church, and of course one 'as to +give Christmas-boxes to the tradesmen; but to give your whole salary +away! 'Aven't you got anything left?'</p> + +<p>'No!'</p> + +<p>'You—you aggravating fool! And I'll be bound you gave it to lazy +loafers and tramps and Lord knows what!'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton did not answer; his wife walked rapidly backwards and +forwards, wringing her hands.</p> + +<p>'Well, look here, James,' she said at last. 'It's no use crying over +spilt milk; but from this day you just give me your salary the moment +you receive it. D'you hear? I tell you I will not 'ave any more of your +nonsense.'</p> + +<p>'I shall get no more salaries,' he quietly remarked.</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton looked at him; he was quite calm, and smilingly returned +her glance.</p> + +<p>'What do you mean by that?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'I am no longer at the office.'<a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a></p> + +<p>'James! You 'aven't been sacked?' she screamed.</p> + +<p>'Oh, they said I did not any longer properly attend to my work. They +said I was careless, and that I made mistakes; they complained that I +was unpunctual, that I went late and came away early; and one day, +because I 'adn't been there the day before, they told me to leave. I was +watching at the bedside of a man who was dying and 'ad need of me; so +'ow could I go? But I didn't really mind; the office 'indered me in my +work.'</p> + +<p>'But what are you going to do now?' gasped Mrs Clinton.</p> + +<p>'I 'ave my work; that is more important than ten thousand offices.'</p> + +<p>'But 'ow are you going to earn your living? What's to become of us?'</p> + +<p>'Don't trouble me about those things. Come with me, and work for the +poor.'</p> + +<p>'James, think of the children!'</p> + +<p>'What are your children to me more than any other children?'</p> + +<p>'But—'</p> + +<p>'Woman, I tell you not to trouble me about these things. 'Ave we not +money enough, and to spare?'<a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a></p> + +<p>He waved his hand, and putting on his top hat, which looked more than +ever in need of restoration, went out, leaving his wife in a perfect +agony.</p> + +<p>There was worse to follow. Coming home a few days later, Mr Clinton told +his wife that he wished to speak with her.</p> + +<p>'I 'ave been looking into my books,' he said, 'and I find that we have +invested in various securities a sum of nearly seven 'undred pounds.'</p> + +<p>'Thank 'Eaven for that!' answered his wife. 'It's the only thing that'll +save us from starvation now that you moon about all day, instead of +working like a decent man.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I 'ave been thinking, and I 'ave been reading; and I 'ave found +it written—Give all and follow me.'</p> + +<p>'Well, there's nothing new in that,' said Mrs Clinton, viciously. 'I've +known that text ever since I was a child.'</p> + +<p>'And as it were a Spirit 'as come to me and said that I too must give +all. In short, I 'ave determined to sell out my stocks and my shares; my +breweries are seven points 'igher than when I bought them; I knew it was +a good investment. I am going to realise everything; I am going to take +the<a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a> money in my hand, and I am going to give it to the poor.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton burst into tears.</p> + +<p>'Do not weep,' he said solemnly. 'It is my duty, and it is a pleasant +one. Oh, what joy to make a 'undred people 'appy; to relieve a poor man +who is starving, to give a breath of country air to little children who +are dying for the want of it, to 'elp the poor, to feed the 'ungry, to +clothe the naked! Oh, if I only 'ad a million pounds!' He stretched out +his arms in a gesture of embrace, and looked towards heaven with an +ecstatic smile upon his lips.</p> + +<p>It was too serious a matter for Mrs Clinton to waste any words on; she +ran upstairs, put on her bonnet, and quickly walked to her friend, the +doctor.</p> + +<p>He looked graver than ever when she told him.</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said, 'I'm afraid it's very serious. I've never heard of +anyone doing such a thing before.... Of course I've known of people who +have left all their money to charities after their death, when they +didn't want it; but it couldn't ever occur to a normal, healthy man to +do it in his lifetime.'<a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a></p> + +<p>'But what shall I do, doctor?' Mrs Clinton was almost in hysterics.</p> + +<p>'Well, Mrs Clinton, d'you know the clergyman of the parish?'</p> + +<p>'I know Mr Evans, the curate, very well; he's a very nice gentleman.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you could get him to have a talk with your husband. The fact +is, it's a sort of religious mania he's got, and perhaps a clergyman +could talk him out of it. Anyhow, it's worth trying.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton straightway went to Mr Evans's rooms, explained to him the +case, and settled that on the following day he should come and see what +he could do with her husband.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">X</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> expectation of the curate's visit, Mrs Clinton tidied the house and +adorned herself. It has been said that she was a woman of taste, and so +she was. The mantelpiece and looking glass were artistically draped with +green muslin, and this she proceeded to<a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a> arrange, tying and carefully +forming the yellow satin ribbon with which it was relieved. The chairs +were covered with cretonne which might have come from the Tottenham +Court Road, and these she placed in positions of careless and artistic +confusion, smoothing down the antimacassars which were now her pride, as +the silk petticoat from which she had manufactured them had been once +her glory. For the flower-pots she made fresh coverings of red tissue +paper, re-arranged the ornaments gracefully scattered about on little +Japanese tables; then, after pausing a moment to admire her work and see +that nothing had been left undone, she went upstairs to perform her own +toilet.... In less than half an hour she reappeared, holding herself in +a dignified posture, with her head slightly turned to one side and her +hands meekly folded in front of her, stately and collected as Juno, a +goddess in black satin. Her dress was very elegant; it might have +typified her own life, for in its original state of virgin whiteness it +had been her wedding garment; then it was dyed purple, and might have +betokened a sense of change and coming responsibilities; lastly it was +black, to signify the<a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a> burden of a family, and the seriousness of life. +No one had realised so intensely as Mrs Clinton the truth of the poet's +words. Life is not an empty dream. She took out her handkerchief, +redolent with lascivious patchouli, and placed it in her bosom—a spot +of whiteness against the black.... She sat herself down to wait.</p> + +<p>There was a knock and a ring at the door, timid, as befitted a +clergyman; and the servant-girl showed in Mr Evans. He was a thin and +short young man, red faced, with a long nose and weak eyes, looking +underfed and cold, keeping his shoulders screwed up in a perpetual +shiver. He was an earnest, God-fearing man, spending much money in +charities, and waging constant war against the encroachments of the +Scarlet Woman.</p> + +<p>'I think I'll just take my coat off, if you don't mind, Mrs Clinton,' he +said, after the usual greetings. He folded it carefully, and hung it +over the back of a chair; then, coming forward, he sat down and rubbed +the back of his hands.</p> + +<p>'I asked my 'usband to stay in because you wanted to see 'im, but he +would go out. 'Owever'—Mrs Clinton always chose her language on such +occasions—''owever, 'e's<a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a> promised to return at four, and I will say +this for 'im, he never breaks 'is word.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, very well!'</p> + +<p>'May I 'ave the pleasure of offering you a cup of tea, Mr Evans?'</p> + +<p>The curate's face brightened up.</p> + +<p>'Oh, thank you so much!' And he rubbed his hands more energetically than +ever.</p> + +<p>Tea was brought in, and they drank it, talking of parish matters, Mrs +Clinton discreetly trying to pump the curate. Was it really true that +Mrs Palmer of No. 17 Adonis Road drank so terribly?</p> + +<p>At last Mr Clinton came, and his wife glided out of the room, leaving +the curate to convert him. There was a little pause while Mr Evans took +stock of the clerk.</p> + +<p>'Well, Mr Clinton,' he said finally, 'I've come to talk to you about +yourself.... Your wife tells me that you have adopted certain curious +views on religious matters; and she wishes me to have some conversation +with you about them.'</p> + +<p>'You are a man of God,' replied Mr Clinton; 'I am at your service.'</p> + +<p>Mr Evans, on principle, objected to the use of the Deity's name out of +church, thinking it a little blasphemous, but he said nothing.<a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a></p> + +<p>'Well,' he said, 'of course, religion is a very good thing; in fact, it +is the very best thing; but it must not be abused, Mr Clinton,' and he +repeated gravely, as if his interlocutor were a naughty schoolboy—'it +mustn't be abused. Now, I want to know exactly what you views are.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton smiled gently.</p> + +<p>'I 'ave no views, sir. The only rule I 'ave for guidance is this—love +thy neighbour as thyself.'</p> + +<p>'Hum!' murmured the curate; there was really nothing questionable in +that, but he was just slightly prejudiced against a man who made such a +quotation; it sounded a little priggish.</p> + +<p>'But your wife tells me that you've been going about with all sorts of +queer people?'</p> + +<p>'I found that there was misery and un'appiness among people, and I tried +to relieve it.'</p> + +<p>'Of course, I strongly approve of district visiting; I do a great deal +of it myself; but you've been going about with public-house loafers +and—bad women.'</p> + +<p>'Is it not said: "I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to +repentance"?'</p> + +<p>'No doubt,' answered Mr Evans, slightly<a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a> frowning. 'But obviously one +isn't meant to do that to such an extent as to be dismissed from one's +place.'</p> + +<p>'My wife 'as posted you well up in all my private affairs.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I don't think you can have done well to be sent away from your +office.'</p> + +<p>'Is it not said: "Forsake all and follow me"?'</p> + +<p>Decidedly this was bad form, and Mr Evans, pursing up his lips and +raising his eyebrows, was silent. 'That's the worst of these +half-educated people,' he said to himself; 'they get some idea in their +heads which they don't understand, and, of course, they do idiotic +things....'</p> + +<p>'Well, to pass over all that,' he added out loud, 'apparently you've +been spending your money on these people to such an extent that your +wife and children are actually inconvenienced by it.'</p> + +<p>'I 'ave clothed the naked,' said Mr Clinton, looking into the curate's +eyes; 'I 'ave visited the sick; I 'ave given food to 'im that was an +'ungered, and drink to 'im that was athirst.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, yes; that's all very well, but you should always remember +that charity<a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a> begins at home.... I shouldn't have anything to say to a +rich man's doing these things, but it's positively wicked for you to do +them. Don't you understand that? And last of all, your wife tells me +that you're realising your property with the idea of giving it away.'</p> + +<p>'It's perfectly true,' said Mr Clinton.</p> + +<p>Mr Evans's mind was too truly pious for a wicked expletive to cross it; +but a bad man expressing the curate's feeling would have said that Mr +Clinton was a damned fool.</p> + +<p>'Well, don't you see that it's a perfectly ridiculous and unheard-of +thing?' he asked emphatically.</p> + +<p>'"Sell all that thou 'ast, and distribute unto the poor." It is in the +Gospel of St Luke. Do you know it?'</p> + +<p>'Of course I know it, but, naturally, these things aren't to be taken +quite literally.'</p> + +<p>'It is clearly written. What makes you say it is not to be taken +literally?'</p> + +<p>Mr Evans shrugged his shoulders impatiently.</p> + +<p>'Why, don't you see it would be impossible? The world couldn't go on. +How do you expect your children to live if you give this money away?'</p> + +<p>'"Look at the lilies of the field. They<a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a> toil not, neither do they spin; +yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these."'....</p> + +<p>'Oh, my dear sir, you make me lose my patience. You're full of the +hell-fire platitudes of a park spouter, and you think it's religion.... +I tell you all these things are allegorical. Don't you understand that? +You mustn't carry them out to the letter. They are not meant to be taken +in that way.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton smiled a little pitifully at the curate.</p> + +<p>'And think of yourself—one must think of oneself. "God helps those who +help themselves." How are you going to exist when this little money of +yours is gone? You'll simply have to go to the workhouse.... It's +absurd, I tell you.'</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton took no further notice of the curate, but he broke into a +loud chant,—</p> + +<p>'"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon the earth, where moth and +rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up +for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth +corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal."' Then, +turning<a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a> on the unhappy curate, he stretched out his arm and pointed his +finger at him. 'Last Sunday,' he said, 'I 'eard you read those very +words from the chancel steps. Go! go! I tell you, go! You are a bad man, +a wolf in sheep's clothing—go!' Mr Clinton walked up to him +threateningly, and the curate, with a gasp of astonishment and +indignation, fled from the room.</p> + +<p>He met Mrs Clinton outside.</p> + +<p>'I can't do anything with him at all,' he said angrily. 'I've never +heard such things in my life. He's either mad or he's got into the hands +of the Dissenters. That's the only explanation I can offer.'</p> + +<p>Then, to quiet his feelings, he called on a wealthy female parishioner, +with whom he was a great favourite, because she thought him 'such a +really pious man,' and it was not till he had drunk two cups of tea that +he recovered his equilibrium.<a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs Clinton</span> was at her wit's end. Her husband had sold out his shares, +and the money was lying at the bank ready to be put to its destined use. +Visions of debt and bankruptcy presented themselves to her. She saw her +black satin dress in the ruthless clutches of a pawnbroker, the house +and furniture sold over her head, the children down at heel, and herself +driven to work for her living—needlework, nursing, charing—what might +not things come to? However, she went to the doctor and told him of the +failure of their scheme.</p> + +<p>'I've come to the end of my tether, Mrs Clinton; I really don't know +what to do. The only thing I can suggest is that a mental specialist +should examine into the state of his mind. I really think he's wrong in +his head, and, you know, it may be necessary for your welfare and his +own that he be kept under restriction.'</p> + +<p>'Well, doctor,' answered Mrs Clinton, putting her handkerchief up to her +eyes and beginning to cry, 'well, doctor, of course I shouldn't like him +to be shut up—it seems<a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a> a terrible thing, and I shall never 'ave a +moment's peace all the rest of my life; but if he must be shut up, for +Heaven's sake let it be done at once, before the money's gone.' And here +she began to sob very violently.</p> + +<p>The doctor said he would immediately write to the specialist, so that +they might hold a consultation on Mr Clinton the very next day.</p> + +<p>So, the following morning, Mrs Clinton again put on her black satin +dress, and, further, sent to her grocer's for a bottle of sherry, her +inner consciousness giving her to understand that specialists expected +something of the kind....</p> + +<p>The specialist came. He was a tall, untidily-dressed man, with his hair +wild and straggling, as if he had just got out of bed. He was very +clever, and very impatient of stupid people, and he seldom met anyone +whom he did not think in one way or another intensely stupid.</p> + +<p>Mr Clinton, as before, had gone out, but Mrs Clinton did her best to +entertain the two doctors. The specialist, who talked most incessantly +himself, was extremely impatient of other people's conversation.<a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a></p> + +<p>'Why on earth don't people see that they're much more interesting when +they hold their tongues than when they speak?' he was in the habit of +saying, and immediately would pour out a deluge of words, emphasising +and explaining the point, giving instances of its truth....</p> + +<p>'You must see a lot of strange things, doctor,' said Mrs Clinton, +amiably.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' answered the specialist.</p> + +<p>'I think it must be very interesting to be a doctor,' said Mrs Clinton.</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes.'</p> + +<p>'You <i>must</i> see a lot of strange things.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes,' repeated the doctor, and as Mrs Clinton went on +complacently, he frowned and drummed his fingers on the table and looked +to the right and left. 'When is the man coming in?' he asked +impatiently.</p> + +<p>And at last he could not contain himself.</p> + +<p>'If you don't mind, Mrs Clinton, I should like to talk to your doctor +alone about the case. You can wait in the next room.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure I don't wish to intrude,' said Mrs Clinton, bridling up, and +she rose in a dignified manner from her chair. She thought his manners +were distinctly queer. 'But, of course,' she said to a friend +afterwards, 'he's<a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a> a genius, there's no mistaking it, and people like +that are always very eccentric.'</p> + +<p>'What an insufferable woman!' he began, when the lady had retired, +talking very rapidly, only stopping to take an occasional breath. 'I +thought she was going on all night. She's enough to drive the man mad. +One couldn't get a word in edgeways. Why on earth doesn't this man come? +Just like these people, they don't think that my time's valuable. I +expect she drinks. Shocking, you know, these women, how they drink!' And +still talking, he looked at his watch for the eighth time in ten +minutes.</p> + +<p>'Well, my man,' he said, as Mr Clinton at last came in, 'what are you +complaining of?... One moment,' he added, as Mr Clinton was about to +reply. He opened his notebook and took out a stylographic pen. 'Now, I'm +ready for you. What are you complaining of?'</p> + +<p>'I'm complaining that the world is out of joint,' answered Mr Clinton, +with a smile.</p> + +<p>The specialist raised his eyebrows and significantly looked at the +family doctor.</p> + +<p>'It's astonishing how much you can get by a well-directed question,' he +said to him, taking no notice of Mr Clinton. 'Some people go floundering +about for hours, but,<a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a> you see, by one question I get on the track.' +Turning to the patient again, he said, 'Ah! and do you see things?'</p> + +<p>'Certainly; I see you.'</p> + +<p>'I don't mean that,' impatiently said the specialist. 'Distinctly +stupid, you know,' he added to his colleague. 'I mean, do you see things +that other people don't see?'</p> + +<p>'Alas! yes; I see Folly stalking abroad on a 'obby 'orse.'</p> + +<p>'Do you really? Anything else?' said the doctor, making a note of the +fact.</p> + +<p>'I see Wickedness and Vice beating the land with their wings.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Sees things beating with their wings</i>,' wrote down the doctor.</p> + +<p>'I see misery and un'appiness everywhere.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed!' said the doctor. '<i>Has delusions.</i> Do you think your wife puts +things in your tea?'</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'Ah!' joyfully uttered the doctor, 'that's what I wanted to get +at—<i>thinks people are trying to poison him</i>. What is it they put in, my +man?'</p> + +<p>'Milk and sugar,' answered Mr Clinton.</p> + +<p>'Very dull mentally,' said the specialist, in an undertone, to his +colleague. 'Well, I<a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a> don't think we need go into any more details. +There's no doubt about it, you know. That curious look in his eyes, and +the smile—the smile's quite typical. It all clearly points to insanity. +And then that absurd idea of giving his money to the poor! I've heard of +people taking money away from the poor, there's nothing mad in that; but +the other, why, it's a proof of insanity itself. And then your account +of his movements! His giving ice-creams to children. Most pernicious +things, those ice-creams! The Government ought to put a stop to them. +Extraordinary idea to think of reforming the world with ice-cream! +Post-enteric insanity, you know. Mad as a hatter! Well, well, I must be +off.' Still talking, he put on his hat and talked all the way +downstairs, and finally talked himself out of the house.</p> + +<p>The family doctor remained behind to see Mrs Clinton.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it's just as I said,' he told her. 'He's not responsible for his +actions. I think he's been insane ever since his illness. When you think +of his behaviour since then—his going among those common people and +trying to reform them, and his<a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a> ideas about feeding the hungry and +clothing the naked, and finally wanting to give his money to the +poor—it all points to a completely deranged mind.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton heaved a deep sigh. 'And what do you think 'ad better be +done now?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Well, I'm very sorry, Mrs Clinton; of course it's a great blow to you; +but really I think arrangements had better be made for him to be put +under restraint.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Clinton began to cry, and the doctor looked at her compassionately.</p> + +<p>'Ah, well,' she said at last, 'if it must be done, I suppose it 'ad +better be done at once; and I shall be able to save the money after +all.' At the thought of this she dried her tears.</p> + +<p>The moral is plain.<a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a> +<a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a></p> + + + +<h3><a name="DE_AMICITIA" id="DE_AMICITIA"></a>DE AMICITIA</h3> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">I</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> were walking home from the theatre.</p> + +<p>'Well, Mr White,' said Valentia, 'I think it was just fine.'</p> + +<p>'It was magnificent!' replied Mr White.</p> + +<p>And they were separated for a moment by the crowd, streaming up from the +Franįais towards the Opera and the Boulevards.</p> + +<p>'I think, if you don't mind,' she said, 'I'll take your arm, so that we +shouldn't get lost.'</p> + +<p>He gave her his arm, and they walked through the Louvre and over the +river on their way to the Latin Quarter.</p> + +<p>Valentia was an art student and Ferdinand White was a poet. Ferdinand +considered Valentia the only woman who had ever been able to paint, and +Valentia told Ferdinand that he was the only man she had met who knew +anything about Art without being himself an artist. On her<a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a> arrival in +Paris, a year before, she had immediately inscribed herself, at the +offices of the <i>New York Herald</i>, Valentia Stewart, Cincinnati, Ohio, +U.S.A. She settled down in a respectable <i>pension</i>, and within a week +was painting vigorously. Ferdinand White arrived from Oxford at about +the same time, hired a dirty room in a shabby hotel, ate his meals at +cheap restaurants in the Boulevard St Michel, read Stephen Mallarmé, and +flattered himself that he was leading '<i>la vie de Bohęme</i>.'</p> + +<p>After two months, the Fates brought the pair together, and Ferdinand +began to take his meals at Valentia's <i>pension</i>. They went to the +museums together; and in the Sculpture Gallery at the Louvre, Ferdinand +would discourse on ancient Greece in general and on Plato in particular, +while among the pictures Valentia would lecture on tones and values and +chiaroscuro. Ferdinand renounced Ruskin and all his works; Valentia read +the Symposium. Frequently in the evening they went to the theatre; +sometimes to the Franįais, but more often to the Odéon; and after the +performance they would discuss the play, its art, its technique—above +all, its ethics. Ferdinand explained the piece he had in contemplation, +and Valentia talked of<a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a> the picture she meant to paint for next year's +Salon; and the lady told her friends that her companion was the +cleverest man she had met in her life, while he told his that she was +the only really sympathetic and intelligent girl he had ever known. Thus +were united in bonds of amity, Great Britain on the one side and the +United States of America and Ireland on the other.</p> + +<p>But when Ferdinand spoke of Valentia to the few Frenchmen he knew, they +asked him,—</p> + +<p>'But this Miss Stewart—is she pretty?'</p> + +<p>'Certainly—in her American way; a long face, with the hair parted in +the middle and hanging over the nape of the neck. Her mouth is quite +classic.'</p> + +<p>'And have you never kissed the classic mouth?'</p> + +<p>'I? Never!'</p> + +<p>'Has she a good figure?'</p> + +<p>'Admirable!'</p> + +<p>'And yet—Oh, you English!' And they smiled and shrugged their shoulders +as they said, 'How English!'</p> + +<p>'But, my good fellow,' cried Ferdinand, in execrable French, 'you don't +understand. We are friends, the best of friends.'<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a></p> + +<p>They shrugged their shoulders more despairingly than ever.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">II</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> stood on the bridge and looked at the water and the dark masses of +the houses on the Latin side, with the twin towers of Notre Dame rising +dimly behind them. Ferdinand thought of the Thames at night, with the +barges gliding slowly down, and the twinkling of the lights along the +Embankment.</p> + +<p>'It must be a little like that in Holland,' she said, 'but without the +lights and with greater stillness.'</p> + +<p>'When do you start?'</p> + +<p>She had been making preparations for spending the summer in a little +village near Amsterdam, to paint.</p> + +<p>'I can't go now,' cried Valentia. 'Corrie Sayles is going home, and +there's no one else I can go with. And I can't go alone. Where are you +going?'</p> + +<p>'I? I have no plans.... I never make plans.'<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a></p> + +<p>They paused, looking at the reflections in the water. Then she said,—</p> + +<p>'I don't see why you shouldn't come to Holland with me!'</p> + +<p>He did not know what to think; he knew she had been reading the +Symposium.</p> + +<p>'After all,' she said, 'there's no reason why one shouldn't go away with +a man as well as with a woman.'</p> + +<p>His French friends would have suggested that there were many reasons why +one should go away with a woman rather than a man; but, like his +companion, Ferdinand looked at it in the light of pure friendship.</p> + +<p>'When one comes to think of it, I really don't see why we shouldn't. And +the mere fact of staying at the same hotel can make no difference to +either of us. We shall both have our work—you your painting, and I my +play.'</p> + +<p>As they considered it, the idea was distinctly pleasing; they wondered +that it had not occurred to them before. Sauntering homewards, they +discussed the details, and in half an hour had decided on the plan of +their journey, the date and the train.</p> + +<p>Next day Valentia went to say good-bye to the old French painter whom +all the<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> American girls called Popper. She found him in a capacious +dressing-gown, smoking cigarettes.</p> + +<p>'Well, my dear,' he said, 'what news?'</p> + +<p>'I'm going to Holland to paint windmills.'</p> + +<p>'A very laudable ambition. With your mother?'</p> + +<p>'My good Popper, my mother's in Cincinnati. I'm going with Mr White.'</p> + +<p>'With Mr White?' He raised his eyebrows. 'You are very frank about it.'</p> + +<p>'Why—what do you mean?'</p> + +<p>He put on his glasses and looked at her carefully.</p> + +<p>'Does it not seem to you a rather—curious thing for a young girl of +your age to go away with a young man of the age of Mr Ferdinand White?'</p> + +<p>'Good gracious me! One would think I was doing something that had never +been done before!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, many a young man has gone travelling with a young woman, but they +generally start by a night train, and arrive at the station in different +cabs.'</p> + +<p>'But surely, Popper, you don't mean to insinuate—Mr White and I are +going to Holland as friends.'<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a></p> + +<p>'Friends!'</p> + +<p>He looked at her more curiously than ever.</p> + +<p>'One can have a man friend as well as a girl friend,' she continued. +'And I don't see why he shouldn't be just as good a friend.'</p> + +<p>'The danger is that he become too good.'</p> + +<p>'You misunderstand me entirely, Popper; we are friends, and nothing but +friends.'</p> + +<p>'You are entirely off your head, my child.'</p> + +<p>'Ah! you're a Frenchman, you can't understand these things. We are +different.'</p> + +<p>'I imagine that you are human beings, even though England and America +respectively had the intense good fortune of seeing your birth.'</p> + +<p>'We're human beings—and more than that, we're nineteenth century human +beings. Love is not everything. It is a part of one—perhaps the lower +part—an accessory to man's life, needful for the continuation of the +species.'</p> + +<p>'You use such difficult words, my dear.'</p> + +<p>'There is something higher and nobler and purer than love—there is +friendship. Ferdinand White is my friend. I have the<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> amplest confidence +in him. I am certain that no unclean thought has ever entered his head.'</p> + +<p>She spoke quite heatedly, and as she flushed up, the old painter thought +her astonishingly handsome. Then she added as an afterthought,—</p> + +<p>'We despise passion. Passion is ugly; it is grotesque.'</p> + +<p>The painter stroked his imperial and faintly smiled.</p> + +<p>'My child, you must permit me to tell you that you are foolish. Passion +is the most lovely thing in the world; without it we should not paint +beautiful pictures. It is passion that makes a woman of a society lady; +it is passion that makes a man even of—an art critic.'</p> + +<p>'We do not want it,' she said. 'We worship Venus Urania. We are all +spirit and soul.'</p> + +<p>'You have been reading Plato; soon you will read Zola.'</p> + +<p>He smiled again, and lit another cigarette.</p> + +<p>'Do you disapprove of my going?' she asked after a little silence.</p> + +<p>He paused and looked at her. Then he shrugged his shoulders.<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a></p> + +<p>'On the contrary, I approve. It is foolish, but that is no reason why +you should not do it. After all, folly is the great attribute of man. No +judge is as grave as an owl; no soldier fighting for his country flies +as rapidly as the hare. You may be strong, but you are not so strong as +a horse; you may be gluttonous, but you cannot eat like a +boa-constrictor. But there is no beast that can be as foolish as man. +And since one should always do what one can do best—be foolish. Strive +for folly above all things. Let the height of your ambition be the +pointed cap with the golden bells. So, <i>bon voyage!</i> I will come and see +you off to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>The painter arrived at the station with a box of sweets, which he handed +to Valentia with a smile. He shook Ferdinand's hand warmly and muttered +under his breath,—</p> + +<p>'Silly fool! he's thinking of friendship, too!'</p> + +<p>Then, as the train steamed out, he waved his hand and cried,—</p> + +<p>'Be foolish! Be foolish!'</p> + +<p>He walked slowly out of the station, and sat down at a <i>café</i>. He lit a +cigarette, and, sipping his absinthe, said,—</p> + +<p>'Imbeciles!'<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">III</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> arrived at Amsterdam in the evening, and, after dinner, gathered +together their belongings and crossed the Ij as the moon shone over the +waters; then they got into the little steam tram and started for +Monnickendam. They stood side by side on the platform of the carriage +and watched the broad meadows bathed in moonlight, the formless shapes +of the cattle lying on the grass, and the black outlines of the mills; +they passed by a long, sleeping canal, and they stopped at little, +silent villages. At last they entered the dead town, and the tram put +them down at the hotel door.</p> + +<p>Next morning, when she was half dressed, Valentia threw open the window +of her room, and looked out into the garden. Ferdinand was walking +about, dressed as befitted the place and season—in flannels—with a +huge white hat on his head. She could not help thinking him very +handsome—and she took off the blue skirt she had intended to work in, +and put on a dress of muslin all bespattered with coloured flowers,<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> and +she took in her hand a flat straw hat with red ribbons.</p> + +<p>'You look like a Dresden shepherdess,' he said, as they met.</p> + +<p>They had breakfast in the garden beneath the trees; and as she poured +out his tea, she laughed, and with the American accent which he was +beginning to think made English so harmonious, said,—</p> + +<p>'I reckon this about takes the shine out of Paris.'</p> + +<p>They had agreed to start work at once, losing no time, for they wanted +to have a lot to show on their return to France, that their scheme might +justify itself. Ferdinand wished to accompany Valentia on her search for +the picturesque, but she would not let him; so, after breakfast, he sat +himself down in the summer-house, and spread out all round him his nice +white paper, lit his pipe, cut his quills, and proceeded to the +evolution of a masterpiece. Valentia tied the red strings of her +sun-bonnet under her chin, selected a sketchbook, and sallied forth.</p> + +<p>At luncheon they met, and Valentia told of a little bit of canal, with +an old windmill on one side of it, which she had decided to paint, while +Ferdinand announced that he<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> had settled on the names of his <i>dramatis +personæ</i>. In the afternoon they returned to their work, and at night, +tired with the previous day's travelling, went to bed soon after dinner.</p> + +<p>So passed the second day; and the third day, and the fourth; till the +end of the week came, and they had worked diligently. They were both of +them rather surprised at the ease with which they became accustomed to +their life.</p> + +<p>'How absurd all this fuss is,' said Valentia, 'that people make about +the differences of the sexes! I am sure it is only habit.'</p> + +<p>'We have ourselves to prove that there is nothing in it,' he replied. +'You know, it is an interesting experiment that we are making.'</p> + +<p>She had not looked at it in that light before.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps it is. We may be the fore-runners of a new era.'</p> + +<p>'The Edisons of a new communion!'</p> + +<p>'I shall write and tell Monsieur Rollo all about it.'</p> + +<p>In the course of the letter, she said,—</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>Sex is a morbid instinct. Out here, in the calmness of the canal +and the broad meadows,<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> it never enters one's head. I do not think +of Ferdinand as a man—</i>'</p> + +<p>She looked up at him as she wrote the words. He was reading a book and +she saw him in profile, with the head bent down. Through the leaves the +sun lit up his face with a soft light that was almost green, and it +occurred to her that it would be interesting to paint him.</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>I do not think of Ferdinand as a man; to me he is a companion. He +has a wider experience than a woman, and he talks of different +things. Otherwise I see no difference. On his part, the idea of my +sex never occurs to him, and far from being annoyed as an ordinary +woman might be, I am proud of it. It shows me that, when I chose a +companion, I chose well. To him I am not a woman; I am a man.</i>'</p> + +<p>And she finished with a repetition of Ferdinand's remark,—</p> + +<p>'We are the Edisons of a new communion!'</p> + +<p>When Valentia began to paint her companion's portrait, they were +naturally much<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> more together. And they never grew tired of sitting in +the pleasant garden under the trees, while she worked at her canvas and +green shadows fell on the profile of Ferdinand White. They talked of +many things. After a while they became less reserved about their private +concerns. Valentia told Ferdinand about her home in Ohio, and about her +people; and Ferdinand spoke of the country parsonage in which he had +spent his childhood, and the public school, and lastly of Oxford and the +strange, happy days when he had learnt to read Plato and Walter +Pater....</p> + +<p>At last Valentia threw aside her brushes and leant back with a sigh.</p> + +<p>'It is finished!'</p> + +<p>Ferdinand rose and stretched himself, and went to look at his portrait. +He stood before it for a while, and then he placed his hand on +Valentia's shoulder.</p> + +<p>'You are a genius, Miss Stewart.'</p> + +<p>She looked up at him.</p> + +<p>'Ah, Mr White, I was inspired by you. It is more your work than mine.'<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the evening they went out for a stroll. They wandered through the +silent street; in the darkness they lost the quaintness of the red brick +houses, contrasting with the bright yellow of the paving, but it was +even quieter than by day. The street was very broad, and it wound about +from east to west and from west to east, and at last it took them to the +tiny harbour. Two fishing smacks were basking on the water, moored to +the side, and the Zuyder Zee was covered with the innumerable +reflections of the stars. On one of the boats a man was sitting at the +prow, fishing, and now and then, through the darkness, one saw the red +glow of his pipe; by his side, huddled up on a sail, lay a sleeping boy. +The other boat seemed deserted. Ferdinand and Valentia stood for a long +time watching the fisher, and he was so still that they wondered whether +he too were sleeping. They looked across the sea, and in the distance +saw the dim lights of Marken, the island of fishers. They wandered on +again through the street, and now the lights in the windows were +ex<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>tinguished one by one, and sleep came over the town; and the +quietness was even greater than before. They walked on, and their +footsteps made no sound. They felt themselves alone in the dead city, +and they did not speak.</p> + +<p>At length they came to a canal gliding towards the sea; they followed it +inland, and here the darkness was equal to the silence. Great trees that +had been planted when William of Orange was king in England threw their +shade over the water, shutting out the stars. They wandered along on the +soft earth, they could not hear themselves walk—and they did not speak.</p> + +<p>They came to a bridge over the canal and stood on it, looking at the +water and the trees above them, and the water and the trees below +them—and they did not speak.</p> + +<p>Then out of the darkness came another darkness, and gradually loomed +forth the heaviness of a barge. Noiselessly it glided down the stream, +very slowly; at the end of it a boy stood at the tiller, steering; and +it passed beneath them and beyond, till it lost itself in the night, and +again they were alone.</p> + +<p>They stood side by side, leaning against the parapet, looking down at +the water....<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> And from the water rose up Love, and Love fluttered down +from the trees, and Love was borne along upon the night air. Ferdinand +did not know what was happening to him; he felt Valentia by his side, +and he drew closer to her, till her dress touched his legs and the silk +of her sleeve rubbed against his arm. It was so dark that he could not +see her face; he wondered of what she was thinking. She made a little +movement and to him came a faint wave of the scent she wore. Presently +two forms passed by on the bank and they saw a lover with his arm round +a girl's waist, and then they too were hidden in the darkness. Ferdinand +trembled as he spoke.</p> + +<p>'Only Love is waking!'</p> + +<p>'And we!' she said.</p> + +<p>'And—you!'</p> + +<p>He wondered why she said nothing. Did she understand? He put his hand on +her arm.</p> + +<p>'Valentia!'</p> + +<p>He had never called her by her Christian name before. She turned her +face towards him.</p> + +<p>'What do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Valentia, I love you! I can't help it.'<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a></p> + +<p>A sob burst from her.</p> + +<p>'Didn't you understand,' he said, 'all those hours that I sat for you +while you painted, and these long nights in which we wandered by the +water?'</p> + +<p>'I thought you were my friend.'</p> + +<p>'I thought so too. When I sat before you and watched you paint, and +looked at your beautiful hair and your eyes, I thought I was your +friend. And I looked at the lines of your body beneath your dress. And +when it pleased me to carry your easel and walk with you, I thought it +was friendship. Only to-night I know I am in love. Oh, Valentia, I am so +glad!'</p> + +<p>She could not keep back her tears. Her bosom heaved, and she wept.</p> + +<p>'You are a woman,' he said. 'Did you not see?'</p> + +<p>'I am so sorry,' she said, her voice all broken. 'I thought we were such +good friends. I was so happy. And now you have spoilt it all.'</p> + +<p>'Valentia, I love you.'</p> + +<p>'I thought our friendship was so good and pure. And I felt so strong in +it. It seemed to me so beautiful.'</p> + +<p>'Did you think I was less a man than the<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> fisherman you see walking +beneath the trees at night?'</p> + +<p>'It is all over now,' she sighed.</p> + +<p>'What do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'I can't stay here with you alone.'</p> + +<p>'You're not going away?'</p> + +<p>'Before, there was no harm in our being together at the hotel; but +now—'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Valentia, don't leave me. I can't—I can't live without you.'</p> + +<p>She heard the unhappiness in his voice. She turned to him again and laid +her two hands on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>'Why can't you forget it all, and let us be good friends again? Forget +that you are a man. A woman can remain with a man for ever, and always +be content to walk and read and talk with him, and never think of +anything else. Can you forget it, Ferdinand? You will make me so happy.'</p> + +<p>He did not answer, and for a long time they stood on the bridge in +silence. At last he sighed—a heartbroken sigh.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you're right. It may be better to pretend that we are friends. +If you like, we will forget all this.'</p> + +<p>Her heart was too full; she could not answer; but she held out her hands +to him.<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> He took them in his own, and, bending down, kissed them.</p> + +<p>Then they walked home, side by side, without speaking.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">V</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Next</span> morning Valentia received M. Rollo's answer to her letter. He +apologised for his delay in answering.</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>You are a philosopher</i>,' he said—she could see the little +snigger with which he had written the words—'<i>You are a +philosopher, and I was afraid lest my reply should disturb the +course of your reflections on friendship. I confess that I did not +entirely understand your letter, but I gathered that the sentiments +were correct, and it gave me great pleasure to know that your +experiment has had such excellent results. I gather that you have +not yet discovered that there is more than a verbal connection +between Friendship and Love.</i>'</p> + +<p>The reference is to the French equivalents of those states of mind.<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a></p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>But to speak seriously, dear child. You are young and beautiful +now, but not so very many years shall pass before your lovely skin +becomes coarse and muddy, and your teeth yellow, and the wrinkles +appear about your mouth and eyes. You have not so very many years +before you in which to collect sensations, and the recollection of +one's loves is, perhaps, the greatest pleasure left to one's old +age. To be virtuous, my dear, is admirable, but there are so many +interpretations of virtue. For myself, I can say that I have never +regretted the temptations to which I succumbed, but often the +temptations I have resisted. Therefore, love, love, love! And +remember that if love at sixty in a man is sometimes pathetic, in a +woman at forty it is always ridiculous. Therefore, take your youth +in both hands and say to yourself, "Life is short, but let me live +before I die!"</i>'</p> + +<p>She did not show the letter to Ferdinand.</p> + +<p class="top5">Next day it rained. Valentia retired to a room at the top of the house +and began to paint, but the incessant patter on the roof got on her +nerves; the painting bored her, and she threw aside the brushes in +disgust. She<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> came downstairs and found Ferdinand in the dining-room, +standing at the window looking at the rain. It came down in one +continual steady pour, and the water ran off the raised brickwork of the +middle of the street to the gutters by the side, running along in a +swift and murky rivulet. The red brick of the opposite house looked cold +and cheerless in the wet.... He did not turn or speak to her as she came +in. She remarked that it did not look like leaving off. He made no +answer. She drew a chair to the second window and tried to read, but she +could not understand what she was reading. And she looked out at the +pouring rain and the red brick house opposite. She wondered why he had +not answered.</p> + +<p>The innkeeper brought them their luncheon. Ferdinand took no notice of +the preparations.</p> + +<p>'Will you come to luncheon, Mr White?' she said to him. 'It is quite +ready.'</p> + +<p>'I beg your pardon,' he said gravely, as he took his seat.</p> + +<p>He looked at her quickly, and then immediately dropping his eyes, began +eating. She wished he would not look so sad; she was very sorry for him.</p> + +<p>She made an observation and he appeared<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a> to rouse himself. He replied +and they began talking, very calmly and coldly, as if they had not known +one another five minutes. They talked of Art with the biggest of A's, +and they compared Dutch painting with Italian; they spoke of Rembrandt +and his life.</p> + +<p>'Rembrandt had passion,' said Ferdinand, bitterly, 'and therefore he was +unhappy. It is only the sexless, passionless creature, the block of ice, +that can be happy in this world.'</p> + +<p>She blushed and did not answer.</p> + +<p>The afternoon Valentia spent in her room, pretending to write letters, +and she wondered whether Ferdinand was wishing her downstairs.</p> + +<p>At dinner they sought refuge in abstractions. They talked of dykes and +windmills and cigars, the history of Holland and its constitution, the +constitution of the United States and the edifying spectacle of the +politics of that blessed country. They talked of political economy and +pessimism and cattle rearing, the state of agriculture in England, the +foreign policy of the day, Anarchism, the President of the French +Republic. They would have talked of bi-metallism if they could. People +hearing them would have<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> thought them very learned and extraordinarily +staid.</p> + +<p>At last they separated, and as she undressed Valentia told herself that +Ferdinand had kept his promise. Everything was just as it had been +before, and the only change was that he used her Christian name. And she +rather liked him to call her Valentia.</p> + +<p>But next day Ferdinand did not seem able to command himself. When +Valentia addressed him, he answered in monosyllables, with eyes averted; +but when she had her back turned, she felt that he was looking at her. +After breakfast she went away painting haystacks, and was late for +luncheon.</p> + +<p>She apologised.</p> + +<p>'It is of no consequence,' he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. And +those were the only words he spoke to her during the remainder of the +day. Once, when he was looking at her surreptitiously, and she suddenly +turned round, their eyes met, and for a moment he gazed straight at her, +then walked away. She wished he would not look so sad. As she was going +to bed, she held out her hand to him to say good-night, and she +added,—<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a></p> + +<p>'I don't want to make you unhappy, Mr White. I'm very sorry.'</p> + +<p>'It's not your fault,' he said. 'You can't help it, if you're a stock +and a stone.'</p> + +<p>He went away without taking the proffered hand. Valentia cried that +night.</p> + +<p>In the morning she found a note outside her door:—</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>Pardon me if I was rude, but I was not master of myself. I am going to +Volendam; I hate Monnickendam</i>.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Ferdinand</span> arrived at Volendam. It was a fishing village, only three +miles across country from Monnickendam, but the route, by steam tram and +canal, was so circuitous, that, with luggage, it took one two hours to +get from place to place. He had walked over there with Valentia, and it +had almost tempted them to desert Monnickendam. Ferdinand took a room at +the hotel and walked out, trying to distract himself. The village +consisted of a couple of score of houses,<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> built round a semi-circular +dyke against the sea, and in the semi-circle lay the fleet of fishing +boats. Men and women were sitting at their doors mending nets. He looked +at the fishermen, great, sturdy fellows, with rough, weather-beaten +faces, huge earrings dangling from their ears. He took note of their +quaint costume—black stockings and breeches, the latter more baggy than +a Turk's, and the crushed strawberry of their high jackets, cut close to +the body. He remembered how he had looked at them with Valentia, and the +group of boys and men that she had sketched. He remembered how they +walked along, peeping into the houses, where everything was spick and +span, as only a Dutch cottage can be, with old Delft plates hanging on +the walls, and pots and pans of polished brass. And he looked over the +sea to the island of Marken, with its masts crowded together, like a +forest without leaf or branch. Coming to the end of the little town he +saw the church of Monnickendam, the red steeple half-hidden by the +trees. He wondered where Valentia was—what she was doing.</p> + +<p>But he turned back resolutely, and, going to his room, opened his books +and began<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a> reading. He rubbed his eyes and frowned, in order to fix his +attention, but the book said nothing but Valentia. At last he threw it +aside and took his Plato and his dictionary, commencing to translate a +difficult passage, word for word. But whenever he looked up a word he +could only see Valentia, and he could not make head or tail of the +Greek. He threw it aside also, and set out walking. He walked as hard as +he could—away from Monnickendam.</p> + +<p>The second day was not quite so difficult, and he read till his mind was +dazed, and then he wrote letters home and told them he was enjoying +himself tremendously, and he walked till he felt his legs dropping off.</p> + +<p>Next morning it occurred to him that Valentia might have written. +Trembling with excitement, he watched the postman coming down the +street—but he had no letter for Ferdinand. There would be no more post +that day.</p> + +<p>But the next day Ferdinand felt sure there would be a letter for him; +the postman passed by the hotel door without stopping. Ferdinand thought +he should go mad. All day he walked up and down his room, thinking only +of Valentia. Why did she not write?<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a></p> + +<p>The night fell and he could see from his window the moon shining over +the clump of trees about Monnickendam church—he could stand it no +longer. He put on his hat and walked across country; the three miles +were endless; the church and the trees seemed to grow no nearer, and at +last, when he thought himself close, he found he had a bay to walk +round, and it appeared further away than ever.</p> + +<p>He came to the mouth of the canal along which he and Valentia had so +often walked. He looked about, but he could see no one. His heart beat +as he approached the little bridge, but Valentia was not there. Of +course she would not come out alone. He ran to the hotel and asked for +her. They told him she was not in. He walked through the town; not a +soul was to be seen. He came to the church; he walked round, and +then—right at the edge of the trees—he saw a figure sitting on a +bench.</p> + + +<p class="top5">She was dressed in the same flowered dress which she had worn when he +likened her to a Dresden shepherdess; she was looking towards Volendam.<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a></p> + +<p>He went up to her silently. She sprang up with a little shriek.</p> + +<p>'Ferdinand!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Valentia, I cannot help it. I could not remain away any longer. I +could do nothing but think of you all day, all night. If you knew how I +loved you! Oh, Valentia, have pity on me! I cannot be your friend. It's +all nonsense about friendship; I hate it. I can only love you. I love +you with all my heart and soul, Valentia.'</p> + +<p>She was frightened.</p> + +<p>'Oh! how can you stand there so coldly and watch my agony? Don't you +see? How can you be so cold?'</p> + +<p>'I am not cold, Ferdinand,' she said, trembling. 'Do you think I have +been happy while you were away?'</p> + +<p>'Valentia!'</p> + +<p>'I thought of you, too, Ferdinand, all day, all night. And I longed for +you to come back. I did not know till you went that—I loved you.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Valentia!'</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms and pressed her passionately to him.</p> + +<p>'No, for God's sake!'</p> + +<p><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>She tore herself away. But again he took her in his arms, and this time +he kissed her on the mouth. She tried to turn her face away.</p> + +<p>'I shall kill myself, Ferdinand!'</p> + +<p>'What do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'In those long hours that I sat here looking towards you, I felt I loved +you—I loved you as passionately as you said you loved me. But if you +came back, and—anything happened—I swore that I would throw myself in +the canal.'</p> + +<p>He looked at her.</p> + +<p>'I could not—live afterwards,' she said hoarsely. 'It would be too +horrible. I should be—oh, I can't think of it!'</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms again and kissed her.</p> + +<p>'Have mercy on me!' she cried.</p> + +<p>'You love me, Valentia.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, it is nothing to you. Afterwards you will be just the same as +before. Why cannot men love peacefully like women? I should be so happy +to remain always as we are now, and never change. I tell you I shall +kill myself.'</p> + +<p>'I will do as you do, Valentia.'</p> + +<p>'You?'</p> + +<p>'If anything happens, Valentia,' he said<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> gravely, 'we will go down to +the canal together.'</p> + +<p>She was horrified at the idea; but it fascinated her.</p> + +<p>'I should like to die in your arms,' she said.</p> + +<p>For the second time he bent down and took her hands and kissed them. +Then she went alone into the silent church, and prayed.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> went home. Ferdinand was so pleased to be at the hotel again, near +her. His bed seemed so comfortable; he was so happy, and he slept, +dreaming of Valentia.</p> + +<p>The following night they went for their walk, arm in arm; and they came +to the canal. From the bridge they looked at the water. It was very +dark; they could not hear it flow. No stars were reflected in it, and +the trees by its side made the depth seem endless. Valentia shuddered. +Perhaps in a little while their bodies would be lying deep down in the +water. And<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> they would be in one another's arms, and they would never be +separated. Oh, what a price it was to pay! She looked tearfully at +Ferdinand, but he was looking down at the darkness beneath them, and he +was intensely grave.</p> + +<p>And they wandered there by day and looked at the black reflection of the +trees. And in the heat it seemed so cool and restful....</p> + +<p>They abandoned their work. What did pictures and books matter now? They +sauntered about the meadows, along shady roads; they watched the black +and white cows sleepily browsing, sometimes coming to the water's edge +to drink, and looking at themselves, amazed. They saw the huge-limbed +milkmaids come along with their little stools and their pails, deftly +tying the cow's hind legs that it might not kick. And the steaming milk +frothed into the pails and was poured into huge barrels, and as each cow +was freed, she shook herself a little and recommenced to browse.</p> + +<p>And they loved their life as they had never loved it before.</p> + +<p>One evening they went again to the canal and looked at the water, but +they seemed<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a> to have lost their emotions before it. They were no longer +afraid. Ferdinand sat on the parapet and Valentia leaned against him. He +bent his head so that his face might touch her hair. She looked at him +and smiled, and she almost lifted her lips. He kissed them.</p> + +<p>'Do you love me, Ferdinand?'</p> + +<p>He gave the answer without words.</p> + +<p>Their faces were touching now, and he was holding her hands. They were +both very happy.</p> + +<p>'You know, Ferdinand,' she whispered, 'we are very foolish.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care.'</p> + +<p>'Monsieur Rollo said that folly was the chief attribute of man.'</p> + +<p>'What did he say of love?'</p> + +<p>'I forget.'</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause, he whispered in her ear,—</p> + +<p>'I love you!'</p> + +<p>And she held up her lips to him again.</p> + +<p>'After all,' she said, 'we're only human beings. We can't help it. I +think—'</p> + +<p>She hesitated; what she was going to say had something of the +anti-climax in it.<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a></p> + +<p>'I think—it would be very silly if—if we threw ourselves in the horrid +canal.'</p> + +<p>'Valentia, do you mean—?'</p> + +<p>She smiled charmingly as she answered,—</p> + +<p>'What you will, Ferdinand.'</p> + +<p>Again he took both her hands, and, bending down, kissed them.... But +this time she lifted him up to her and kissed him on the lips.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> night after dinner I told this story to my aunt.</p> + +<p>'But why on earth didn't they get married?' she asked, when I had +finished.</p> + +<p>'Good Heavens!' I cried. 'It never occurred to me.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I think they ought,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I have no doubt they did. I expect they got on their bikes and rode +off to the Consulate at Amsterdam there and then. I'm sure it would have +been his first thought.'</p> + +<p>'Of course, some girls are very queer,' said my aunt.<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a></p> + + + +<h3><a name="FAITH" id="FAITH"></a>FAITH</h3> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">I</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> moon shone fitfully through the clouds on to the weary face of +Brother Jasper kneeling in his cell. His hands were fervently clasped, +uplifted to the crucifix that hung on the bare wall, and he was praying, +praying as he had never prayed before. All through the hours of night, +while the monks were sleeping, Brother Jasper had been supplicating his +God for light; but in his soul remained a darkness deeper than that of +the blackest night. At last he heard the tinkling of the bell that +called the monks to prayers, and with a groan lifted himself up. He +opened his cell door and went out into the cloister. With down-turned +face he walked along till he came to the chapel, and, reaching his seat, +sank again heavily to his knees.</p> + +<p>The lights in the chapel were few enough,<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> for San Lucido was nearly the +poorest monastery in Spain; a few dim candles on the altar threw long +shadows on the pavement, and in the choir their yellow glare lit up +uncouthly the pale faces of the monks. When Brother Jasper stood up, the +taper at his back cast an unnatural light over him, like a halo, making +his great black eyes shine strangely from their deep sockets, while +below them the dark lines and the black shadow of his shaven chin gave +him an unearthly weirdness. He looked like a living corpse standing in +the brown Franciscan cowl—a dead monk doomed for some sin to wander +through the earth till the day, the Day of Judgment; and in the agony of +that weary face one could almost read the terrors of eternal death.</p> + +<p>The monks recited the service with their heavy drone, and the sound of +the harsh men's voices ascended to the vault, dragging along the roof. +But Jasper heard not what they said; he rose and knelt as they did; he +uttered the words; he walked out of the church in his turn, and through +the cloister to his cell. And he threw himself on the floor and beat his +head against the<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> hard stones, weeping passionately. And he cried out,—</p> + +<p>'What shall I do? What shall I do?'</p> + +<p>For Brother Jasper did not believe.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">II</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Two</span> days before, the monk, standing amid the stunted shrubs on the hill +of San Lucido, had looked out on the arid plain before him. It was all +brown and grey, the desolate ground strewn with huge granite boulders, +treeless; and for the wretched sheep who fed there, thin and scanty +grass; the shepherd, in his tattered cloak, sat on a rock, moodily, +paying no heed to his flock, dully looking at the desert round him. +Brother Jasper gazed at the scene as he had gazed for three years since +he had come to San Lucido, filled with faith and great love for God. In +those days he had thought nothing of the cold waste as his eyes rested +on it; the light of heaven shed a wonderful glow on the scene, and when +at sunset the heavy clouds were piled one above the other, like huge, +fantastic<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> mountains turned into golden fire, when he looked beyond them +and saw the whole sky burning red and then a mass of yellow and gold, he +could imagine that God was sitting there on His throne of fire, with +Christ on His right hand in robes of light and glory, and Mary the Queen +on His left. And above them the Dove with its outstretched wings, the +white bird hovering in a sea of light! And it seemed so near! Brother +Jasper felt in him almost the power to go there, to climb up those massy +clouds of fire and attain the great joy—the joy of the presence of God.</p> + +<p>The sun sank slowly, the red darkened into purple, and over the whole +sky came a colour of indescribable softness, while in the east, very far +away, shone out the star. And soon the soft faint blue sank before the +night, and the stars in the sky were countless; but still in the west +there was the shadow of the sun, a misty gleam. Over the rocky plain the +heavens seemed so great, so high, that Brother Jasper sank down in his +insignificance; yet he remembered the glories of the sunset, and felt +that he was almost at the feet of God.</p> + +<p>But now, when he looked at the clouds<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> and the sun behind them, he saw +no God; he saw the desert plain, the barrenness of the earth, the +overladen, wretched donkey staggering under his pannier, and the +broad-hatted peasant urging him on. He looked at the sunset and tried to +imagine the Trinity that sat there, but he saw nothing. And he asked +himself,—</p> + +<p>'Why should there be a God?'</p> + +<p>He started up with a cry of terror, with his hands clasped to his head.</p> + +<p>'My God! what have I done?'</p> + +<p>He sank to his knees, humiliating himself. What vengeance would fall on +him? He prayed passionately. But again the thought came; he shrieked +with terror, he invoked the Mother of God to help him.</p> + +<p>'Why should there be a God?'</p> + +<p>He could not help it. The thought would not leave him that all this +might exist without. How did he know? How could anyone be sure, quite +sure? But he drove the thoughts away, and in his cell imposed upon +himself a penance. It was Satan that stood whispering in his ear, Satan +lying in wait for his soul; let him deny God and he would be damned for +ever.</p> + +<p>He prayed with all his strength, he argued<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> with himself, he cried out, +'I believe! I believe!' but in his soul was the doubt. The terror made +him tremble like a leaf in the wind, and great drops of sweat stood on +his forehead and ran heavily down his cheek. He beat his head against +the wall, and in his agony swayed from side to side.... But he could not +believe.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">III</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> for two days he had endured the torments of hell-fire, battling +against himself—in vain. The heavy lines beneath his eyes grew blacker +than the night, his lips were pale with agony and fasting. He had not +dared to speak to anyone, he could not tell them, and in him was the +impulse to shout out, 'Why should there be?' Now he could bear it no +longer. In the morning he went to the prior's cell, and, falling on his +knees, buried his face in the old man's lap.</p> + +<p>'Oh, father, help me! help me!'</p> + +<p>The prior was old and wasted; for fifty years he had lived in the desert +Castilian plain in the little monastery—all through his<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> youth and +manhood, through his age; and now he was older than anyone at San +Lucido. White haired and wrinkled, but with a clear, rosy skin like a +boy's; his soft blue eyes had shone with light, but a cataract had +developed, and gradually his sight had left him till he could barely see +the crucifix in his cell and the fingers of his hand; at last he could +only see the light. But the prior did not lose the beautiful serenity of +his life; he was always happy and kind; and feeling that his death could +not now be very distant, he was filled with a heavenly joy that he would +shortly see the face of God. Long hours he sat in his chair looking at +the light with an indescribably charming smile hovering on his lips.</p> + +<p>His voice broken by sobs, Brother Jasper told his story, while the prior +gently stroked the young man's hands and face.</p> + +<p>'Oh, father, make me believe!'</p> + +<p>'One cannot force one's faith, my dear. It comes, it goes, and no man +knows the wherefore. Faith does not come from reasoning; it comes from +God.... Pray for it and rest in peace.'</p> + +<p>'I want to believe so earnestly. I am so unhappy!'<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a></p> + +<p>'You are not the only one who has been tried, my son. Others have +doubted before you and have been saved.'</p> + +<p>'But if I died to-night—I should die in mortal sin.'</p> + +<p>'Believe that God counts the attempt as worthy as the achievement.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, pray for me, father, pray for me! I cannot stand alone. Give me +your strength.'</p> + +<p>'Go in peace, my son; I will pray for you, and God will give you +strength!'</p> + +<p>Jasper went away.</p> + +<p>Day followed day, and week followed week; the spring came, and the +summer; but there was no difference in the rocky desert of San Lucido. +There were no trees to bud and burst into leaf, no flowers to bloom and +fade; biting winds gave way to fiery heat, the sun beat down on the +plain, and the sky was cloudless, cloudless—even the nights were so hot +that the monks in their cells gasped for breath. And Brother Jasper +brooded over the faith that was dead; and in his self-torment his cheeks +became so hollow that the bones of his face seemed about to pierce the +skin, the flesh shrunk from his hands, and the fingers became<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a> long and +thin, like the claws of a vulture. He used to spend long hours with the +prior, while the old man talked gently, trying to bring faith to the +poor monk, that his soul might rest. But one day, in the midst of the +speaking, the prior stopped, and Jasper saw an expression of pain pass +over his face.</p> + +<p>'What is it?'</p> + +<p>'Nothing, my son,' he replied, smiling.... 'We enter the world with +pain, and with pain we leave it!'</p> + +<p>'What do you mean? Are you ill? Father! father!'</p> + +<p>The prior opened his mouth and showed a great sloughing sore; he put +Jasper's fingers to his neck and made him feel the enlarged and hardened +glands.</p> + +<p>'What is it? You must see a surgeon.'</p> + +<p>'No surgeon can help me, Brother Jasper. It is cancer, the Crab—it is +the way that God has sent to call me to Himself.'</p> + +<p>Then the prior began to suffer the agonies of the disease, terrible +pains shot through his head and neck; he could not swallow. It was a +slow starvation; the torment kept him awake through night after night, +and only occasionally his very exhaustion gave<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> him a little relief so +that he slept. Thinner and thinner he became, and his whole mouth was +turned into a putrid, horrible sore. But yet he never murmured. Brother +Jasper knelt by his bed, looking at him pitifully.</p> + +<p>'How can you suffer it all? What have you done that God should give you +this? Was it not enough that you were blind?'</p> + +<p>'Ah, I saw such beautiful things after I became blind—all heaven +appeared before me.'</p> + +<p>'It is unjust—unjust!'</p> + +<p>'My son, all is just.'</p> + +<p>'You drive me mad!... Do you still believe in the merciful goodness of +God?'</p> + +<p>A beautiful smile broke through the pain on the old man's face.</p> + +<p>'I still believe in the merciful goodness of God!'</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Brother Jasper buried his face in his hands and +thought brokenheartedly of his own affliction. How happy he could be if +he had that faith.... But the silence in the room was more than the +silence of people who did not speak. Jasper looked up suddenly.</p> + +<p>The prior was dead.</p> + +<p>Then the monk bent over the body and looked at the face into the opaque +white<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> eyes; there was no difference, the flesh was warm—everything was +just the same, and yet ... and yet he was dead. What did they mean by +saying the soul had fled? What had happened? Jasper understood nothing +of it. And afterwards, before the funeral, when he looked at the corpse +again, and it was cold and a horrible blackness stained the lips, he +felt sure.</p> + +<p>Brother Jasper could not believe in the resurrection of the dead. And +the soul—what did they mean by the soul?</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Then</span> a great loneliness came over him; the hours of his life seemed +endless, and there was no one in whom he could find comfort. The prior +had given him a ray of hope, but he was gone, and now Jasper was alone +in the world.... And beyond? Oh! how could one be certain? It was awful +this perpetual doubt, recurring more strongly than ever. Men had +believed so long. Think of all the beautiful churches that had been made +in the honour of God, and the pictures.<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> Think of the works that had +been done for his love, the martyrs who had cheerfully given up their +lives. It seemed impossible that it should be all for nothing. But—but +Jasper could not believe. And he cried out to the soul of the prior, +resting in heaven, to come to him and help him. Surely, if he really +were alive again, he would not let the poor monk whom he had loved +linger in this terrible uncertainty. Jasper redoubled his prayers; for +hours he remained on his knees, imploring God to send him light.... But +no light came, and exhausted Brother Jasper sank into despair.</p> + +<p>The new prior was a tall, gaunt man, with a great hooked nose and heavy +lips; his keen, dark eyes shone fiercely from beneath his shaggy brows. +He was still young, full of passionate energy. And with large gesture +and loud, metallic voice he loved to speak of hell-fire and the pains of +the damned, hating the Jews and heretics with a bitter personal hatred.</p> + +<p>'To the stake!' he used to say. 'The earth must be purged of this +vermin, and it must be purged by fire.'</p> + +<p>He exacted the most absolute obedience from the monks, and pitiless was +the<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> punishment for any infringement of his rules.... Brother Jasper +feared the man with an almost unearthly terror; when he felt resting +upon him the piercing black eyes, he trembled in his seat, and a cold +sweat broke out over him. If the prior knew—the thought almost made him +faint. And yet the fear of it seemed to drag him on; like a bird before +a serpent, he was fascinated. Sometimes he felt sudden impulses to tell +him—but the vengeful eyes terrified him.</p> + +<p>One day he was in the cloister, looking out at the little green plot in +the middle where the monks were buried, wondering confusedly whether all +that prayer and effort had been offered up to empty images of what—of +the fear of Man? Turning round, he started back and his heart beat, for +the prior was standing close by, looking at him with those horrible +eyes. Brother Jasper trembled so that he could scarcely stand; he looked +down.</p> + +<p>'Brother Jasper!' The prior's voice seemed sterner than it had ever been +before. 'Brother Jasper!'</p> + +<p>'Father!'</p> + +<p>'What have you to tell me?'<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a></p> + +<p>Jasper looked up at him; the blood fled from his lips.</p> + +<p>'Nothing, my father!' The prior looked at him firmly, and Jasper thought +he read the inmost secrets of his heart.</p> + +<p>'Speak, Brother Jasper!' said the prior, and his voice was loud and +menacing.</p> + +<p>Then hurriedly, stuttering in his anxiety, the monk confessed his +misery.... A horror came over the prior's face as he listened, and +Jasper became so terrified that he could hardly speak; but the prior +seemed to recover himself, and interrupted him with a furious burst of +anger.</p> + +<p>'You look over the plain and do not see God, and for that you doubt Him? +Miserable fool!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, father, have mercy on me! I have tried so hard. I want to believe. +But I cannot.'</p> + +<p>'I cannot! I cannot! What is that? Have men believed for a thousand +years—has God performed miracle after miracle—and a miserable monk +dares to deny Him?'</p> + +<p>'I cannot believe!'</p> + +<p>'You must!' His voice was so loud that it rang through the cloisters. He +seized Jasper's clasped hands, raised in supplication<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a> before him, and +forced him to his knees. 'I tell you, you shall believe!'</p> + +<p>Quivering with wrath, he looked at the prostrate form at his feet, moved +by convulsive weeping. He raised his hand as if to strike the monk, but +with difficulty contained himself.</p> + +<p>Then the prior bade Brother Jasper go to the church and wait. The monks +were gathered together, all astonished. They stood in their usual +places, but Jasper remained in the middle, away from them, with head +cast down. The prior called out to them in his loud, clear voice,—</p> + +<p>'Pray, my brethren, pray for the soul of Brother Jasper, which lies in +peril of eternal death.'</p> + +<p>The monks looked at him suddenly, and Brother Jasper's head sank lower, +so that no one could see his face. The prior sank to his knees and +prayed with savage fervour. Afterwards the monks went their ways; but +when Jasper passed them they looked down, and when by chance he +addressed a novice, the youth hurried from him without answering. They +looked upon him as accursed. The prior spoke no more, but often Jasper +felt his stern gaze resting on him, and<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> a shiver would pass through +him. In the services Jasper stood apart from the rest, like an unclean +thing; he did not join in their prayers, listening confusedly to their +monotonous droning; and when a pause came and he felt all eyes turn to +him, he put his hands to his face to hide himself.</p> + +<p>'Pray, my brethren, pray for the soul of Brother Jasper, which lies in +peril of eternal death.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">V</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> his cell the monk would for days sit apathetically looking at the +stone wall in front of him, sore of heart; the hours would pass by +unnoticed, and only the ringing of the chapel bell awoke him from his +stupor. And sometimes he would be seized with sudden passion and, +throwing himself on his knees, pour forth a stream of eager, vehement +prayer. He remembered the penances which the seraphic father imposed on +his flesh—but he always had faith; and Jasper would scourge himself +till he felt sick and faint, and, hoping to gain his soul by +mortification of the body, refuse the bread and<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a> water which was thrust +into his cell, and for a long while eat nothing. He became so weak and +ill that he could hardly stand; and still no help came.</p> + +<p>Then he took it into his head that God would pity him and send a miracle +to drive away his uncertainty. Was he not anxious to believe, if only he +could?—so anxious! God would not send a miracle to a poor monk.... Yet +miracles had been performed for smaller folk than he—for shepherds and +tenders of swine. But Christ himself had said that miracles only came by +faith, but—Jasper remembered that often the profligate and the harlot +had been brought to repentance by a vision. Even the Holy Francis had +been but a loose gallant till Christ appeared to him. Yet, if Christ had +appeared, it showed—ah! but how could one be sure? it might only have +been a dream. Let a vision appear to him and he would believe. Oh, how +enchanted he would be to believe, to rest in peace, to know that before +him, however hard the life, were eternal joy and the kingdom of heaven.</p> + +<p>But Brother Jasper put his hands to his head cruelly aching. He could +not understand, he could not know—the doubt weighed<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a> on his brain like +a sheet of lead; he felt inclined to tear his skull apart to relieve the +insupportable pressure. How endless life was! Why could it not finish +quickly and let him know? But supposing there really was a God, He would +exact terrible vengeance. What punishment would He inflict on the monk +who had denied Him—who had betrayed Him like a second Judas? Then a +fantastic idea came into his crazy brain. Was it Satan that put all +these doubts into his head? If it were, Satan must exist; and if he did, +God existed too. He knew that the devil stood ready to appear to all who +called. If Christ would not appear, let Satan show himself. It meant +hell-fire; but if God were, the monk felt he was damned already—for the +truth he would give his soul!</p> + +<p>The idea sent a coldness through him, so that he shivered; but it +possessed him, and he exulted, thinking that he would know at last. He +rose from his bed—it was the dead of night and all the monks were +sleeping—and, trembling with cold, began to draw with chalk strange +figures on the floor. He had seen them long ago in an old book of magic, +and their fantastic shapes, fascinating him, had remained in his +memory.<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a></p> + +<p>In the centre of the strange confusion of triangles he stood and uttered +in a husky voice the invocation. He murmured uncouth words in an unknown +language, and bade Satan stand forth.... He expected a thunderclap, the +flashing of lightning, sulphurous fumes—but the night remained silent +and quiet; not a sound broke the stillness of the monastery; the snow +outside fell steadily.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Next</span> day the prior sent for him and repeated his solemn question.</p> + +<p>'Brother Jasper, what have you to say to me?'</p> + +<p>And absolutely despairing, Jasper answered,—</p> + +<p>'Nothing, nothing, nothing!'</p> + +<p>Then the prior strode up to him in wrath and smote him on the cheek.</p> + +<p>'It is a devil within you—a devil of obstinacy and pride. You shall +believe!'</p> + +<p>He cried to monks to lay hold of him; they dragged him roughly to the +cloisters,<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a> and stripping him of his cowl tied it round his waist, and +bound him by the hands to a pillar.... And the prior ordered them to +give Jasper eight-and-thirty strokes with the scourge—one less than +Christ—that the devil might be driven out. The scourge was heavy and +knotted, and the porter bared his arms that he might strike the better; +the monks stood round in eager expectation. The scourge whizzed through +the air and came down with a thud on Jasper's bare shoulders; a tremor +passed through him, but he did not speak. Again it came down, and as the +porter raised it for the third time the monks saw great bleeding weals +on Brother Jasper's back. Then, as the scourge fell heavily, a terrible +groan burst from him. The porter swung his arm, and this time a shriek +broke from the wretched monk; the blows came pitilessly and Jasper lost +all courage. He shrieked with agony, imploring them to stop.</p> + +<p>But ferociously the prior cried,—</p> + +<p>'Did Christ bear in silence forty stripes save one, and do you cry out +like a woman before you have had ten!'</p> + +<p>The porter went on, and the prior's words were interrupted by piercing +shrieks.<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a></p> + +<p>'It is the devil crying out within him,' said the monks, gloating on the +bleeding back and the face of agony.</p> + +<p>Heavy drops of sweat ran off the porter's face and his arm began to +tire; but he seized the handle with both hands and swung the knotted +ropes with all his strength.</p> + +<p>Jasper fainted.</p> + +<p>'See!' said the prior. 'See the fate of him who has not faith in God!'</p> + +<p>The cords with which he was tied prevented the monk from falling, and +stroke after stroke fell on his back till the number was completed. Then +they loosed him from the column, and he sank senseless and bleeding to +the ground. They left him. Brother Jasper regained slowly his senses, +lying out in the cold cloister with the snow on the graves in the +middle; his hands and feet were stiff and blue. He shivered and drew +himself together for warmth, then a groan burst from him, feeling the +wounds of his back. Painfully he lifted himself up and crawled to the +chapel door; he pushed it open, and, staggering forward, fell on his +face, looking towards the altar. He remained there long, dazed and +weary, pulling his cowl close round him to keep out the bitter<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a> cold. +The pain of his body almost relieved the pain of his mind; he wished +dumbly that he could lie there and die, and be finished with it all. He +did not know the time; he wondered whether any service would soon bring +the monks to disturb him. He took sad pleasure in the solitude, and in +the great church the solitude seemed more intense. Oh, and he hated the +monks! it was cruel, cruel, cruel! He put his hands to his face and +sobbed bitterly.</p> + +<p>But suddenly a warmth fell on him; he looked up, and the glow seemed to +come from the crucified Christ in the great painted window by the altar. +The monk started up with a cry and looked eagerly; the bell began to +ring. The green colour of death was becoming richer, the glass gained +the fulness of real flesh; now it was a soft round whiteness. And +Brother Jasper cried out in ecstasy,—</p> + +<p>'It is Christ!'</p> + +<p>Then the glow deepened, and from the Crucified One was shed a wonderful +light like the rising of the sun behind the mountains, and the church +was filled with its rich effulgence.</p> + +<p>'Oh, God, it is moving!'<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a></p> + +<p>The Christ seemed to look at Brother Jasper and bow His head.</p> + +<p>Two by two the monks walked silently in, and Brother Jasper lifted up +his arms, crying:</p> + +<p>'Behold a miracle! Christ has appeared to me!'</p> + +<p>A murmur of astonishment broke from them, and they looked at Jasper +gazing in ecstasy at the painted window.</p> + +<p>'Christ has appeared to me.... I am saved!'</p> + +<p>Then the prior came up to him and took him in his arms and kissed him.</p> + +<p>'My son, praise be to God! you are whole again.'</p> + +<p>But Jasper pushed him aside, so that he might not be robbed of the sight +which filled him with rapture; the monks crowded round, questioning, but +he took no notice of them. He stood with outstretched arms, looking +eagerly, his face lighted up with joy. The monks began to kiss his cowl +and his feet, and they touched his hands.</p> + +<p>'I am saved! I am saved!'</p> + +<p>And the prior cried to them,—</p> + +<p>'Praise God, my brethren, praise God! for we have saved the soul of +Brother Jasper from eternal death.'<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a></p> + +<p>But when the service was over and the monks had filed out, Brother +Jasper came to himself—and he saw that the light had gone from the +window; the Christ was cold and dead, a thing of the handicraft of man. +What was it that had happened? Had a miracle occurred? The question +flashing through his mind made him cry out. He had prayed for a miracle, +and a miracle had been shown him—the poor monk of San Lucido....And +now he doubted the miracle. Oh, God must have ordained the damnation of +his soul to give him so little strength—perhaps He had sent the miracle +that he might have no answer at the Day of Judgment.</p> + +<p>'Faith thou hadst not—I showed Myself to thee in flesh and blood, I +moved My head; thou didst not believe thine own eyes.'...</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Next</span> day, at vespers, Jasper anxiously fixed his gaze on the +stained-glass window—again a glow came from it, and as he moved the +head seemed to incline itself; but now<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a> Jasper saw it was only the sun +shining through the window—only the sun! Then the heaviness descended +into the deepest parts of Jasper's soul, and he despaired.</p> + +<p>The night came and Jasper returned to his cell.... He leant against the +door, looking out through the little window, but he could only see the +darkness. And he likened it to the darkness in his own soul.</p> + +<p>'What shall I do?' he groaned.</p> + +<p>He could not tell the monks that it was not a miracle he had seen; he +could not tell them that he had lost faith again.... And then his +thoughts wandering to the future,—</p> + +<p>'Must I remain all my life in this cold monastery? If there is no God, +if I have but one life, what is the good of it? Why cannot I enjoy my +short existence as other men? Am not I young—am not I of the same flesh +and blood as they?'</p> + +<p>Vague recollections came to him of those new lands beyond the ocean, +those lands of sunshine and sweet odours. His mind became filled with a +vision of broad rivers, running slow and cool, overshadowed by strange, +luxuriant trees. And all was a wealth of beautiful colour.<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a></p> + +<p>'Oh, I cannot stay!' he cried; 'I cannot stay!'</p> + +<p>And it was a land of loving-kindness, a land of soft-eyed, gentle women.</p> + +<p>'I cannot stay! I cannot stay!'</p> + +<p>The desire to go forth was overwhelming, the walls of his cell seemed +drawing together to crush him; he must be free. Oh, for life! life! He +started up, not seeing the madness of his adventure; he did not think of +the snow-covered desert, the night, the distance from a town. He saw +before him the glorious sunshine of a new life, and he went towards it +like a blind man, with outstretched arms.</p> + +<p>Everyone was asleep in the monastery. He crept out of his cell and +silently opened the door of the porter's lodge; the porter was sleeping +heavily. Jasper took the keys and unlocked the gate. He was free. He +took no notice of the keen wind blowing across the desert; he hurried +down the hill, slipping on the frozen snow.... Suddenly he stopped; he +had caught sight of the great crucifix which stood by the wayside at the +bottom of the hill. Then the madness of it all occurred to him. Wherever +he went he would find the crucifix, even beyond the sea,<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> and nowhere +would he be able to forget his God. Always the recollection, always the +doubt, and he would never have rest till he was in the grave. He went +close to it and looked up; it was one of those strange Spanish +crucifixes—a wooden image with long, thin arms and legs and protruding +ribs, with real hair hanging over the shoulders, and a true crown of +thorns placed on the head; the ends of the tattered cloth fastened about +the loins fluttered in the wind. In the night the lifelikeness was +almost ghastly; it might have been a real man that hung there, with +great nails through his feet. The common people paid superstitious +reverence to it, and Jasper had often heard the peasants tell of the +consolations they had received.</p> + +<p>Why should not he too receive consolation? Was his soul not as worth +saving as theirs? A last spark of hope filled him, and he lifted himself +up on tip-toe to touch the feet.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Christ, come down to me! tell me whether Thou art indeed a God. Oh, +Christ, help me!'</p> + +<p>But the words lost themselves in the wind and night.... Then a great +rage seized<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a> him that he alone should receive no comfort. He clenched +his fists and beat passionately against the cross.</p> + +<p>'Oh, you are a cruel God! I hate you, I hate you!'</p> + +<p>If he could have reached it he would have torn the image down, and beat +it as he had been beaten. In his impotent rage he shrieked out curses +upon it—he blasphemed.</p> + +<p>But his strength spent itself and he sank to the foot of the cross, +bursting into tears. In his self-pity he thought his heart was broken. +Lifting himself to his knees, he clasped the wood with his hands and +looked up for the last time at the dead face of Christ.</p> + +<p>It was the end.... A strange peace came over him as the anguish of his +mind fell away before the cold. His hands and his feet were senseless, +he felt his heart turning to ice—and he felt nothing.</p> + +<p>In a little while the snow began to fall, lightly covering his +shoulders. Brother Jasper knew the secret of death at last.<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> day broke slowly, dim and grey. There was a hurried knocking at the +porter's door, a peasant with white and startled face said that a +brother was kneeling at the great cross in the snow, and would not +speak.</p> + +<p>The monks sallied forth anxiously, and came to the silent figure, +clasping the cross in supplication.</p> + +<p>'Brother Jasper!'</p> + +<p>The prior touched his hands; they were as cold as ice.</p> + +<p>'He is dead!'</p> + +<p>The villagers crowded round in astonishment, whispering to one another. +The monks tried to move him, but his hands, frozen to the cross, +prevented them.</p> + +<p>'He died in prayer—he was a saint!'</p> + +<p>But a woman with a paralysed arm came near him, and in her curiosity +touched his ragged cowl.... Suddenly she felt a warmth pass through her, +and the dead arm began to tingle. She cried out in astonishment, and as +the people turned to look she moved the fingers.<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a></p> + +<p>'He has restored my arm,' she said. 'Look!'</p> + +<p>'A miracle!' they cried out. 'A miracle! He is a saint!'</p> + +<p>The news spread like fire; and soon they brought a youth lying on a bed, +wasted by a mysterious illness, so thin that the bones protruding had +formed angry sores on the skin. They touched him with the hem of the +monk's garment, and immediately he roused himself.</p> + +<p>'I am whole; give me to eat!'</p> + +<p>A murmur of wonder passed through the crowd. The monks sank to their +knees and prayed.</p> + +<p class="top5">At last they lifted up the dead monk and bore him to the church. But +people all round the country crowded to see him; the sick and the +paralysed came from afar, and often went away sound as when they were +born.</p> + +<p>They buried him at last, but still to his tomb they came from all sides, +rich and poor; and the wretched monk, who had not faith to cure the +disease of his own mind, cured the diseases of those who had faith in +him.<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> +<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a></p> + + + +<h3><a name="THE_CHOICE_OF_AMYNTAS" id="THE_CHOICE_OF_AMYNTAS"></a>THE CHOICE OF AMYNTAS</h3> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">I</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Often</span> enough the lover of cities tires of their unceasing noise; the din +of the traffic buzzes perpetually in his ears, and even in the silences +of night he hears the footfalls on the pavement, the dull stamping of +horses, the screeching of wheels; the fog chokes up the lungs so that he +cannot breathe; he sees no longer any charms in the tall chimneys of the +factory and the heavy smoke winding in curves against the leaden sky; +then he flies to countries where the greenness is like cold spring +water, where he can hear the budding of the trees and the stars tell him +fantastic things, the silence is full of mysterious new emotions. And so +the writer sometimes grows weary to death of the life he sees, and he +presses his hands before his eyes, that he may hide from him the endless +failure in the endless quest; then he too sets sail for<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> Bohemia by the +Sea, and the other countries of the Frankly Impossible, where men are +always brave and women ever beautiful; there the tears of the morning +are followed by laughter at night, trials are easily surmountable, +virtue is always triumphant; there no illusions are lost, and lovers +live ever happily in a world without end.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">II</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time, very long ago, when the world was younger and more +wicked than it is now, there lived in the West Country a man called +Peter the Schoolmaster. But he was very different from ordinary +schoolmasters, for he was a scholar and a man of letters; he was +consequently very poor. All his life he had pored over old books and +musty parchments; but from them he had acquired little wisdom, for one +bright spring-time he fell in love with a farmer's daughter—and married +her. The farmer's daughter was a buxom wench, and, to the schoolmaster's +delight—he had a careless, charming<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a> soul—she presented him in course +of time with a round dozen of sturdy children. Peter compared himself +with Priam of Troy, with Jacob, with King Solomon of Israel and with +Queen Anne of England. Peter wrote a Latin ode to each offspring in +turn, which he recited to the assembled multitude when the midwife put +into his arms for the first time the new arrival. There was great +rejoicing over the birth of every one of the twelve children; but, as +was most proper in a land of primogeniture, the chiefest joy was the +first-born; and to him Peter wrote an Horatian ode, which was two +stanzas longer than the longest Horace ever wrote. Peter vowed that no +infant had ever been given the world's greeting in so magnificent a +manner; certainly he had never himself surpassed that first essay. As he +told the parson, to write twelve odes on paternity, twelve greetings to +the new-born soul, is a severe tax even on the most fertile imagination.</p> + +<p>But the object of all this eloquence was the cause of the first and only +quarrel between the gentle schoolmaster and his spouse; for the learned +man had dug out of one of his old books the name of Amyntas, and Amyntas +he vowed should be the name<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> of his son; so with that trisyllable he +finished every stanza of his ode. His wife threw her head back, and, +putting her hands on her hips, stood with arms akimbo; she said that +never in all her born days had she heard of anyone being called by such +a name, which was more fit for a heathen idol than for a plain, +straightforward member of the church by law established. In its stead +she suggested that the boy be called Peter, after his father, or John, +after hers. The gentle schoolmaster was in the habit of giving way to +his wife in all things, and it may be surmised that this was the reason +why the pair had lived in happiest concord; but now he was firm! He said +it was impossible to call the boy by any other name than Amyntas.</p> + +<p>'The name is necessary to the metre of my ode,' he said. 'It is its very +life. How can I finish my stanzas with Petrus or Johannes? I would +sooner die.'</p> + +<p>His wife did not think the ode mattered a rap. Peter turned pale with +emotion; he could scarcely express himself.</p> + +<p>'Every mother in England has had a child; children have been born since +the days of Cain and Abel thicker than the sands<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> of the sea. What is a +child? But an ode—my ode! A child is but an ordinary product of man and +woman, but a poem is a divine product of the Muses. My poem is sacred; +it shall not be defiled by any Petrus or Johannes! Let my house fall +about my head, let my household gods be scattered abroad, let the Fates +with their serpent hair render desolate my hearth; but do not rob me of +my verse. I would sooner lose the light of my eyes than the light of my +verse! Ah! let me wander through the land like Homer, sightless, +homeless; let me beg my bread from door to door, and I will sing the +ode, the ode to Amyntas.'...</p> + +<p>He said all this with so much feeling that Mrs Peter began to cry, and, +with her apron up to her eyes, said that she didn't want him to go +blind; but even if he did, he should never want, for she would work +herself to the bone to keep him. Peter waved his hand in tragic +deprecation. No, he would beg his bread from door to door; he would +sleep by the roadside in the bitter winter night.</p> + +<p>Now, the parson was present during this colloquy, and he proposed an +arrangement; and finally it was settled that Peter should have his way +in this case, but that Mrs Peter<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> should have the naming of all +subsequent additions to the family. So, of the rest, one was called +Peter, and one was called John, and there was a Mary, and a Jane, and a +Sarah; but the eldest, according to agreement, was christened Amyntas, +although to her dying day, notwithstanding the parson's assurances, the +mother was convinced in her heart of hearts that the name was papistical +and not fit for a plain, straightforward member of the church by law +established.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">III</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, it was as clear as a pikestaff to Peter the Schoolmaster that a +person called Amyntas could not go through the world like any other +ordinary being; so he devoted particular care to his son's education, +teaching him, which was the way of schoolmasters then as now, very many +entirely useless things, and nothing that could be to him of the +slightest service in earning his bread and butter.</p> + +<p>But twelve children cannot be brought up on limpid air, and there were +often difficulties<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> when new boots were wanted; sometimes, indeed, there +were difficulties when bread and meat and puddings were wanted. Such +things did not affect Peter; he felt not the pangs of hunger as he read +his books, and he vastly preferred to use the white and the yolk of an +egg in the restoration of an old leather binding than to have it +solemnly cooked and thrust into his belly. What cared he for the rantings +of his wife and the crying of the children when he could wander in +imagination on Mount Ida, clad only in his beauty, and the three +goddesses came to him promising wonderful things? He was a tall, lean +man, with thin, white hair and blue eyes, but his wrinkled cheeks were +still rosy; incessant snuff-taking had given a special character to his +nose. And sometimes, taking upon him the spirit of Catullus, he wrote +verses to Lesbia, or, beneath the breast-plate of Marcus Aurelius, he +felt his heart beat bravely as he marched against the barbarians; he was +Launcelot, and he made charming speeches to Guinevere as he kissed her +long white hand....</p> + +<p>But now and then the clamour of the outer world became too strong, and +he had to face seriously the question of his children's appetite.<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a></p> + +<p>It was on one of these occasions that the schoolmaster called his son to +his study and said to him,—</p> + +<p>'Amyntas, you are now eighteen years of age. I have taught you all I +know, and you have profited by my teaching; you know Greek and Latin as +well as I do myself; you are well acquainted with Horace and Tully; you +have read Homer and Aristotle; and added to this, you can read the Bible +in the original Hebrew. That is to say, you have all knowledge at your +fingers' ends, and you are prepared to go forth and conquer the world. +Your mother will make a bundle of your clothes; I will give you my +blessing and a guinea, and you can start to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Then he returned to his study of an oration of Isocrates. Amyntas was +thunder-struck.</p> + +<p>'But, father, where am I to go?'</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster raised his head in surprise, looking at his son over +the top of his spectacles.</p> + +<p>'My son,' he said, with a wave of the arm; 'my son, you have the world +before you—is that not enough?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, father,' said Amyntas, who thought it was a great deal too much; +'but what<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a> am I to do? I can't get very far on a guinea.'</p> + +<p>'Amyntas,' answered Peter, rising from his chair with great dignity, +'have you profited so ill by the examples of antiquity, which you have +had placed before you from your earliest years? Do you not know that +riches consist in an equal mind, and happiness in golden mediocrity? Did +the wise Odysseus quail before the unknown, because he had only a guinea +in his pocket? Shame on the heart that doubts! Leave me, my son, and +make ready.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas, very crestfallen, left the room and went to his mother to +acquaint her with the occurrence. She was occupied in the performance of +the family's toilet.</p> + +<p>'Well, my boy,' she said, as she scrubbed the face of the last but one, +'it's about time that you set about doing something to earn your living, +I must say. Now, if instead of learning all this popish stuff about +Greek and Latin and Lord knows what, you'd learnt to milk a cow or groom +a horse you'd be as right as a trivet now. Well, I'll put you up a few +things in a bundle as your father says and you can start early to-morrow +morning.... Now then, darling,' she added, turn<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>ing to her Benjamin, +'come and have your face washed, there's a dear.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Amyntas</span> scratched his head, and presently an inspiration came to him.</p> + +<p>'I will go to the parson,' he said.</p> + +<p>The parson had been hunting, and he was sitting in his study in a great +oak chair, drinking a bottle of port; his huge body and his red face +expressed the very completest satisfaction with the world in general; +one felt that he would go to bed that night with the cheerful happiness +of duty performed, and snore stentoriously for twelve hours. He was +troubled by no qualms of conscience; the Thirty-nine Articles caused him +never a doubt, and it had never occurred to him to concern himself with +the condition of the working classes. He lived in a golden age, when the +pauper was allowed to drink himself to death as well as the nobleman, +and no clergyman's wife read tracts by his bedside....<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a></p> + +<p>Amyntas told his news.</p> + +<p>'Well, my boy'—he never spoke but he shouted—'so you're going away? +Well, God bless you!'</p> + +<p>Amyntas looked at him expectantly, and the parson, wondering what he +expected, came to the conclusion that it was a glass of port, for at +that moment he was able to imagine nothing that man could desire more. +He smiled benignly upon Amyntas, and poured him out a glass.</p> + +<p>'Drink that, my boy. Keep it in your memory. It's the finest thing in +the world. It's port that's made England what she is!'</p> + +<p>Amyntas drank the port, but his face did not express due satisfaction.</p> + +<p>'Damn the boy!' said the parson. 'Port's wasted on him.'... Then, +thinking again what Amyntas might want, he rose slowly from his chair, +stretching his legs. 'I'm not so young as I used to be; I get stiff +after a day's hunting.' He walked round his room, looking at his +bookshelves; at last he picked out a book and blew the dust off the +edges. 'Here's a Bible for you, Amyntas. The two finest things in the +world are port and the Bible.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas thanked him, but without great<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a> enthusiasm. Another idea struck +the parson, and he shouted out another question.</p> + +<p>'Have you any money?'</p> + +<p>Amyntas told him of the guinea.</p> + +<p>'Damn your father! What's the good of a guinea?' He went to a drawer and +pulled out a handful of gold—the tithes had been paid a couple of days +before. 'Here are ten; a man can go to hell on ten guineas.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you very much, sir,' said Amyntas, pocketing the money, 'but I +don't think I want to go quite so far just yet.'</p> + +<p>'Then where the devil do you want to go?' shouted the parson.</p> + +<p>'That's just what I came to ask you about.'</p> + +<p>'Why didn't you say so at once? I thought you wanted a glass of port. +I'd sooner give ten men advice than one man port.' He went to the door +and called out, 'Jane, bring me another bottle.' He drank the bottle in +silence, while Amyntas stood before him, resting now upon one leg now +upon another, turning his cap round and round in his hands. At last the +parson spoke.</p> + +<p>'You may look upon a bottle of port in two ways,' he said; 'you may take +it as a<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> symbol of a happy life or as a method of thought.... There are +four glasses in a bottle. The first glass is full of expectation; you +enter life with mingled feelings; you cannot tell whether it will be +good or no. The second glass has the full savour of the grape; it is +youth with vine-leaves in its hair and the passion of young blood. The +third glass is void of emotion; it is grave and calm, like middle age; +drink it slowly, you are in full possession of yourself, and it will not +come again. The fourth glass has the sadness of death and the bitter +sweetness of retrospect.'</p> + +<p>He paused a moment for Amyntas to weigh his words.</p> + +<p>'But a bottle of port is a better method of thought than any taught by +the school-men. The first glass is that of contemplation—I think of +your case; the second is apprehension—an idea occurs to me; the third +is elaboration—I examine the idea and weigh the pros and cons; the +fourth is realisation—and here I give you the completed scheme. Look at +this letter; it is from my old friend Van Tiefel, a Dutch merchant who +lives at Cadiz, asking for an English clerk. One of his ships is +sailing<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> from Plymouth next Sunday, and it will put in at Cadiz on the +way to Turkey.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas thought the project could have been formed without a bottle of +port, but he was too discreet to say so, and heartily thanked the +parson. The good man lived in a time when teetotalism had not ruined the +clergy's nerves, and sanctity was not considered incompatible with a +good digestion and common humanity....</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">V</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Amyntas</span> spent the evening bidding tender farewells to a round dozen of +village beauties, whose susceptible hearts had not been proof against +the brown eyes and the dimples of the youth. There was indeed woe when +he spread the news of his departure; and all those maiden eyes ran +streams of salt tears as he bade them one by one good-bye; and though he +squeezed their hands and kissed their lips, vowing them one and all the +most unalterable fidelity, they were perfectly inconsolable. It is an +interesting fact<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a> to notice that the instincts of the true hero are +invariably polygamic....</p> + +<p>It was lucky for Amyntas that the parson had given him money, for his +father, though he gave him a copy of the <i>Ethics of Aristotle</i> and his +blessing, forgot the guinea; and Amyntas was too fearful of another +reproach to remind him of it.</p> + +<p>Amyntas was up with the lark, and having eaten as largely as he could in +his uncertainty of the future, made ready to start. The schoolmaster had +retired to his study to conceal his agitation; he was sitting like +Agamemnon with a dishcloth over his head, because he felt his face +unable to express his emotion. But the boy's mother stood at the cottage +door, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, surrounded by her +weeping children. She threw her arms about her son's neck, giving him a +loud kiss on either cheek, and Amyntas went the round of his brothers +and sisters, kissing them and bidding them not forget him. To console +them, he promised to bring back green parrots and golden bracelets, and +embroidered satins from Japan. As he passed down the village street he +shook hands with the good folk standing at their doors to bid him +good-bye,<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> and slowly made his way into the open country.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> way of the hero is often very hard, and Amyntas felt as if he would +choke as he walked slowly along. He looked back at every step, wondering +when he would see the old home again. He loitered through the lanes, +taking a last farewell of the nooks and corners where he had sat on +summer evenings with some fair female friend, and he heartily wished +that his name were James or John, and that he were an ordinary farmer's +son who could earn his living without going out for it into the wide, +wide world. So may Dick Whittington have meditated as he trudged the +London road, but Amyntas had no talismanic cat and no church bells rang +him inspiring messages. Besides, Dick Whittington had in him from his +birth the makings of a Lord Mayor—he had the golden mediocrity which is +the surest harbinger of success. But to Amyntas the world seemed cold +and grey, notwithstanding<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a> the sunshine of the morning; and the bare +branches of the oak trees were gnarled and twisted like the fingers of +evil fate. At last he came to the top of a little hill whence one had +the last view of the village. He looked at the red-roofed church +nestling among the trees, and in front of the inn he could still see the +sign of the 'Turk's Head.' A sob burst from him; he felt he could not +leave it all; it would not be so bad if he could see it once more. He +might go back at night and wander through the streets; he could stand +outside his own home door and look up at his father's light, perhaps +seeing his father's shadow bent over his books. He cared nothing that +his name was Amyntas; he would go to the neighbouring farmers and offer +his services as labourer—the village barber wanted an apprentice. Ah! +he would ten times sooner be a village Hampden or a songless Milton than +any hero! He hid his face in the grass and cried as if his heart were +breaking.</p> + +<p>Presently he cried himself to sleep, and when he awoke the sun was high +in the heavens and he had the very healthiest of appetites. He repaired +to a neighbouring inn and ordered bread and cheese and<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> a pot of beer. +Oh, mighty is the power of beer! Why am I not a poet, that I may stand +with my hair dishevelled, one hand in my manly bosom and the other +outstretched with splendid gesture, to proclaim the excellent beauty of +beer? Avaunt! ye sallow teetotalers, ye manufacturers of lemonade, ye +cocoa-drinkers! You only see the sodden wretch who hangs about the +public-house door in filthy slums, blinking his eyes in the glaze of +electric light, shivering in his scanty rags—and you do not know the +squalor and the terrible despair of hunger which he strives to +forget.... But above all, you do not know the glorious ale of the +country, the golden brown ale, with its scent of green hops, its broad +scents of the country; its foam is whiter than snow and lighter than the +almond blossoms; and it is cold, cold.... Amyntas drank his beer, and he +sighed with great content; the sun shone hopefully upon him now, and the +birds twittered all sorts of inspiring things; still in his mouth was +the delightful bitterness of the hops. He threw off care as a mantle, +and he stepped forward with joyful heart. Spain was a wild country,<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> the +land of the grave hidalgo and the haughty princess. He felt in his +strong right arm the power to fight and kill and conquer. Black-bearded +villains should capture beautiful maidens on purpose for him to rescue. +Van Tiefel was but a stepping-stone; he was not made for the desk of a +counting-house. No heights dazzled him; he saw himself being made a peer +or a prince, being granted wide domains by a grateful monarch. He was +not too low to aspire to the hand of a king's fair daughter; he was a +hero, every inch a hero. Great is the power of beer. Avaunt! ye sallow +teetotalers, ye manufacturers of lemonade, ye cocoa-drinkers!</p> + +<p>At night he slept on a haystack, with the blue sky, star-bespangled, for +his only roof, and dreamed luxurious dreams.... The mile-stones flew +past one another as he strode along, two days, three days, four days. On +the fifth, as he reached the summit of a little hill, he saw a great +expanse of light shining in the distance, and the sea glittered before +him like the bellies of innumerable little silver fishes. He went down +the hill, up another, and thence saw Plymouth at his<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> feet; the masts of +the ships were like a great forest of leafless trees.... He thanked his +stars, for one's imagination is all very well for a while, and the +thought of one's future prowess certainly shortens the time; but roads +are hard and hills are steep, one's legs grow tired and one's feet grow +sore; and things are not so rose-coloured at the end of a journey as at +the beginning. Amyntas could not for ever keep thinking of beautiful +princesses and feats of arms, and after the second day he had exhausted +every possible adventure; he had raised himself to the highest possible +altitudes, and his aristocratic amours had had the most successful +outcome.</p> + +<p>He sat down by a little stream that ran along the roadside, and bathed +his aching feet; he washed his face and hands; starting down the hill, +he made his way towards the town and entered the gate.<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Amyntas</span> discovered Captain Thorman of the good ship <i>Calderon</i> drinking +rum punch in a tavern parlour. In those days all men were heroic.... He +gave him the parson's letter.</p> + +<p>'Well, my boy,' said the captain, after twice reading it; 'I don't mind +taking you to Cadiz; I daresay you'll be able to make yourself useful on +board. What can you do?'</p> + +<p>'Please, sir,' answered Amyntas, with some pride, 'I know Latin and +Greek; I am well acquainted with Horace and Tully; I have read Homer and +Aristotle; and added to this, I can read the Bible in the original +Hebrew.'</p> + +<p>The captain looked at him.</p> + +<p>'If you talk to me like that,' he said, 'I'll shy my glass at your +head.' He shook with rage, and the redness of his nose emitted lightning +sparks of indignation; when he had recovered his speech, he asked +Amyntas why he stood there like an owl, and told him to get on board.<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a></p> + +<p>Amyntas bowed himself meekly out of the room, went down to the harbour, +and bearing in mind what he had heard of the extreme wickedness of +Plymouth, held tightly on to his money; he had been especially warned +against the women who lure the unwary seaman into dark dens and rob him +of money and life. But no adventure befell him, thanks chiefly to the +swiftness of his heels, for when a young lady of prepossessing +appearance came up to him and inquired after his health, affectionately +putting her arm in his, he promptly took to his legs and fled.</p> + +<p>Amyntas was in luck's way, for it was not often that an English ship +carried merchandise to Spain. As a rule, the two powers were at daggers +drawn; but at this period they had just ceased cutting one another's +throats and sinking one another's ships, joining together in fraternal +alliance to cut the throats and sink the ships of a rival power, which, +till the treaty, had been a faithful and brotherly ally to His Majesty +of Great Britain, and which our gracious king had abandoned with unusual +dexterity, just as it was preparing to abandon him....<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a></p> + +<p>As Amyntas stood on the deck of the ship and saw the grey cliffs of +Albion disappear into the sea, he felt the emotions and sentiments which +inevitably come to the patriotic Englishman who leaves his native shore; +his melancholy became almost unbearable as the ship, getting out into +the open sea, began to roll, and he drank to the dregs the bitter cup of +leaving England, home, beauty—and <i>terra firma</i>. He went below, and, +climbing painfully into his hammock, gave himself over to misery and +<i>mal-de-mer</i>.</p> + +<p>Two days he spent of lamentation and gnashing of teeth, wishing he had +never been born, and not till the third day did he come on deck. He was +pale and weak, feeling ever so unheroic, but the sky was blue and the +ship bounded over the blue waves as if it were alive. Amyntas sniffed in +the salt air and the rushing wind, and felt alive again. The days went +by, the sun became hotter, and the sky a different, deeper blue, while +its vault spread itself over the sea in a vaster expanse. They came in +sight of land again; they coasted down a gloomy country with lofty +cliffs going sheer into the sea; they passed<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> magnificent galleons laden +with gold from America; and one morning, when Amyntas came on deck at +break of day, he saw before him the white walls and red roofs of a +southern city. The ship slowly entered the harbour of Cadiz.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> last! Amyntas went on shore immediately. His spirit was so airy +within him that he felt he could hover along in the air, like Mr Lang's +spiritualistic butlers, and it was only by a serious effort of will that +he walked soberly down the streets like normal persons. His soul shouted +with the joy of living. He took in long breaths as if to breathe in the +novelty and the strangeness. He walked along, too excited to look at +things, only conscious of a glare of light and colour, a thronging +crowd, life and joyousness on every side.... He walked through street +after street, almost sobbing with delight, through narrow alleys down +which the sun never fell, into big squares hot as ovens and<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a> dazzling, +up hill and down hill, past ragged slums, past the splendid palaces of +the rich, past shops, past taverns. Finally he came on to the shore +again and threw himself down in the shade of a little grove of orange +trees to sleep.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, he saw, standing motionless by his side, a Spanish lady. +He looked at her silently, noting her olive skin, her dark and lustrous +eyes, the luxuriance of her hair. If she had only possessed a tambourine +she would have been the complete realisation of his dreams. He smiled.</p> + +<p>'Why do you lie here alone, sweet youth?' she asked, with an answering +smile. 'And who and what are you?'</p> + +<p>'I lay down here to rest, lady,' he replied. 'I have this day arrived +from England, and I am going to Van Tiefel, the merchant.'</p> + +<p>'Ah! a young English merchant. They are all very rich. Are you?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, lady,' frankly answered Amyntas, pulling out his handful of gold.</p> + +<p>The Spaniard smiled on him, and then sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>'Why do you sigh?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Ah! you English merchants are so fascinating.' She took his hand and +pressed it.<a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a> Amyntas was not a forward youth, but he had some experience +of English maidens, and felt that there was but one appropriate +rejoinder. He kissed her.</p> + +<p>She sighed again as she relinquished herself to his embrace.</p> + +<p>'You English merchants are so fascinating—and so rich.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas thought the Spanish lady was sent him by the gods, for she took +him to her house and gave him melons and grapes, which, being young and +of lusty appetite, he devoured with great content. She gave him +wine—strong, red, fiery wine, that burned his throat—and she gave him +sundry other very delightful things, which it does not seem necessary to +relate.</p> + +<p>When Amyntas on his departure shyly offered some remuneration for his +entertainment, it was with an exquisite southern grace that she relieved +him of his ten golden guineas, and he almost felt she was doing him a +favour as she carelessly rattled the coins into a silken purse. And if +he was a little dismayed to see his treasure go so speedily, he was far +too delicate-minded to betray any emotion; but he resolved to lose no +time in finding out the offices of the wealthy Tiefel.<a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a></p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IX</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> Van Tiefel was no longer in Cadiz! On the outbreak of the treaty, +the Spanish authorities had given the Dutch merchant four-and-twenty +hours to leave the country, and had seized his property, making him +understand that it was only by a signal mercy that his life was spared. +Amyntas rushed down to the harbour in dismay. The good ship <i>Calderon</i> +had already sailed. Amyntas cursed his luck, he cursed himself; above +all, he cursed the lovely Spanish lady whose charms had caused him to +delay his search for Van Tiefel till the ship had gone on its eastward +journey.</p> + +<p>After looking long and wistfully at the sea, he turned back into the +town and rambled melancholy through the streets, wondering what would +become of him. Soon the pangs of hunger assailed him, and he knew the +discomfort of a healthy English appetite. He hadn't a single farthing, +and even Scotch poets, when they come to London to set the Thames on +fire, are wont to put a half-crown piece in their pockets. Amyntas +meditated upon the folly of extravagance, the indiscre<a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>tion of youth and +the wickedness of woman.... He tightened his belt and walked on. At +last, feeling weary and faint with hunger, he lay down on the steps of a +church and there spent the night. When he awoke next morning, he soon +remembered that he had slept supperless; he was ravenous. Suddenly his +eye, looking across the square, caught sight of a book shop, and it +occurred to him that he might turn to account the books which his father +and the parson had given him. He blessed their foresight. The Bible +fetched nothing, but the Aristotle brought him enough to keep him from +starvation for a week. Having satisfied his hunger, he set about trying +to find work. He went to booksellers and told them his accomplishments, +but no one could see any use in a knowledge of Greek, Latin and the +Hebrew Bible. He applied at shops. Growing bolder with necessity, he +went into merchants' offices, and to great men's porters, but all with +great civility sent him about his business, and poor Amyntas was no more +able to get work than nowadays a professional tramp or the secretary of +a trade's union.</p> + +<p>Four days he went on, trying here and trying there, eating figs and +melons and bread,<a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a> drinking water, sleeping beneath archways or on the +steps of churches, and he dreamed of the home of roast beef and ale +which he had left behind him. Every day he became more disheartened. But +at last he rose up against Fate; he cursed it Byronically. Every man's +hand was against him; his hand should be against every man. He would be +a brigand! He shook off his feet the dust of Cadiz, and boldly went into +the country to find a band of free companions. He stopped herdsmen and +pedlars and asked them where brigands were. They pointed to the +mountains, and to the mountains he turned his face. He would join the +band, provoke a quarrel with the chief, kill him and be made chief in +his stead. Then he would scour the country in a velvet mask and a peaked +hat with a feather in it, carrying fire and desolation everywhere. A +price would be set on his head, but he would snap his fingers in the +face of the Prime Minister. He would rule his followers with an iron +hand. But now he was in the midst of the mountains, and there were not +the smallest signs of lawless folk, not even a gibbet with a skeleton +hanging in chains to show where lawless folk had been. He sought high +and<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a> low, but he never saw a living soul besides a few shepherds clothed +in skins. It was most disheartening! Once he saw two men crouching +behind a rock, and approached them; but as soon as they saw him they ran +away, and although he followed them, shouting that they were not to be +afraid since he wanted to be a brigand too, they paid no attention, but +only ran the faster, and at last he had to give up the chase for want of +breath. One can't be a robber chief all by oneself, nor is it given to +everyone in this world to be a brigand. Amyntas found that even heroes +have their limitations.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">X</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> day, making his way along a rocky path, he found a swineherd +guarding his flock.</p> + +<p>'Good-morrow!' said the man, and asked Amyntas whither he was bound.</p> + +<p>'God knows!' answered Amyntas. 'I am wandering at chance, and know not +where I go.'<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a></p> + +<p>'Well, youth, stay the night with me, and to-morrow you can set out +again. In return for your company I will give you food and shelter.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas accepted gratefully, for he had been feeding on herbs for a +week, and the prospect of goat's milk, cheese and black bread was like +the feast of Trimalchion. When Amyntas had said his story, the herdsman +told him that there was a rich man in the neighbouring village who +wanted a swineherd, and in the morning showed him the way to the rich +man's house.</p> + +<p>'I will come a little way with you lest you take the wrong path.'...</p> + +<p>They walked along the rocky track, and presently the way divided.</p> + +<p>'This path to the right leads to the village,' said the man.</p> + +<p>'And this one to the left, swineherd?'</p> + +<p>The swineherd crossed himself.</p> + +<p>'Ah! that is the path of evil fortune. It leads to the accursed cavern.'</p> + +<p>A cold wind blew across their faces.</p> + +<p>'Come away,' said the herdsman, shuddering. 'Do you not feel on your +face the cold breath of it?'</p> + +<p>'Tell me what it is,' said Amyntas. He<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a> stood looking at the opening +between the low trees.</p> + +<p>'It is a lake of death—a lake beneath the mountain—and the roof of it +is held up by marble columns, which were never wrought by the hand of +man. Come away! do you not feel on your face the cold breath of it?'</p> + +<p>He dragged Amyntas away along the path that led to the village, and when +the way was clear before him, turned back, returning to his swine. But +Amyntas ran after him.</p> + +<p>'Tell me what they say of the accursed cavern.'</p> + +<p>'They say many things. Some say it is a treasure-house of the Moors, +where they have left their wealth. Some say it is an entrance to the +enchanted land; some say it is an entrance to hell itself.... Venturous +men have gone in to discover the terrible secret, but none has returned +to tell it.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas wandered slowly towards the village. Were his dreams to end in +the herding of swine? What was this cavern of which the herdsman spoke? +He felt a strange impulse to go back and look at the dark opening +between the little trees from which blew the cold wind.... But perhaps +the rich man had a beauteous daughter;<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> history is full of the social +successes of swine herds. Amyntas felt a strange thrill as the dark lake +came before his mind; he almost heard the lapping of the water.... +Kings' daughters had often looked upon lowly swineherds and raised them +to golden thrones. But he could not help going to look again at the dark +opening between the little trees. He walked back and again the cold +breath blew against his face; he felt in it the icy coldness of the +water. It drew him in; he separated the little trees on either side. He +walked on as if a hidden power urged him. And now the path became less +clear; trees and bushes grew in the way and hindered him, brambles and +long creeping plants twisted about his legs and pulled him back. But the +wind with its coldness of the black water drew him on.... The birds of +the air were hushed, and not one of the thousand insects of the wood +uttered a note. Great trees above him hid the light. The silence was +ghastly; he felt as if he were the only person in the world.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he gave a cry; he had come to the end of the forest, and before +him he saw the opening of the cavern. He looked in; he saw black, +stagnant water, motionless<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> and heavy, and, as far as the eye could +reach, sombre pillars, covered with green, moist slime; they stood half +out of the water, supporting the roof, and from the roof oozed moisture +which fell in heavy drops, in heavy drops continually. At the entrance +was a little skiff with a paddle in it.</p> + +<p>Amyntas stood at the edge. Dared he venture? What could there be behind +that darkness? The darkness was blacker than the blackest night. He +stepped into the boat. Should he go? With beating heart he untied the +rope; he hardly dared to breathe. He pushed away.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">He</span> looked to the right and left, paddling slowly; on all sides he saw +the slimy columns stretching regularly into the darkness. The light of +the open day grew dimmer as he advanced, the air became colder. He +looked eagerly around him, paddling slowly. Already he half repented the +attempt. The boat went along easily, and the black and heavy water +hardly<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> splashed as he drew his paddle through it. Still nothing could +be seen but the even ranks of pillars. Then, all at once, the night grew +blacker, and again the cold wind arose and blew in his face; everywhere +was the ghastly silence and the darkness. A shiver went through him; he +could not bear it; in an agony of terror he turned his paddle to go +back. Whatever might be the secret of the cavern or the reward of the +adventure, he dared go no further. He must get back quickly to the open +air and the blue sky. He drew his paddle through the water. The boat did +not turn. He gave a cry, he pulled with all his might, the boat only +lurched a little and went on its way. He set his teeth and backed; his +life depended upon it. The boat swam on. A cold sweat broke out over +him; he put all his strength in his stroke. The boat went on into the +darkness swiftly and silently. He paused a little to regain force; he +stifled a sob of horror and despair. Then he made a last effort; the +skiff whirled round into another avenue of columns, and the paddle +shivered into atoms against a pillar. The little light of the cavern +entrance was lost, and there was utter darkness.<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a></p> + +<p>Amyntas cowered down in the boat. He gave up hope of life, and lay there +for long hours awaiting his end; the water carried the skiff along +swiftly, silently. The darkness was so heavy that the columns were +invisible, heavy drops fell into the water from the roof. How long would +it last? Would the boat go on till he died, and then speed on for ever? +He thought of the others who had gone into the cavern. Were there other +boats hurrying eternally along the heavy waters, bearing cold skeletons?</p> + +<p>He covered his face with his hands and moaned. But he started up, the +night seemed less black; he looked intently; yes, he could distinguish +the outlines of the pillars dimly, so dimly that he thought he saw them +only in imagination. And soon he could see distinctly their massive +shapes against the surrounding darkness. And as gradually the night +thinned away into dim twilight, he saw that the columns were different +from those at the entrance of the cavern; they were no longer covered +with weed and slime, the marble was polished and smooth; and the water +beneath him appeared less black. The skiff went on so swiftly that the +perpetual sequence of the pillars tired<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> his eyes; but their grim +severity gave way to round columns less forbidding and more graceful; as +the light grew clearer, there was almost a tinge of blue in the water. +Amyntas was filled with wonder, for the columns became lighter and more +decorated, surmounted by capitals, adorned with strange sculptures. Some +were green and some were red, others were yellow or glistening white; +they mirrored themselves in the sapphire water. Gradually the roof +raised itself and the columns became more slender; from them sprang +lofty arches, gorgeously ornamented, and all was gold and silver and +rich colour. The water turned to a dazzling, translucent blue, so that +Amyntas could see hundreds of feet down to the bottom, and the bottom +was covered with golden sand. And the light grew and grew till it was +more brilliant than the clearest day; gradually the skiff slowed down +and it swam leisurely towards the light's source, threading its way +beneath the horse-shoe arches among the columns, and these gathered +themselves into two lines to form a huge avenue surmounted by a vast +span, and at the end, in a splendour of light, Amyntas saw a wondrous +palace, with steps<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a> leading down to the water. The boat glided towards +it and at the steps ceased moving.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> the same moment the silver doors of the palace were opened, and from +them issued black slaves, magnificently apparelled; they descended to +Amyntas and with courteous gestures assisted him out of the boat. Then +two other slaves, even more splendidly attired than their fellows, came +down and led Amyntas slowly and with great state into the court of the +palace, at the end of which was a great chamber; into this they motioned +the youth to enter. They made him the lowest possible bows and retired, +letting a curtain fall over the doorway. But immediately the curtain was +raised and other slaves came in, bearing gorgeous robes and all kinds of +necessaries for the toilet. With much ceremony they proceeded to bathe +and scent the fortunate creature; they polished and dyed his finger<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> +nails; they pencilled his eyebrows and faintly darkened his long +eyelashes; they put precious balsam on his hair; then they clothed him +in silken robes glittering with gold and silver; they put the daintiest +red morocco shoes on his feet, a jewelled chain about his neck, rings on +his fingers, and in his turban a rich diamond. Finally they placed +before him a gigantic mirror, and left him.</p> + +<p>Everything had been conducted in complete silence, and Amyntas +throughout had preserved the most intense gravity. But when he was alone +he gave a little silent laugh of delight. It was obvious that at last he +was to be rewarded according to his deserts. He looked at the rings on +his fingers, resisting a desire to put one or two of them in his pocket +in case of a future rainy day. Then, catching sight of himself in the +mirror, he started. Was that really himself? How very delightful! He +made sure that no one could see, and then began to make bows to himself +in the mirror; he walked up and down the room, observing the stateliness +of his gesture; he waved his hands in a lordly and patronising fashion; +he turned himself round to look at his back;<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> he was very annoyed that +he could not see his profile. He came to the conclusion that he looked +every inch a king's son, and his inner consciousness told him that +consequently the king's daughter could not be far off.</p> + +<p>But he would explore his palace! He girded his sword about him; it was a +scimitar of beautiful workmanship, and the scabbard was incrusted with +precious stones.... From the court he passed into many wonderful rooms, +one leading out of the other; there were rich carpets on the marble +floors, and fountains played softly in the centre, the walls were inlaid +with rare marbles; but he never saw a living soul.</p> + +<p>In the last hour Amyntas had become fully alive to his great importance, +and carried himself accordingly. He took long, dignified steps, and held +one hand on the jewelled hilt of his sword, with his elbows stuck out at +right angles to his body; his head was thrown back proudly and his +nostrils dilated with appropriate scorn. At last he came to a door +closed by a curtain; he raised it. But he started back and was so +surprised that he found no words to express his emotions. Four maidens +were<a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a> sitting in the room, more beautiful than he had thought possible +in his most extravagant dreams. The gods had evidently not intended +Amyntas for single blessedness.... The young persons appeared not to +have noticed him. Two of them were seated on rugs playing a languid game +of chess, the others were lazily smoking cigarettes.</p> + +<p>'Mate!' murmured one of the players.</p> + +<p>'Oh!' sighed the other, yawning, 'another game finished! That makes five +million and twenty-three games against your five million and +seventy-nine.'</p> + +<p>They all yawned.</p> + +<p>But Amyntas felt he must give notice of his presence, and suddenly +remembering an expression he had learnt on board ship, he put on a most +ferocious look and cried out,—</p> + +<p>'Shiver my timbers!'</p> + +<p>The maidens turned towards him with a little cry, but they quickly +recovered themselves and one of them came towards him.</p> + +<p>'You speak like a king's son, oh youth!' she said.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's hesitation, and the lady, with a smile, added, 'Oh, +ardently expected one, you are a compendium of the seven excellences!'<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a></p> + +<p>Then they all began to pay him compliments, each one capping the other's +remark.</p> + +<p>'You have a face like the full moon, oh youth; your eyes are the eyes of +the gazelle; your walk is like the gait of the mountain partridge; your +chin is as an apple; your cheeks are pomegranates.'</p> + +<p>But Amyntas interrupted them.</p> + +<p>'For God's sake, madam,' he said, 'let us have no palavering, and if you +love me give me some victuals!...'</p> + +<p>Immediately female slaves came in with salvers laden with choice food, +and the four maidens plied Amyntas with delicacies. At the end of the +repast they sprinkled him with rose-water, and the eldest of them put a +crown of roses on his hair. Amyntas thought that after all life was not +an empty dream.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">'And</span> now, may it please you, oh stranger, to hear our story.</p> + +<p>'Know then that our father was a Moor, one of the wealthiest of his +people, and he<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a> dwelt with his fellows in Spain, honoured and beloved. +Now, when Allah—whose name be exalted!—decreed that our nation should +be driven from the country, he, unwilling to leave the land of his +birth, built him, with the aid of magic arts, this palace. Here he +brought us, his four daughters and all his riches; he peopled it with +slaves and filled it with all necessary things, and here we lived in +peace and prosperity for many years; but at last a great misfortune +befell us, for our father, who was a very learned man and accustomed to +busy himself with many abstruse matters, one day got lost in a +metaphysical speculation—and has never been found again.'</p> + +<p>Here she stopped, and they all sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>'We searched high and low, but in vain, and he has not been found to +this day. So we took his will, and having broken the seal, read the +following,—"My daughters, I know by my wisdom that the time will come +when I shall be lost to you; then you will live alone enjoying the +riches and the pleasures which I have put at your disposal; but I +foresee that at the end of many years a youth will find his way to this +your palace. And<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> though my magic arts have been able to build this +paradise for your habitation, though they have endowed you with +perpetual youth and loveliness, and, greatest deed of all, have banished +hence the dark shadow of Death, yet have they not the power to make four +maidens live in happiness and unity with but one man! Therefore, I have +given unto each of you certain gifts, and of you four the youth shall +choose one to be his love; and to him and her shall belong this palace, +and all my riches, and all my power; while the remaining three shall +leave everything here to these two, and depart hence for ever."</p> + +<p>'Now, gentle youth, it is with you to choose which of us four you will +have remain.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas looked at the four damsels standing before him, and his heart +beat violently.</p> + +<p>'I,' resumed the speaker—'I am the eldest of the four, and it is my +right to speak first.'</p> + +<p>She stepped forward and stood alone in front of Amyntas; her aspect was +most queenly, her features beautiful and clear, her eyes proud and +fiery; and masses of raven hair contrasted with the red flaming<a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a> of her +garments. With an imperious gesture she flung back her hair, and spoke +thus,—</p> + +<p>'Know, youth, that the gift which my father gave me was the gift of war, +and I have the power to make a great warrior of him whose love I am. I +will make you a king, youth; you shall command mighty armies, and you +shall lead them to battle on a prancing horse; your enemies shall quail +before your face, and at last you shall die no sluggard's death, but +pierced by honourable wounds, and the field of battle shall be your +deathbed; a nation shall mourn your loss, and your name shall go down +famous to after ages.'</p> + +<p>'You are very beautiful,' said Amyntas, 'but I am not so eager for +warlike exploits as when I wandered through the green lanes of my native +land. Let me hear the others.'</p> + +<p>A second stepped forward. She was clad most gorgeously of all; a crown +of diamonds was on her head, and her robes were of cloth of gold sewn +with rubies and emeralds and sapphires.</p> + +<p>'The gift I have to give is wealth, riches—riches innumerable, riches +greater than man can dream of. Do you want to be a king, the riches I +can give will make you one; do<a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a> you want armies, riches can procure +them; do you want victory, riches can buy it—all these that my sister +offers you can I with my riches give you; and more than that, for +everything in the world can be got with riches, and you shall be +all-powerful. Take me to be your love and I will make you the Lord of +Gold.'</p> + +<p>Amyntas smiled.</p> + +<p>'You forget, lady, that I am but twenty.'</p> + +<p>The third stepped forward. She was beautiful and pale and thoughtful. +Her hair was yellow, like corn when the sun is shining on it; and her +dress was green, like the young grass of the spring. She spoke without +the animation of the others, mournfully rather than proudly, and she +looked at Amyntas with melancholy eyes.</p> + +<p>'I am the Lady of Art; all that is beautiful and good and wise is in my +province. Live with me; I will make you a poet, and you shall sing +beautiful songs. You shall be wise; and in perfect wisdom, oh youth! is +perfect happiness.'</p> + +<p>'The poet has said that wisdom is weariness, oh lady!' said Amyntas. 'My +father is a poet; he has written ten thousand Latin<a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a> hexameters, and a +large number of Greek iambics.'...</p> + +<p>Then came forward the last. As she stood before Amyntas a cry burst from +him; he had never in his life seen anyone so ravishingly beautiful. She +was looking down, and her long eyelashes prevented her eyes from being +seen, but her lips were like a perfect rose, and her skin was like a +peach; her hair fell to her waist in great masses of curls, and their +sparkling auburn, many-hued and indescribable, changed in the sunbeams +from richest brown to gold, tinged with deep red. She wore a simple +tunic of thin silk, clasped at her waist with a jewelled belt of gold.</p> + +<p>She stood before Amyntas, letting him gaze; then suddenly she lifted her +eyes to his. Amyntas's heart gave a mighty beat against his chest. Her +eyes, her eyes were the very lights of love, carrying passionate kisses +on their beams. A sob of ecstasy choked the youth, and he felt that he +could kneel down and worship before them.</p> + +<p>Slowly her lips broke into a smile, and her voice was soft and low.</p> + +<p>'I am the Lady of Love,' she said. 'Look!' She raised her arms, and the +thin,<a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a> loose sleeves falling back displayed their roundness and +exquisite shape; she lifted her head, and Amyntas thrilled to cover her +neck with kisses. At last she loosened her girdle, and when the silken +tunic fell to her feet she stood before him in perfect loveliness.</p> + +<p>'I cannot give you fame, or riches, or wisdom; I can only give you Love, +Love, Love.... Oh, what an eternity of delight shall we enjoy in one +another's arms! Come, my beloved, come!'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I come, my darling!' Amyntas stepped forward with outstretched +arms, and took her hands in his. 'I take you for my love; I want not +wealth nor great renown, but only you. You will give me love-alluring +kisses, and we will live in never-ending bliss.'</p> + +<p>He drew her to him, and, with his arms around her, pressed back her head +and covered her lips with kisses.<a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a></p> + + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XIV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> while Amyntas lost his soul in the eyes of his beloved, the three +sisters went sadly away. They ascended the stately barge which awaited +them, and the water bore them down the long avenue of columns into the +darkness. After a long time they reached the entrance of the cavern, and +having placed a great stone against it, that none might enter more, they +separated, wandering in different directions.</p> + +<p>The Lady of War passed through Spain, finding none there worthy of her. +She crossed the mountains, and presently she fell in love with a little +artillery officer, and raised him to dignity and power; and together +they ran through the lands, wasting and burning, making women widows and +children orphans, ruthless, unsparing, caring for naught but the +voluptuousness of blood. But she sickened of the man at last and left +him; then the blood he had spilt rose up against him, and he was cast +down and died an exile on a lonely isle. And now they say she dwells in +the palaces of a youth<a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a> with a withered hand; together they rule a +mighty empire, and their people cry out at the oppression, but the ruler +heeds nothing but the burning kisses of his love.</p> + +<p>The Lady of Riches, too, passed out of Spain. But she was not content +with one love, nor with a hundred. She gave her favours to the first +comer, and everyone was welcome; she wandered carelessly through the +world, but chiefly she loved an island in the north; and in its capital +she has her palace, and the inhabitants of the isle have given +themselves over, body and soul, to her domination; they pander and lie +and cheat, and forswear themselves; to gain her smile they will shrink +from no base deed, no meanness; and she, too, makes women widows and +children orphans.... But her subjects care not; they are fat and +well-content; the goddess smiles on them, and they are the richest in +the world.</p> + +<p>The Lady of Art has not found an emperor nor a mighty people to be her +lovers. She wanders lonely through the world; now and then a youthful +dreamer sees her in his sleep and devotes his life to her pursuit; but +the way is hard, very hard; so he turns aside to worship at the throne<a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a> +of her sister of Riches, and she repays him for the neglect he has +suffered; she showers gold upon him and makes him one of her knights. +But sometimes the youth remains faithful, and goes through his life in +the endless search; and at last, when his end has come, she comes down +to the garret in which he lies cold and dead, and stooping down, kisses +him gently—and lo! he is immortal.</p> + +<p>But as for Amyntas, when the sisters had retired, he again took his +bride in his arms, and covered her lips with kisses; and she, putting +her arms round his neck, said with a smile,—</p> + +<p>'I have waited for you so long, my love, so long!'</p> + +<p>And here it is fit that we should follow the example of the three +sisters, and retire also.</p> + +<p>The moral of this story is, that if your godfathers and godmothers at +your baptism give you a pretty name, you will probably marry the most +beautiful woman in the world and live happily ever afterwards.... And +the platitudinous philosopher may marvel at the tremendous effects of +the most insignificant causes, for if Amyntas had been<a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> called Peter or +John, as his mother wished, William II. might be eating sauerkraut as +peacefully as his ancestors, the Lord Mayor of London might not drive +about in a gilded carriage, and possibly even—Mr Alfred Austin might +not be Poet Laureate....<a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a></p> + + + +<h3><a name="DAISY" id="DAISY"></a>DAISY</h3> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">I</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was Sunday morning—a damp, warm November morning, with the sky +overhead grey and low. Miss Reed stopped a little to take breath before +climbing the hill, at the top of which, in the middle of the churchyard, +was Blackstable Church. Miss Reed panted, and the sultriness made her +loosen her jacket. She stood at the junction of the two roads which led +to the church, one from the harbour end of the town and the other from +the station. Behind her lay the houses of Blackstable, the wind-beaten +houses with slate roofs of the old fishing village and the red brick +villas of the seaside resort which Blackstable was fast becoming; in the +harbour were the masts of the ships, colliers that brought coal from the +north; and beyond, the grey sea, very motionless, mingling in the +distance with the sky....<a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a> The peal of the church bells ceased, and was +replaced by a single bell, ringing a little hurriedly, querulously, +which denoted that there were only ten minutes before the beginning of +the service. Miss Reed walked on; she looked curiously at the people who +passed her, wondering....</p> + +<p>'Good-morning, Mr Golding!' she said to a fisherman who pounded by her, +ungainly in his Sunday clothes.</p> + +<p>'Good-morning, Miss Reed!' he replied. 'Warm this morning.'</p> + +<p>She wondered whether he knew anything of the subject which made her +heart beat with excitement whenever she thought of it, and for thinking +of it she hadn't slept a wink all night.</p> + +<p>'Have you seen Mr Griffith this morning?' she asked, watching his face.</p> + +<p>'No; I saw Mrs Griffith and George as I was walking up.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! they are coming to church, then!' Miss Reed cried with the utmost +surprise.</p> + +<p>Mr Golding looked at her stupidly, not understanding her agitation. But +they had reached the church. Miss Reed stopped in the porch to wipe her +boots and pass an arranging hand over her hair. Then, gather<a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>ing herself +together, she walked down the aisle to her pew.</p> + +<p>She arranged the hassock and knelt down, clasping her hands and closing +her eyes; she said the Lord's Prayer; and being a religious woman, she +did not immediately rise, but remained a certain time in the same +position of worship to cultivate a proper frame of mind, her long, +sallow face upraised, her mouth firmly closed, and her eyelids quivering +a little from the devotional force with which she kept her eyes shut; +her thin bust, very erect, was encased in a black jacket as in a coat of +steel. But when Miss Reed considered that a due period had elapsed, she +opened her eyes, and, as she rose from her knees, bent over to a lady +sitting just in front of her.</p> + +<p>'Have you heard about the Griffiths, Mrs Howlett?'</p> + +<p>'No!... What is it?' answered Mrs Howlett, half turning round, intensely +curious.</p> + +<p>Miss Reed waited a moment to heighten the effect of her statement.</p> + +<p>'Daisy Griffith has eloped—with an officer from the dépôt at +Tercanbury.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Howlett gave a little gasp.</p> + +<p>'You don't say so!'<a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a></p> + +<p>'It's all they could expect,' whispered Miss Reed. 'They ought to have +known something was the matter when she went into Tercanbury three or +four times a week.'</p> + +<p>Blackstable is six miles from Tercanbury, which is a cathedral city and +has a cavalry dépôt.</p> + +<p>'I've seen her hanging about the barracks with my own eyes,' said Mrs +Howlett, 'but I never suspected anything.'</p> + +<p>'Shocking! isn't it?' said Miss Reed, with suppressed delight.</p> + +<p>'But how did you find out?' asked Mrs Howlett.</p> + +<p>'Ssh!' whispered Miss Reed—the widow, in her excitement, had raised her +voice a little and Miss Reed could never suffer the least irreverence in +church.... 'She never came back last night, and George Browning saw them +get into the London train at Tercanbury.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I never!' exclaimed Mrs Howlett.</p> + +<p>'D'you think the Griffiths'll have the face to come to church?'</p> + +<p>'I shouldn't if I was them,' said Miss Reed.</p> + +<p>But at that moment the vestry door was opened and the organ began to +play the hymn.<a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a></p> + +<p>'I'll see you afterwards,' Miss Reed whispered hurriedly; and rising +from their seats, both ladies began to sing,—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>O Jesu, thou art standing</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>Outside the fast closed door,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>In lowly patience waiting</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>To pass the threshold o'er;</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>We bear the name of Christians</i>....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Miss Reed held the book rather close to her face, being shortsighted; +but, without even lifting her eyes, she had become aware of the entrance +of Mrs Griffith and George. She glanced significantly at Mrs Howlett. Mr +Griffith hadn't come, although he was churchwarden, and Mrs Howlett gave +an answering look which meant that it was then evidently quite true. But +they both gathered themselves together for the last verse, taking +breath.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>O Jesus, thou art pleading</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>In accents meek and low</i>....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>A—A—men! The congregation fell to its knees, and the curate, rolling +his eyes to see who was in church, began gabbling the morning +<a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>prayers—'<i>Dearly beloved brethren.</i>'...</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">II</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> the Sunday dinner, the vacant place of Daisy Griffith stared at them. +Her father sat at the head of the table, looking down at his plate, in +silence; every now and then, without raising his head, he glanced up at +the empty space, filled with a madness of grief.... He had gone into +Tercanbury in the morning, inquiring at the houses of all Daisy's +friends, imagining that she had spent the night with one of them. He +could not believe that George Browning's story was true, he could so +easily have been mistaken in the semi-darkness of the station. And even +he had gone to the barracks—his cheeks still burned with the +humiliation—asking if they knew a Daisy Griffith.</p> + +<p>He pushed his plate away with a groan. He wished passionately that it +were Monday, so that he could work. And the post would surely bring a +letter, explaining.</p> + +<p>'The vicar asked where you were,' said Mrs Griffith.</p> + +<p>Robert, the father, looked at her with his pained eyes, but her eyes +were hard and<a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a> shining, her lips almost disappeared in the tight closing +of the mouth. She was willing to believe the worst. He looked at his +son; he was frowning; he looked as coldly angry as the mother. He, too, +was willing to believe everything, and they neither seemed very +sorry.... Perhaps they were even glad.</p> + +<p>'I was the only one who loved her,' he muttered to himself, and pushing +back his chair he got up and left the room. He almost tottered; he had +aged twenty years in the night.</p> + +<p>'Aren't you going to have any pudding?' asked his wife.</p> + +<p>He made no answer.</p> + +<p>He walked out into the courtyard quite aimlessly, but the force of habit +took him to the workshop, where, every Sunday afternoon, he was used to +going after dinner to see that everything was in order, and to-day also +he opened the window, put away a tool which the men had left about, +examined the Saturday's work....</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith and George, stiff and ill at ease in his clumsy Sunday +clothes, went on with their dinner.</p> + +<p>'D'you think the vicar knew?' he asked as soon as the father had closed +the door.<a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a></p> + +<p>'I don't think he'd have asked if he had. Mrs Gray might, but he's too +simple—unless she put him up to it.'</p> + +<p>'I thought I should never get round with the plate,' said George. Mr +Griffith, being a carpenter, which is respectable and well-to-do, which +is honourable, had been made churchwarden, and part of his duty was to +take round the offertory plate. This duty George performed in his +father's occasional absences, as when a coffin was very urgently +required.</p> + +<p>'I wasn't going to let them get anything out of me,' said Mrs Griffith, +defiantly.</p> + +<p>All through the service a number of eyes had been fixed on them, eager +to catch some sign of emotion, full of horrible curiosity to know what +the Griffiths felt and thought; but Mrs Griffith had been inscrutable.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">III</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Next</span> day the Griffiths lay in wait for the postman; George sat by the +parlour window, peeping through the muslin curtains.<a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a></p> + +<p>'Fanning's just coming up the street,' he said at last. Until the post +had come old Griffith could not work; in the courtyard at the back was +heard the sound of hammering.</p> + +<p>There was a rat-tat at the door, the sound of a letter falling on the +mat, and Fanning the postman passed on. George leaned back quickly so +that he might not see him. Mr Griffith fetched the letter, opened it +with trembling hands.... He gave a little gasp of relief.</p> + +<p>'She's got a situation in London.'</p> + +<p>'Is that all she says?' asked Mrs Griffith. 'Give me the letter,' and +she almost tore it from her husband's hand.</p> + +<p>She read it through and uttered a little ejaculation of contempt—almost +of triumph. 'You don't mean to say you believe that?' she cried.</p> + +<p>'Let's look, mother,' said George. He read the letter and he too gave a +snort of contempt.</p> + +<p>'She says she's got a situation,' repeated Mrs Griffith, with a sneer at +her husband, 'and we're not to be angry or anxious, and she's quite +happy—and we can write to Charing Cross Post Office. I know what sort +of a situation she's got.'<a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a></p> + +<p>Mr Griffith looked from his wife to his son.</p> + +<p>'Don't you think it's true?' he asked helplessly. At the first moment he +had put the fullest faith in Daisy's letter, he had been so anxious to +believe it; but the scorn of the others....</p> + +<p>'There's Miss Reed coming down the street,' said George. 'She's looking +this way, and she's crossing over. I believe she's coming in.'</p> + +<p>'What does she want?' asked Mrs Griffith, angrily.</p> + +<p>There was another knock at the door, and through the curtains they saw +Miss Reed's eyes looking towards them, trying to pierce the muslin. Mrs +Griffith motioned the two men out of the room, and hurriedly put +antimacassars on the chairs. The knock was repeated, and Mrs Griffith, +catching hold of a duster, went to the door.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Miss Reed! Who'd have thought of seeing you?' she cried with +surprise.</p> + +<p>'I hope I'm not disturbing,' answered Miss Reed, with an acid smile.</p> + +<p>'Oh, dear no!' said Mrs Griffith. 'I was just doing the dusting in the +parlour. Come in, won't you? The place is all upside<a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a> down, but you +won't mind that, will you?'</p> + +<p>Miss Reed sat on the edge of a chair.</p> + +<p>'I thought I'd just pop in to ask about dear Daisy. I met Fanning as I +was coming along and he told me you'd had a letter.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! Daisy?' Mrs Griffith had understood at once why Miss Reed came, but +she was rather at a loss for an answer.... 'Yes, we have had a letter +from her. She's up in London.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I knew that,' said Miss Reed. 'George Browning saw them get into +the London train, you know.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith saw it was no good fencing, but an idea occurred to her.</p> + +<p>'Yes, of course her father and I are very distressed about—her eloping +like that.'</p> + +<p>'I can quite understand that,' said Miss Reed.</p> + +<p>'But it was on account of his family. He didn't want anyone to know +about it till he was married.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' said Miss Reed, raising her eyebrows very high.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, 'that's what she said in her letter; they were +married on Saturday at a registry office.'<a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a></p> + +<p>'But, Mrs Griffith, I'm afraid she's been deceiving you. It's Captain +Hogan.... and he's a married man.'</p> + +<p>She could have laughed outright at the look of dismay on Mrs Griffith's +face. The blow was sudden, and notwithstanding all her power of +self-control, Mrs Griffith could not help herself. But at once she +recovered, an angry flush appeared on her cheek bones.</p> + +<p>'You don't mean it?' she cried.</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid it's quite true,' said Miss Reed, humbly. 'In fact I know it +is.'</p> + +<p>'Then she's a lying, deceitful hussy, and she's made a fool of all of +us. I give you my word of honour that she told us she was married; I'll +fetch you the letter.' Mrs Griffith rose from her chair, but Miss Reed +put out a hand to stop her.</p> + +<p>'Oh, don't trouble, Mrs Griffith; of course I believe you,' she said, +and Mrs Griffith immediately sat down again.</p> + +<p>But she burst into a storm of abuse of Daisy, for her deceitfulness and +wickedness. She vowed she should never forgive her. She assured Miss +Reed again and again that she had known nothing about it. Finally she +burst into a perfect torrent of tears. Miss Reed was mildly sympathetic; +but now she<a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a> was anxious to get away to impart her news to the rest of +Blackstable. Mrs Griffith sobbed her visitor out of the front door, but, +when she had closed it, dried her tears. She went into the parlour and +flung open the door that led to the back room. Griffith was sitting with +his face hidden in his hands, and every now and then a sob shook his +great frame. George was very pale, biting his nails.</p> + +<p>'You heard what she said,' cried Mrs Griffith. 'He's married!'... She +looked at her husband contemptuously. 'It's all very well for you to +carry on like that now. It was you who did it; it was all your fault. If +she'd been brought up as I wanted her to be, this wouldn't ever have +happened.'</p> + +<p>Again there was a knock, and George, going out, ushered in Mrs Gray, the +vicar's wife. She rushed in when she heard the sound of voices.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Mrs Griffith, it's dreadful! simply dreadful! Miss Reed has just +told me all about it. What is to be done? And what'll the dissenters +make of it? Oh, dear, it's simply dreadful!'</p> + +<p>'You've just come in time, Mrs Gray,'<a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a> said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'It's +not my fault, I can tell you that. It's her father who's brought it +about. He would have her go into Tercanbury to be educated, and he would +have her take singing lessons and dancing lessons. The Church school was +good enough for George. It's been Daisy this and Daisy that all through. +Me and George have been always put by for Daisy. I didn't want her +brought up above her station, I can assure you. It's him who would have +her brought up as a lady; and see what's come of it! And he let her +spend any money she liked on her dress.... It wasn't me that let her go +into Tercanbury every day in the week if she wanted to. I knew she was +up to no good. There you see what you've brought her to; it's you who's +disgraced us all!'</p> + +<p>She hissed out the words with intense malignity, nearly screaming in the +bitterness she felt towards the beautiful daughter of better education +than herself, almost of different station. It was all but a triumph for +her that this had happened. It brought her daughter down; she turned the +tables, and now, from the superiority of her virtue, she looked down +upon her with utter contempt.<a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">On</span> the following Sunday the people of Blackstable enjoyed an emotion; as +Miss Reed said,—</p> + +<p>'It was worth going to church this morning, even for a dissenter.'</p> + +<p>The vicar was preaching, and the congregation paid a very languid +attention, but suddenly a curious little sound went through the +church—one of those scarcely perceptible noises which no comparison can +explain; it was a quick attraction of all eyes, an arousing of somnolent +intelligences, a slight, quick drawing-in of the breath. The listeners +had heeded very indifferently Mr Gray's admonitions to brotherly love +and charity as matters which did not concern them other than +abstractedly; but quite suddenly they had realised that he was bringing +his discourse round to the subject of Daisy Griffith, and they pricked +up both ears. They saw it coming directly along the highways of Vanity +and Luxuriousness; and everyone became intensely wide awake.</p> + +<p>'And we have in all our minds,' he said<a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a> at last, 'the terrible fall +which has almost broken the hearts of sorrowing parents and brought +bitter grief—bitter grief and shame to all of us.'...</p> + +<p>He went on hinting at the scandal in the manner of the personal columns +in newspapers, and drawing a number of obvious morals. The Griffith +family were sitting in their pew well in view of the congregation; and +losing even the shadow of decency, the people turned round and stared at +them, ghoul-like.... Robert Griffith sat in the corner with his head +bent down, huddled up, his rough face speaking in all its lines the +terrible humiliation; his hair was all dishevelled. He was not more than +fifty, and he looked an old man. But Mrs Griffith sat next him, very +erect, not leaning against the back, with her head well up, her mouth +firmly closed, and she looked straight in front of her, her little eyes +sparkling, as if she had not an idea that a hundred people were staring +at her. In the other corner was George, very white, looking up at the +roof in simulation of indifference. Suddenly a sob came from the +Griffiths' pew, and people saw that the father had broken down; he +seemed to forget where he was,<a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a> and he cried as if indeed his heart were +broken. The great tears ran down his cheeks in the sight of all—the +painful tears of men; he had not even the courage to hide his face in +his hands. Still Mrs Griffith made no motion, she never gave a sign that +she heard her husband's agony; but two little red spots appeared angrily +on her cheek bones, and perhaps she compressed her lips a little more +tightly....</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">V</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Six</span> months passed. One evening, when Mr Griffith was standing at the +door after work, smoking his pipe, the postman handed him a letter. He +changed colour and his hand shook when he recognised the handwriting. He +turned quickly into the house.</p> + +<p>'A letter from Daisy,' he said. They had not replied to her first +letter, and since then had heard nothing.</p> + +<p>'Give it me,' said his wife.</p> + +<p>He drew it quickly towards him, with an instinctive gesture of +retention.<a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a></p> + +<p>'It's addressed to me.'</p> + +<p>'Well, then, you'd better open it.'</p> + +<p>He looked up at his wife; he wanted to take the letter away and read it +alone, but her eyes were upon him, compelling him there and then to open +it.</p> + +<p>'She wants to come back,' he said in a broken voice.</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith snatched the letter from him.</p> + +<p>'That means he's left her,' she said.</p> + +<p>The letter was all incoherent, nearly incomprehensible, covered with +blots, every other word scratched out. One could see that the girl was +quite distraught, and Mrs Griffith's keen eyes saw the trace of tears on +the paper.... It was a long, bitter cry of repentance. She begged them +to take her back, repeating again and again the cry of penitence, +piteously beseeching them to forgive her.</p> + +<p>'I'll go and write to her,' said Mr Griffith.</p> + +<p>'Write what?'</p> + +<p>'Why—that it's all right and she isn't to worry; and we want her back, +and that I'll go up and fetch her.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith placed herself between him and the door.<a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a></p> + +<p>'What d'you mean?' she cried. 'She's not coming back into my house.'</p> + +<p>Mr Griffith started back.</p> + +<p>'You don't want to leave her where she is! She says she'll kill +herself.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I believe that,' she replied scornfully; and then, gathering up +her anger, 'D'you mean to say you expect me to have her in the house +after what she's done? I tell you I won't. She's never coming in this +house again as long as I live; I'm an honest woman and she isn't. She's +a—' Mrs Griffith called her daughter the foulest name that can be +applied to her sex.</p> + +<p>Mr Griffith stood indecisively before his wife.</p> + +<p>'But think what a state she's in, mother. She was crying when she wrote +the letter.'</p> + +<p>'Let her cry; she'll have to cry a lot more before she's done. And it +serves her right; and it serves you right. She'll have to go through a +good deal more than that before God forgives her, I can tell you.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps she's starving.'</p> + +<p>'Let her starve, for all I care. She's dead to us; I've told everyone in +Blackstable that I haven't got a daughter now, and if she<a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a> came on her +bended knees before me I'd spit on her.'</p> + +<p>George had come in and listened to the conversation.</p> + +<p>'Think what people would say, father,' he said now; 'as it is, it's +jolly awkward, I can tell you. No one would speak to us if she was back +again. It's not as if people didn't know; everyone in Blackstable knows +what she's been up to.'</p> + +<p>'And what about George?' put in Mrs Griffith. 'D'you think the Polletts +would stand it?' George was engaged to Edith Pollett.</p> + +<p>'She'd be quite capable of breaking it off if Daisy came back,' said +George. 'She's said as much.'</p> + +<p>'Quite right too!' cried his mother. 'And I'm not going to be like Mrs +Jay with Lottie. Everyone knows about Lottie's goings-on, and you can +see how people treat them—her and her mother. When Mrs Gray passes them +in the street she always goes on the other side. No, I've always held my +head high, and I'm always going to. I've never done anything to be +ashamed of as far as I know, and I'm not going to begin now. Everyone +knows it was no fault of<a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a> mine what Daisy did, and all through I've +behaved so that no one should think the worse of me.'</p> + +<p>Mr Griffith sank helplessly into a chair, the old habit of submission +asserted itself, and his weakness gave way as usual before his wife's +strong will. He had not the courage to oppose her.</p> + +<p>'What shall I answer, then?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Answer? Nothing.'</p> + +<p>'I must write something. She'll be waiting for the letter, and waiting +and waiting.'</p> + +<p>'Let her wait.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A few</span> days later another letter came from Daisy, asking pitifully why +they didn't write, begging them again to forgive her and take her back. +The letter was addressed to Mr Griffith; the girl knew that it was only +from him she might expect mercy; but he was out when it arrived. Mrs +Griffith opened it, and passed it on to her son. They looked at one +another guiltily; the same thought<a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a> had occurred to both, and each knew +it was in the other's mind.</p> + +<p>'I don't think we'd better let father see it,' Mrs Griffith said, a +little uncertainly; 'it'll do no good and it'll only distress him.'</p> + +<p>'And it's no good making a fuss, because we can't have her back.'</p> + +<p>'She'll never enter this door as long as I'm in the world.... I think +I'll lock it up.'</p> + +<p>'I'd burn it, if I was you, mother. It's safer.'</p> + +<p>Then every day Mrs Griffith made a point of going to the door herself +for the letters. Two more came from Daisy.</p> + +<p class="quote"><i>'I know it's not you; it's mother and George. They've always hated me. +Oh, don't be so cruel, father! You don't know what I've gone through. +I've cried and cried till I thought I should die. For God's sake write +to me! They might let you write just once. I'm alone all day, day after +day, and I think I shall go mad. You might take me back; I'm sure I've +suffered enough, and you wouldn't know me now, I'm so changed. Tell +mother that if she'll only forgive me I'll be quite different. I'll do +the housework and anything she tells me. I'll be a servant<a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a> to you, and +you can send the girl away. If you knew how I repent! Do forgive me and +have me back. Oh, I know that no one would speak to me; but I don't care +about that, if I can only be with you!'</i></p> + +<p>'She doesn't think about us,' said George—'what we should do if she was +back. No one would speak to us either.'</p> + +<p>But the next letter said that she couldn't bear the terrible silence; if +her father didn't write she'd come down to Blackstable. Mrs Griffith was +furious.</p> + +<p>'I'd shut the door in her face; I wonder how she can dare to come.'</p> + +<p>'It's jolly awkward,' said George. 'Supposing father found out we'd kept +back the letters?'</p> + +<p>'It was for his own good,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'I'm not ashamed +of what I've done, and I'll tell him so to his face if he says anything +to me.'</p> + +<p>'Well, it is awkward. You know what father is; if he saw her.'...</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith paused a moment.</p> + +<p>'You must go up and see her, George!'</p> + +<p>'Me!' he cried in astonishment, a little in terror.<a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a></p> + +<p>'You must go as if you came from your father, to say we won't have +anything more to do with her and she's not to write.'</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Next</span> day George Griffith, on getting out of the station at Victoria, +jumped on a Fulham 'bus, taking his seat with the self-assertiveness of +the countryman who intends to show the Londoners that he's as good as +they are. He was in some trepidation and his best clothes. He didn't +know what to say to Daisy, and his hands sweated uncomfortably. When he +knocked at the door he wished she might be out—but that would only be +postponing the ordeal.</p> + +<p>'Does Mrs Hogan live here?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. Who shall I say?'</p> + +<p>'Say a gentleman wants to see her.'</p> + +<p>He followed quickly on the landlady's heels and passed through the door +the woman opened while she was giving the message. Daisy sprang to her +feet with a cry.</p> + +<p>'George!'<a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a></p> + +<p>She was very pale, her blue eyes dim and lifeless, with the lids heavy +and red; she was in a dressing gown, her beautiful hair dishevelled, +wound loosely into a knot at the back of her head. She had not half the +beauty of her old self.... George, to affirm the superiority of virtue +over vice, kept his hat on.</p> + +<p>She looked at him with frightened eyes, then her lips quivered, and +turning away her head she fell on a chair and burst into tears. George +looked at her sternly. His indignation was greater than ever now that he +saw her. His old jealousy made him exult at the change in her.</p> + +<p>'She's got nothing much to boast about now,' he said to himself, noting +how ill she looked.</p> + +<p>'Oh, George!' ... she began, sobbing; but he interrupted her.</p> + +<p>'I've come from father,' he said, 'and we don't want to have anything +more to do with you, and you're not to write.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' She looked at him now with her eyes suddenly quite dry. They +seemed to burn her in their sockets. 'Did he send you here to tell me +that?'</p> + +<p>'Yes; and you're not to come down.'<a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a></p> + +<p>She put her hand to her forehead, looking vacantly before her.</p> + +<p>'But what am I to do? I haven't got any money; I've pawned everything.'</p> + +<p>George looked at her silently; but he was horribly curious.</p> + +<p>'Why did he leave you?' he said.</p> + +<p>She made no answer; she looked before her as if she were going out of +her mind.</p> + +<p>'Has he left you any money?' asked George.</p> + +<p>Then she started up, her cheeks flaming red.</p> + +<p>'I wouldn't touch a halfpenny of his. I'd rather starve!' she screamed.</p> + +<p>George shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>'Well, you understand?' he said.</p> + +<p>'Oh, how can you! It's all you and mother. You've always hated me. But +I'll pay you out, by God! I'll pay you out. I know what you are, all of +you—you and mother, and all the Blackstable people. You're a set of +damned hypocrites.'</p> + +<p>'Look here, Daisy! I'm not going to stand here and hear you talk like +that of me and mother,' he replied with dignity; 'and as for the +Blackstable people, you're not fit<a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a> to—to associate with them. And I +can see where you learnt your language.'</p> + +<p>Daisy burst into hysterical laughter. George became more +angry—virtuously indignant.</p> + +<p>'Oh, you can laugh as much as you like! I know your repentance is a lot +of damned humbug. You've always been a conceited little beast. And +you've been stuck up and cocky because you thought yourself +nice-looking, and because you were educated in Tercanbury. And no one +was good enough for you in Blackstable. And I'm jolly glad that all this +has happened to you; it serves you jolly well right. And if you dare to +show yourself at Blackstable, we'll send for the police.'</p> + +<p>Daisy stepped up to him.</p> + +<p>'I'm a damned bad lot,' she said, 'but I swear I'm not half as bad as +you are.... You know what you're driving me to.'</p> + +<p>'You don't think I care what you do,' he answered, as he flung himself +out of the door. He slammed it behind him, and he also slammed the front +door to show that he was a man of high principles. And even George +Washington when he said, 'I cannot tell a lie; I did it with my little +hatchet,' did<a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a> not feel so righteous as George Griffith at that moment.</p> + +<p>Daisy went to the window to see him go, and then, throwing up her arms, +she fell on her knees, weeping, weeping, and she cried,—</p> + +<p>'My God, have pity on me!'</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">VIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">'I wouldn't</span> go through it again for a hundred pounds,' said George, when +he recounted his experience to his mother. 'And she wasn't a bit humble, +as you'd expect.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! that's Daisy all over. Whatever happens to her, she'll be as bold +as brass.'</p> + +<p>'And she didn't choose her language,' he said, with mingled grief and +horror.</p> + +<p class="top5">They heard nothing more of Daisy for over a year, when George went up to +London for the choir treat. He did not come back till three o'clock in +the morning, but he went at once to his mother's room.<a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a></p> + +<p>He woke her very carefully, so as not to disturb his father. She started +up, about to speak, but he prevented her with his hand.</p> + +<p>'Come outside; I've got something to tell you.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith was about to tell him rather crossly to wait till the +morrow, but he interrupted her,—</p> + +<p>'I've seen Daisy.'</p> + +<p>She quickly got out of bed, and they went together into the parlour.</p> + +<p>'I couldn't keep it till the morning,' he said.... 'What d'you think +she's doing now? Well, after we came out of the Empire, I went down +Piccadilly, and—well, I saw Daisy standing there.... It did give me a +turn, I can tell you; I thought some of the chaps would see her. I +simply went cold all over. But they were on ahead and hadn't noticed +her.'</p> + +<p>'Thank God for that!' said Mrs Griffith, piously.</p> + +<p>'Well, what d'you think I did? I went straight up to her and looked her +full in the face. But d'you think she moved a muscle? She simply looked +at me as if she'd never set eyes on me before. Well,<a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a> I was taken aback, +I can tell you. I thought she'd faint. Not a bit of it.'</p> + +<p>'No, I know Daisy,' said Mrs Griffith; 'you think she's this and that, +because she looks at you with those blue eyes of hers, as if she +couldn't say bo to a goose, but she's got the very devil inside her.... +Well, I shall tell her father that, just so as to let him see what she +has come to.'...</p> + +<p class="top5">The existence of the Griffith household went on calmly. Husband and wife +and son led their life in the dull little fishing town, the seasons +passed insensibly into one another, one year slid gradually into the +next; and the five years that went by seemed like one long, long day. +Mrs Griffith did not alter an atom; she performed her housework, went to +church regularly, and behaved like a Christian woman in that state of +life in which a merciful Providence had been pleased to put her. George +got married, and on Sunday afternoons could be seen wheeling an infant +in a perambulator along the street. He was a good husband and an +excellent father. He never drank too much, he worked well, he was +careful of his earnings, and he also went to church<a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a> regularly; his +ambition was to become churchwarden after his father. And even in Mr +Griffith there was not so very much change. He was more bowed, his hair +and beard were greyer. His face was set in an expression of passive +misery, and he was extremely silent. But as Mrs Griffith said,—</p> + +<p>'Of course, he's getting old. One can't expect to remain young for +ever'—she was a woman who frequently said profound things—'and I've +known all along he wasn't the sort of man to make old bones. He's never +had the go in him that I have. Why, I'd make two of him.'</p> + +<p>The Griffiths were not so well-to-do as before. As Blackstable became a +more important health resort, a regular undertaker opened a shop there; +and his window, with two little model coffins and an arrangement of +black Prince of Wales's feathers surrounded by a white wreath, took the +fancy of the natives, so that Mr Griffith almost completely lost the +most remunerative part of his business. Other carpenters sprang into +existence and took away much of the trade.</p> + +<p>'I've no patience with him,' said Mrs Griffith, of her husband. 'He lets +these newcomers come along and just take the<a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a> bread out of his hands. +Oh, if I was a man, I'd make things different, I can tell you! He +doesn't seem to care.'...</p> + +<p class="top5">At last, one day George came to his mother in a state of tremendous +excitement.</p> + +<p>'I say, mother, you know the pantomime they've got at Tercanbury this +week?'</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'Well, the principal boy's Daisy.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith sank into a chair, gasping.</p> + +<p>'Harry Ferne's been, and he recognised her at once. It's all over the +town.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith, for the first time in her life, was completely at a loss +for words.</p> + +<p>'To-morrow's the last night,' added her son, after a little while, 'and +all the Blackstable people are going.'</p> + +<p>'To think that this should happen to me!' said Mrs Griffith, +distractedly. 'What have I done to deserve it? Why couldn't it happen to +Mrs Garman or Mrs Jay? If the Lord had seen fit to bring it upon +them—well, I shouldn't have wondered.'</p> + +<p>'Edith wants us to go,' said George—Edith was his wife.</p> + +<p>'You don't mean to say you're going, with all the Blackstable people +there?'<a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a></p> + +<p>'Well, Edith says we ought to go, just to show them we don't care.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I shall come too!' cried Mrs Griffith.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">IX</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Next</span> evening half Blackstable took the special train to Tercanbury, +which had been put on for the pantomime, and there was such a crowd at +the doors that the impresario half thought of extending his stay. The +Rev. Charles Gray and Mrs Gray were there, also James, their nephew. Mr +Gray had some scruples about going to a theatre, but his wife said a +pantomime was quite different; besides, curiosity may gently enter even +a clerical bosom. Miss Reed was there in black satin, with her friend +Mrs Howlett; Mrs Griffith sat in the middle of the stalls, flanked by +her dutiful son and her daughter-in-law; and George searched for female +beauty with his opera-glass, which is quite the proper thing to do on +such occasions....<a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a></p> + +<p>The curtain went up, and the villagers of Dick Whittington's native +place sang a chorus.</p> + +<p>'Now she's coming,' whispered George.</p> + +<p>All those Blackstable hearts stood still. And Daisy, as Dick +Whittington, bounded on the stage—in flesh-coloured tights, with +particularly scanty trunks, and her bodice—rather low. The vicar's +nephew sniggered, and Mrs Gray gave him a reproachful glance; all the +other Blackstable people looked pained; Miss Reed blushed. But as Daisy +waved her hand and gave a kick, the audience broke out into prolonged +applause; Tercanbury people have no moral sense, although Tercanbury is +a cathedral city.</p> + +<p>Daisy began to sing,—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>I'm a jolly sort of boy, tol, lol,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>And I don't care a damn who knows it.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>I'm fond of every joy, tol, lol,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>As you may very well suppose it.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Tol, lol, lol,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Tol, lol, lol.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Then the audience, the audience of a cathedral city, as Mr Gray said, +took up the refrain,—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Tol, lol, lol,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Tol, lol, lol.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>However, the piece went on to the bitter end, and Dick Whittington +appeared in many different costumes and sang many songs, and kicked many +kicks, till he was finally made Lord Mayor—in tights.</p> + +<p>Ah, it was an evening of bitter humiliation for Blackstable people. Some +of them, as Miss Reed said, behaved scandalously; they really appeared +to enjoy it. And even George laughed at some of the jokes the cat made, +though his wife and his mother sternly reproved him.</p> + +<p>'I'm ashamed of you, George, laughing at such a time!' they said.</p> + +<p>Afterwards the Grays and Miss Reed got into the same railway carriage +with the Griffiths.</p> + +<p>'Well, Mrs Griffith,' said the vicar's wife, 'what do you think of your +daughter now?'</p> + +<p>'Mrs Gray,' replied Mrs Griffith, solemnly, 'I haven't got a daughter.'</p> + +<p>'That's a very proper spirit in which to look at it,' answered the +lady.... 'She was simply covered with diamonds.'</p> + +<p>'They must be worth a fortune,' said Miss Reed.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I daresay they're not real,' said<a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a> Mrs Gray; 'at that distance and +with the lime-light, you know, it's very difficult to tell.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry to say,' said Mrs Griffith, with some asperity, feeling the +doubt almost an affront to her—'I'm sorry to say that I <i>know</i> they're +real.'</p> + +<p>The ladies coughed discreetly, scenting a little scandalous mystery +which they must get out of Mrs Griffith at another opportunity.</p> + +<p>'My nephew James says she earns at least thirty or forty pounds a week.'</p> + +<p>Miss Reed sighed at the thought of such depravity.</p> + +<p>'It's very sad,' she remarked, 'to think of such things happening to a +fellow-creature.'...</p> + +<p class="top5">'But what I can't understand,' said Mrs Gray, next morning, at the +breakfast-table, 'is how she got into such a position. We all know that +at one time she was to be seen in—well, in a very questionable place, +at an hour which left no doubt about her—her means of livelihood. I +must say I thought she was quite lost.'...</p> + +<p>'Oh, well, I can tell you that easily enough,' replied her nephew. +'She's being<a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> kept by Sir Somebody Something, and he's running the show +for her.'</p> + +<p>'James, I wish you would be more careful about your language. It's not +necessary to call a spade a spade, and you can surely find a less +objectionable expression to explain the relationship between the +persons.... Don't you remember his name?'</p> + +<p>'No; I heard it, but I've really forgotten.'</p> + +<p>'I see in this week's <i>Tercanbury Times</i> that there's a Sir Herbert +Ously-Farrowham staying at the "George" just now.'</p> + +<p>'That's it. Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham.'</p> + +<p>'How sad! I'll look him out in Burke.'</p> + +<p>She took down the reference book, which was kept beside the clergy list.</p> + +<p>'Dear me, he's only twenty-nine.... And he's got a house in Cavendish +Square and a house in the country. He must be very well-to-do; and he +belongs to the Junior Carlton and two other clubs.... And he's got a +sister who's married to Lord Edward Lake.' Mrs Gray closed the book and +held it with a finger to mark the place, like a Bible. 'It's very sad to +think of the dissipation of so many members of the aristocracy. It sets +such a bad example to the lower classes.'<a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">X</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> showed old Griffith a portrait of Daisy in her theatrical costume.</p> + +<p>'Has she come to that?' he said.</p> + +<p>He looked at it a moment, then savagely tore it in pieces and flung it +in the fire.</p> + +<p>'Oh, my God!' he groaned; he could not get out of his head the picture, +the shamelessness of the costume, the smile, the evident prosperity and +content. He felt now that he had lost his daughter indeed. All these +years he had kept his heart open to her, and his heart had bled when he +thought of her starving, ragged, perhaps dead. He had thought of her +begging her bread and working her beautiful hands to the bone in some +factory. He had always hoped that some day she could return to him, +purified by the fire of suffering.... But she was prosperous and happy +and rich. She was applauded, worshipped; the papers were full of her +praise. Old Griffith was filled with a feeling of horror, of immense +repulsion. She was flourishing in her sin, and he loathed her. He had +been so ready to forgive her when he thought her de<a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>spairing and +unhappy; but now he was implacable.</p> + +<p class="top5">Three months later Mrs Griffith came to her husband, trembling with +excitement, and handed him a cutting from a paper,—</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>We hear that Miss Daisy Griffith, who earned golden opinions in +the provinces last winter with her Dick Whittington, is about to be +married to Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham. Her friends, and their name +is legion, will join with us in the heartiest congratulations.</i>'</p> + +<p>He returned the paper without answering.</p> + +<p>'Well?' asked his wife.</p> + +<p>'It is nothing to me. I don't know either of the parties mentioned.'</p> + +<p>At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Mrs Gray and Miss Reed +entered, having met on the doorstep. Mrs Griffith at once regained her +self-possession.</p> + +<p>'Have you heard the news, Mrs Griffith?' said Miss Reed.</p> + +<p>'D'you mean about the marriage of Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham?' She +mouthed the long name.<a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a></p> + +<p>'Yes,' replied the two ladies together.</p> + +<p>'It is nothing to me.... I have no daughter, Mrs Gray.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mrs Griffith,' said Mrs Gray very +stiffly. 'I think you show a most unforgiving spirit.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Miss Reed; 'I can't help thinking that if you'd treated poor +Daisy in a—well, in a more <i>Christian</i> way, you might have saved her +from a great deal.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' added Mrs Gray. 'I must say that all through I don't think you've +shown a nice spirit at all. I remember poor, dear Daisy quite well, and +she had a very sweet character. And I'm sure that if she'd been treated +a little more gently, nothing of all this would have happened.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Gray and Miss Reed looked at Mrs Griffith sternly and reproachfully; +they felt themselves like God Almighty judging a miserable sinner. Mrs +Griffith was extremely angry; she felt that she was being blamed most +unjustly, and, moreover, she was not used to being blamed.</p> + +<p>'I'm sure you're very kind, Mrs Gray and Miss Reed, but I must take the +liberty of saying that I know best what my daughter was.'<a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a></p> + +<p>'Mrs Griffith, all I say is this—you are not a good mother.'</p> + +<p>'Excuse me, madam.' ... said Mrs Griffith, having grown red with anger; +but Mrs Gray interrupted.</p> + +<p>'I am truly sorry to have to say it to one of my parishioners, but you +are not a good Christian. And we all know that your husband's business +isn't going at all well, and I think it's a judgment of Providence.'</p> + +<p>'Very well, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffith, getting up. 'You're at liberty to +think what you please, but I shall not come to church again. Mr Friend, +the Baptist minister, has asked me to go to his chapel, and I'm sure he +won't treat me like that.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure we don't want you to come to church in that spirit, Mrs +Griffith. That's not the spirit with which you can please God, Mrs +Griffith. I can quite imagine now why dear Daisy ran away. You're no +Christian.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure I don't care what you think, Mrs Gray, but I'm as good as you +are.'</p> + +<p>'Will you open the door for me, Mrs Griffith?' said Mrs Gray, with +outraged dignity.<a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a></p> + +<p>'Oh, you can open it yourself, Mrs Gray!' replied Mrs Griffith.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XI</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs Griffith</span> went to see her daughter-in-law.</p> + +<p>'I've never been spoken to in that way before,' she said. 'Fancy me not +being a Christian! I'm a better Christian than Mrs Gray, any day. I like +Mrs Gray, with the airs she gives herself—as if she'd got anything to +boast about!... No, Edith, I've said it, and I'm not the woman to go +back on what I've said—I'll not go to church again. From this day I go +to chapel.'</p> + + +<p class="top5">But George came to see his mother a few days later.</p> + +<p>'Look here, mother, Edith says you'd better forgive Daisy now.'</p> + +<p>'George,' cried his mother, 'I've only done my duty all through, and if +you think it's my duty to forgive my daughter now she's going to enter +the bonds of holy matrimony, I will do so. No one can say that I'm not a +Christian, and I haven't said<a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> the Lord's Prayer night and morning ever +since I remember for nothing.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith sat down to write, looking up to her son for inspiration.</p> + +<p>'Dearest Daisy!' he said.</p> + +<p>'No, George,' she replied, 'I'm not going to cringe to my daughter, +although she is going to be a lady; I shall simply say, "Daisy."'</p> + +<p>The letter was very dignified, gently reproachful, for Daisy had +undoubtedly committed certain peccadilloes, although she was going to be +a baronet's wife; but still it was completely forgiving, and Mrs +Griffith signed herself, '<i>Your loving and forgiving mother, whose heart +you nearly broke.</i>'</p> + +<p>But the letter was not answered, and a couple of weeks later the same +Sunday paper contained an announcement of the date of the marriage and +the name of the church. Mrs Griffith wrote a second time.</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i><span class="smcap">My darling Daughter</span>,—I am much surprised at receiving no answer +to my long letter. All is forgiven. I should so much like to see +you again before I die, and to have you married from your father's +house. All is forgiven.—Your loving mother,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 50%;">'<i><span class="smcap">Mary Ann Griffith.</span></i>'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>This time the letter was returned unopened.</p> + +<p>'George,' cried Mrs Griffith, 'she's got her back up.'</p> + +<p>'And the wedding's to-morrow,' he replied.</p> + +<p>'It's most awkward, George. I've told all the Blackstable people that +I've forgiven her and that Sir Herbert has written to say he wants to +make my acquaintance. And I've got a new dress on purpose to go to the +wedding. Oh! she's a cruel and exasperating thing, George; I never liked +her. You were always my favourite.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I do think she's not acting as she should,' replied George. 'And +I'm sure I don't know what's to be done.'</p> + +<p>But Mrs Griffith was a woman who made up her mind quickly.</p> + +<p>'I shall go up to town and see her myself, George; and you must come +too.'</p> + +<p>'I'll come up with you, mother, but you'd better go to her alone, +because I expect she's not forgotten the last time I saw her.'</p> + +<p>They caught a train immediately, and having arrived at Daisy's house, +Mrs Griffith went up the steps while George waited in a neighbouring +public-house. The door was opened by a smart maid—much<a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a> smarter than +the Vicarage maid at Blackstable, as Mrs Griffith remarked with +satisfaction. On finding that Daisy was at home, she sent up a message +to ask if a lady could see her.</p> + +<p>The maid returned.</p> + +<p>'Would you give your name, madam? Miss Griffith cannot see you without.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith had foreseen the eventuality, and, unwilling to give her +card, had written another little letter, using Edith as amanuensis, so +that Daisy should at least open it. She sent it up. In a few minutes the +maid came down again.</p> + +<p>'There's no answer,' and she opened the door for Mrs Griffith to go out.</p> + +<p>That lady turned very red. Her first impulse was to make a scene and +call the housemaid to witness how Daisy treated her own mother; but +immediately she thought how undignified she would appear in the maid's +eyes. So she went out like a lamb....</p> + +<p>She told George all about it as they sat in the private bar of the +public-house, drinking a little Scotch whisky.</p> + +<p>'All I can say,' she remarked, 'is that I hope she'll never live to +repent it. Fancy treating her own mother like that!<a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a></p> + +<p>'But I shall go to the wedding; I don't care. I will see my own daughter +married.'</p> + +<p>That had been her great ambition, and she would have crawled before +Daisy to be asked to the ceremony.... But George dissuaded her from +going uninvited. There were sure to be one or two Blackstable people +present, and they would see that she was there as a stranger; the +humiliation would be too great.</p> + +<p>'I think she's an ungrateful girl,' said Mrs Griffith, as she gave way +and allowed George to take her back to Blackstable.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> the prestige of the Griffiths diminished. Everyone in Blackstable +came to the conclusion that the new Lady Ously-Farrowham had been very +badly treated by her relatives, and many young ladies said they would +have done just the same in her place. Also Mrs Gray induced her husband +to ask Griffith to resign his churchwardenship.</p> + +<p>'You know, Mr Griffith,' said the vicar, deprecatingly, 'now that your +wife goes to<a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> chapel I don't think we can have you as churchwarden any +longer; and besides, I don't think you've behaved to your daughter in a +Christian way.'</p> + +<p>It was in the carpenter's shop; the business had dwindled till Griffith +only kept one man and a boy; he put aside the saw he was using.</p> + +<p>'What I've done to my daughter, I'm willing to take the responsibility +for; I ask no one's advice and I want no one's opinion; and if you think +I'm not fit to be churchwarden you can find someone else better.'</p> + +<p>'Why don't you make it up with your daughter, Griffith?'</p> + +<p>'Mind your own business!'</p> + +<p>The carpenter had brooded and brooded over his sorrow till now his +daughter's name roused him to fury. He had even asserted a little +authority over his wife, and she dared not mention her daughter before +him. Daisy's marriage had seemed like the consummation of her shame; it +was vice riding triumphant in a golden chariot....</p> + +<p>But the name of Lady Ously-Farrowham was hardly ever out of her mother's +lips; and she spent a good deal more money in her dress to keep up her +dignity.<a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a></p> + +<p>'Why, that's another new dress you've got on!' said a neighbour.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, complacently, 'you see we're in quite a +different position now. I have to think of my daughter, Lady +Ously-Farrowham. I don't want her to be ashamed of her mother. I had +such a nice long letter from her the other day. She's so happy with Sir +Herbert. And Sir Herbert's so good to her.'...</p> + +<p>'Oh, I didn't know you were.'...</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes! Of course she was a little—well, a little wild when she was a +girl, but <i>I've</i> forgiven that. It's her father won't forgive her. He +always was a hard man, and he never loved her as I did. She wants to +come and stay with me, but he won't let her. Isn't it cruel of him? I +should so like to have Lady Ously-Farrowham down here.'...</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XIII</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> at last the crash came. To pay for the new things which Mrs Griffith +felt needful to preserve her dignity, she had drawn on her<a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a> husband's +savings in the bank; and he had been drawing on them himself for the +last four years without his wife's knowledge. For, as his business +declined, he had been afraid to give her less money than usual, and +every week had made up the sum by taking something out of the bank. +George only earned a pound a week—he had been made clerk to a coal +merchant by his mother, who thought that more genteel than +carpentering—and after his marriage he had constantly borrowed from his +parents. At last Mrs Griffith learnt to her dismay that their savings +had come to an end completely. She had a talk with her husband, and +found out that he was earning almost nothing. He talked of sending his +only remaining workman away and moving into a smaller place. If he kept +his one or two old customers, they might just manage to make both ends +meet.</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith was burning with anger. She looked at her husband, sitting +in front of her with his helpless look.</p> + +<p>'You fool!' she said.</p> + +<p>She thought of herself coming down in the world, living in a pokey +little house away from the High Street, unable to buy new<a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a> dresses, +unnoticed by the chief people of Blackstable—she who had always held up +her head with the best of them!</p> + +<p>George and Edith came in, and she told them, hurling contemptuous +sarcasms at her husband. He sat looking at them with his pained, unhappy +eyes, while they stared back at him as if he were some despicable, +noxious beast.</p> + +<p>'But why didn't you say how things were going before, father?' George +asked him.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>'I didn't like to,' he said hoarsely; those cold, angry eyes crushed +him; he felt the stupid, useless fool he saw they thought him.</p> + +<p>'I don't know what's to be done,' said George.</p> + +<p>His wife looked at old Griffith with her hard, grey eyes; the sharpness +of her features, the firm, clear complexion, with all softness blown out +of it by the east winds, expressed the coldest resolution.</p> + +<p>'Father must get Daisy to help; she's got lots of money. She may do it +for him.'</p> + +<p>Old Griffith broke suddenly out of his apathy.</p> + +<p>'I'd sooner go to the workhouse; I'll never touch a penny of hers!'<a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a></p> + +<p>'Now then, father,' said Mrs Griffith, quickly understanding, 'you drop +that, you'll have to.'</p> + +<p>George at the same time got pen and paper and put them before the old +man. They stood round him angrily. He stared at the paper; a look of +horror came over his face.</p> + +<p>'Go on! don't be a fool!' said his wife. She dipped the pen in the ink +and handed it to him.</p> + +<p>Edith's steel-grey eyes were fixed on him, coldly compelling.</p> + +<p>'Dear Daisy,' she began.</p> + +<p>'Father always used to call her Daisy darling,' said George; 'he'd +better put that so as to bring back old times.'</p> + +<p>They talked of him strangely, as if he were absent or had not ears to +hear.</p> + +<p>'Very well,' replied Edith, and she began again; the old man wrote +bewilderedly, as if he were asleep. '<span class="smcap">Daisy Darling</span>,— ... Forgive me!... +I have been hard and cruel towards you.... On my knees I beg your +<a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a>forgiveness.... The business has gone wrong ... and I am ruined.... If +you don't help me ... we shall have the brokers in ... and have to go +to the workhouse.... For God's sake ... have mercy on me! You can't let +me starve.... I know I have sinned towards you.—Your broken-hearted ... +<span class="smcap">Father</span>.'</p> + +<p>She read through the letter. 'I think that'll do; now the envelope,' and +she dictated the address.</p> + +<p>When it was finished, Griffith looked at them with loathing, absolute +loathing—but they paid no more attention to him. They arranged to send +a telegram first, in case she should not open the letter,—</p> + +<p class="quote">'<i>Letter coming; for God's sake open! In great distress.</i>—<span class="smcap">Father.</span>'</p> + +<p>George went out immediately to send the wire and post the letter.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XIV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> letter was sent on a Tuesday, and on Thursday morning a telegram +came from Daisy to say she was coming down. Mrs Griffith was highly +agitated.<a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a></p> + +<p>'I'll go and put on my silk dress,' she said.</p> + +<p>'No, mother, that is a silly thing; be as shabby as you can.'</p> + +<p>'How'll father be?' asked George. 'You'd better speak to him, Edith.'</p> + +<p>He was called, the stranger in his own house.</p> + +<p>'Look here, father, Daisy's coming this morning. Now, you'll be civil, +won't you?'</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid he'll go and spoil everything,' said Mrs Griffith, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>At that moment there was a knock at the door. 'It's her!'</p> + +<p>Griffith was pushed into the back room; Mrs Griffith hurriedly put on a +ragged apron and went to the door.</p> + +<p>'Daisy!' she cried, opening her arms. She embraced her daughter and +pressed her to her voluminous bosom. 'Oh, Daisy!'</p> + +<p>Daisy accepted passively the tokens of affection, with a little sad +smile. She tried not to be unsympathetic. Mrs Griffith led her daughter +into the sitting-room where George and Edith were sitting. George was +very white.<a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a></p> + +<p>'You don't mean to say you walked here!' said Mrs Griffith, as she shut +the front door. 'Fancy that, when you could have all the carriages in +Blackstable to drive you about!'</p> + +<p>'Welcome to your home again,' said George, with somewhat the air of a +dissenting minister.</p> + +<p>'Oh, George!' she said, with the same sad, half-ironical smile, allowing +herself to be kissed.</p> + +<p>'Don't you remember me?' said Edith, coming forward. 'I'm George's wife; +I used to be Edith Pollett.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes!' Daisy put out her hand.</p> + +<p>They all three looked at her, and the women noticed the elegance of her +simple dress. She was no longer the merry girl they had known, but a +tall, dignified woman, and her great blue eyes were very grave. They +were rather afraid of her; but Mrs Griffith made an effort to be cordial +and at the same time familiar.</p> + +<p>'Fancy you being a real lady!' she said.</p> + +<p>Daisy smiled again.</p> + +<p>'Where's father?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'In the next room.' They moved to<a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a>wards the door and entered. Old +Griffith rose as he saw his daughter, but he did not come towards her. +She looked at him a moment, then turned to the others.</p> + +<p>'Please leave me alone with father for a few minutes.'</p> + +<p>They did not want to, knowing that their presence would restrain him; +but Daisy looked at them so firmly that they were obliged to obey. She +closed the door behind them.</p> + +<p>'Father!' she said, turning towards him.</p> + +<p>'They made me write the letter,' he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>'I thought so,' she said. 'Won't you kiss me?'</p> + +<p>He stepped back as if in replusion. She looked at him with her beautiful +eyes full of tears.</p> + +<p>'I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy. But I've been unhappy too—oh, you +don't know what I've gone through!... Won't you forgive me?'</p> + +<p>'I didn't write the letter,' he repeated hoarsely; 'they stood over me +and made me.'</p> + +<p>Her lips trembled, but with an effort she commanded herself. They looked +at one<a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a> another steadily, it seemed for a very long time; in his eyes +was the look of a hunted beast.... At last she turned away without +saying anything more, and left him.</p> + +<p>In the next room the three were anxiously waiting. She contemplated them +a moment, and then, sitting down, asked about the affairs. They +explained how things were.</p> + +<p>'I talked to my husband about it,' she said; 'he's proposed to make you +an allowance so that you can retire from business.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, that's Sir Herbert all over,' said Mrs Griffith, greasily—she knew +nothing about him but his name!</p> + +<p>'How much do you think you could live on?' asked Daisy.</p> + +<p>Mrs Griffith looked at George and then at Edith. What should they ask? +Edith and George exchanged a glance; they were in agonies lest Mrs +Griffith should demand too little.</p> + +<p>'Well,' said that lady, at last, with a little cough of uncertainty, 'in +our best years we used to make four pounds a week out of the +business—didn't we, George?'</p> + +<p>'Quite that!' answered he and his wife, in a breath.<a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a></p> + +<p>'Then, shall I tell my husband that if he allows you five pounds a week +you will be able to live comfortably?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, that's very handsome!' said Mrs Griffith.</p> + +<p>'Very well,' said Daisy, getting up.</p> + +<p>'You're not going?' cried her mother.</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'Well, that is hard. After not seeing you all these years. But you know +best, of course!'</p> + +<p>'There's no train up to London for two hours yet,' said George.</p> + +<p>'No; I want to take a walk through Blackstable.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, you'd better drive, in your position.'</p> + +<p>'I prefer to walk.'</p> + +<p>'Shall George come with you?'</p> + +<p>'I prefer to walk alone.'</p> + +<p>Then Mrs Griffith again enveloped her daughter in her arms, and told her +she had always loved her and that she was her only daughter; after +which, Daisy allowed herself to be embraced by her brother and his wife. +Finally they shut the door on her and watched her from the window walk +slowly down the High Street.<a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a></p> + +<p>'If you'd asked it, I believe she'd have gone up to six quid a week,' +said George.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="head">XV</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Daisy</span> walked down the High Street slowly, looking at the houses she +remembered, and her lips quivered a little; at every step smells blew +across to her full of memories—the smell of a tannery, the blood smell +of a butcher's shop, the sea-odour from a shop of fishermen's +clothes.... At last she came on to the beach, and in the darkening +November day she looked at the booths she knew so well, the boats drawn +up for the winter, whose names she knew, whose owners she had known from +her childhood; she noticed the new villas built in her absence. And she +looked at the grey sea; a sob burst from her; but she was very strong, +and at once she recovered herself. She turned back and slowly walked up +the High Street again to the station. The lamps were lighted now, and +the street looked as it had looked in her memory through the<a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a> years; +between the 'Green Dragon' and the 'Duke of Kent' were the same groups +of men—farmers, townsfolk, fishermen—talking in the glare of the rival +inns, and they stared at her curiously as she passed, a tall figure, +closely veiled. She looked at the well-remembered shops, the stationery +shop with its old-fashioned, fly-blown knick-knacks, the milliner's with +cheap, gaudy hats, the little tailor's with his antiquated fashion +plates. At last she came to the station, and sat in the waiting-room, +her heart full of infinite sadness—the terrible sadness of the past....</p> + +<p>And she could not shake it off in the train; she could only just keep +back the tears.</p> + +<p>At Victoria she took a cab and finally reached home. The servants said +her husband was in his study.</p> + +<p>'Hulloa!' he said. 'I didn't expect you to-night.'</p> + +<p>'I couldn't stay; it was awful.' Then she went up to him and looked into +his eyes. 'You do love me, Herbert, don't you?' she said, her voice +suddenly breaking. 'I want your love so badly.'</p> + +<p>'I love you with all my heart!' he said, putting his arms round her.</p> + +<p>But she could restrain herself no longer;<a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a> the strong arms seemed to +take away the rest of her strength, and she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>'I will try and be a good wife to you, Herbert,' she said, as he kissed +them away.</p> + +<p class="c top15">THE END</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="c"><i>Colston & Coy, Limited, Printers, Edinburgh</i></p> + +<hr /> +<p class="c">NOTES OF TRANSCRIBER</p> + +<p class="c">These typographical errors have been corrected in this ebook;<br/> +spendour changed to splendour<br /> +apparently be changed to apparently been<br /> +the the third changed to the third<br /> +make both end meet changed to make both ends meet<br /> +that to than<br /> +ratings to rantings</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Orientations, by William Somerset Maugham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORIENTATIONS *** + +***** This file should be named 31308-h.htm or 31308-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/0/31308/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Orientations + +Author: William Somerset Maugham + +Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31308] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORIENTATIONS *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +GOOD WORDS LIST PROVIDE FOR SMOOTH READING REFERENCE ONLY: + +parlour +favours +Ij +sombre +labourer +realisation +odour +honour +fulness +commonweal +bo +Amyntas +Becke +Blackstable +Castilian +D'you +d'you +de +Dona +Farrowham +Howlett +lol +Losas +Lucido +Monnickendam +one's +Ously +Sodina +Tercanbury +Tiefel +Whittington +Xiormonez + + + + +ORIENTATIONS + +NOVELS AT SIX SHILLINGS EACH + +_Uniform with this Volume_ + +=An Outcast of the Islands.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. Second Edition. +=Almayer's Folly.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. +=The Ebbing of the Tide.= By LOUIS BECKE. +=A First Fleet Family.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY. +=Paddy's Woman.= By HUMPHREY JAMES. +=Clara Hopgood.= By MARK RUTHERFORD. Second Edition. +=The Tales of John Oliver Hobbes.= Portrait of the Author. Second Edition. +=The Stickit Minister.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=The Lilac Sunbonnet.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=The Raiders.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=The Grey Man.= By S. R. CROCKETT. +=In a Man's Mind.= By J. R. WATSON. +=A Daughter of the Fen.= By J. T. BEALBY. +=The Herb-Moon.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. +=Nancy Noon.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. +=Hugh Wynne.= By S. WEIR MITCHELL. +=The Tormentor.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. +=The Mutineer.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY. +=The Destroyer.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. +=The Gods, Some Mortals, and Lord Wickenham.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. +=Mrs Keith's Crime.= By Mrs W. K. CLIFFORD. +=Prisoners of Conscience.= By AMELIA E. BARR. +=Pacific Tales.= By LOUIS BECKE. +=The People of Clopton.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. +=Outlaws of the Marches.= By Lord ERNEST HAMILTON. +=The Silver Christ.= Stories by OUIDA. +=The White-Headed Boy.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. +=Tales of Unrest.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. +=The School for Saints.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. +=Evelyn Innes.= By GEORGE MOORE. +=Rodman, the Boatsteerer.= By LOUIS BECKE. +=The Romance of a Midshipman.= By W. CLARK RUSSELL. +=The Making of a Saint.= By W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. +=The Two Standards.= By W. BARRY, D.D. +=The Mawkin of the Flow.= By Lord ERNEST HAMILTON. +=Love is not so Light.= By CONSTANCE COTTERELL. +=Moonlight.= By MARY E. MANN. +=I, Thou, and the Other One.= By AMELIA E. BARR. + + * * * * * + +London + +T. FISHER UNWIN, Paternoster Square, E.C. + + + + +ORIENTATIONS + + +By +William Somerset Maugham +Author of 'Liza of Lambeth,' 'The Making of a Saint' + +[Illustration] + +London +T. Fisher Unwin +Paternoster Square +1899 + + +[_All Rights reserved_] + + +TO +MRS EDWARD JOHNSTON + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +THE PUNCTILIOUSNESS OF DON SEBASTIAN 3 + +A BAD EXAMPLE 37 + +DE AMICITIA 97 + +FAITH 133 + +THE CHOICE OF AMYNTAS 165 + +DAISY 219 + + + _C'est surtout, par ses nouvelles d'un jeune ecrivain qu'on peut se + rendre compte du tour de son esprit. Il y cherche la voie qui lui + est propre dans une serie d'essais de genre et de style differents, + qui sont comme des orientations, pour trouver son moi litteraire._ + + + + +Orientations + + + + +THE PUNCTILIOUSNESS OF DON SEBASTIAN + + +I + +Xiormonez is the most inaccessible place in Spain. Only one train +arrives there in the course of the day, and that arrives at two o'clock +in the morning; only one train leaves it, and that starts an hour before +sunrise. No one has ever been able to discover what happens to the +railway officials during the intermediate one-and-twenty hours. A German +painter I met there, who had come by the only train, and had been +endeavouring for a fortnight to get up in time to go away, told me that +he had frequently gone to the station in order to clear up the mystery, +but had never been able to do so; yet, from his inquiries, he was +inclined to suspect--that was as far as he would commit himself, being a +cautious man--that they spent the time in eating garlic and smoking +execrable cigarettes. The guide-books tell you that Xiormonez possesses +the eyebrows of Joseph of Arimathea, a cathedral of the greatest +quaintness, and battlements untouched since their erection in the +fourteenth century. And they strongly advise you to visit it, but +recommend you before doing so to add Keating's insect powder to your +other toilet necessaries. + +I was travelling to Madrid in an express train which had been rushing +along at the pace of sixteen miles an hour, when suddenly it stopped. I +leant out of the window, asking where we were. + +'Xiormonez!' answered the guard. + +'I thought we did not stop at Xiormonez.' + +'We do not stop at Xiormonez,' he replied impassively. + +'But we are stopping now!' + +'That may be; but we are going on again.' + +I had already learnt that it was folly to argue with a Spanish guard, +and, drawing back my head, I sat down. But, looking at my watch, I saw +that it was only ten. I should never again have a chance of inspecting +the eyebrows of Joseph of Arimathea unless I chartered a special train, +so, seizing the opportunity and my bag, I jumped out. + +The only porter told me that everyone in Xiormonez was asleep at that +hour, and recommended me to spend the night in the waiting-room, but I +bribed him heavily; I offered him two pesetas, which is nearly +fifteenpence, and, leaving the train to its own devices, he shouldered +my bag and started off. + +Along a stony road we walked into the dark night, the wind blowing cold +and bitter, and the clouds chasing one another across the sky. In front, +I could see nothing but the porter hurrying along, bent down under the +weight of my bag, and the wind blew icily. I buttoned up my coat. And +then I regretted the warmth of the carriage, the comfort of my corner +and my rug; I wished I had peacefully continued my journey to Madrid--I +was on the verge of turning back as I heard the whistling of the train. +I hesitated, but the porter hurried on, and fearing to lose him in the +night, I sprang forwards. Then the puffing of the engine, and on the +smoke the bright reflection of the furnace, and the train steamed away; +like Abd-er-Rahman, I felt that I had flung my scabbard into the flames. + +Still the porter hurried on, bent down under the weight of my bag, and I +saw no light in front of me to announce the approach to a town. On each +side, bordering the road, were trees, and beyond them darkness. And +great black clouds hastened after one another across the heavens. Then, +as we walked along, we came to a rough stone cross, and lying on the +steps before it was a woman with uplifted hands. And the wind blew +bitter and keen, freezing the marrow of one's bones. What prayers had +she to offer that she must kneel there alone in the night? We passed +another cross standing up with its outstretched arms like a soul in +pain. At last a heavier night rose before me, and presently I saw a +great stone arch. Passing beneath it, I found myself immediately in the +town. + +The street was tortuous and narrow, paved with rough cobbles; and it +rose steeply, so that the porter bent lower beneath his burden, panting. +With the bag on his shoulders he looked like some hunchbacked gnome, a +creature of nightmare. On either side rose tall houses, lying crooked +and irregular, leaning towards one another at the top, so that one could +not see the clouds, and their windows were great, black apertures like +giant mouths. There was not a light, not a soul, not a sound--except +that of my own feet and the heavy panting of the porter. We wound +through the streets, round corners, through low arches, a long way up +the steep cobbles, and suddenly down broken steps. They hurt my feet, +and I stumbled and almost fell, but the hunchback walked along nimbly, +hurrying ever. Then we came into an open space, and the wind caught us +again, and blew through our clothes, so that I shrank up, shivering. And +never a soul did we see as we walked on; it might have been a city of +the dead. Then past a tall church: I saw a carved porch, and from the +side grim devils grinning down upon me; the porter dived through an +arch, and I groped my way along a narrow passage. At length he stopped, +and with a sigh threw down the bag. He beat with his fists against an +iron door, making the metal ring. A window above was thrown open, and a +voice cried out. The porter answered; there was a clattering down the +stairs, an unlocking, and the door was timidly held open, so that I saw +a woman, with the light of her candle throwing a strange yellow glare on +her face. + +And so I arrived at the hotel of Xiormonez. + + +II + +My night was troubled by the ghostly crying of the watchman: 'Protect +us, Mary, Queen of Heaven; protect us, Mary!' Every hour it rang out +stridently as soon as the heavy bells of the cathedral had ceased their +clanging, and I thought of the woman kneeling at the cross, and wondered +if her soul had found peace. + +In the morning I threw open the windows and the sun came dancing in, +flooding the room with gold. In front of me the great wall of the +cathedral stood grim and grey, and the gargoyles looked savagely across +the square.... The cathedral is admirable; when you enter you find +yourself at once in darkness, and the air is heavy with incense; but, as +your eyes become accustomed to the gloom, you see the black forms of +penitents kneeling by pillars, looking towards an altar, and by the +light of the painted windows a reredos, with the gaunt saints of an +early painter, and aureoles shining dimly. + +But the gem of the Cathedral of Xiormonez is the Chapel of the Duke de +Losas, containing, as it does, the alabaster monument of Don Sebastian +Emanuel de Mantona, Duque de Losas, and of the very illustrious Senora +Dona Sodina de Berruguete, his wife. Like everything else in Spain, the +chapel is kept locked up, and the guide-book tells you to apply to the +porter at the palace of the present duke. I sent a little boy to fetch +that worthy, who presently came back, announcing that the porter and his +wife had gone into the country for the day, but that the duke was coming +in person. + +And immediately I saw walking towards me a little, dark man, wrapped up +in a big _capa_, with the red and blue velvet of the lining flung +gaudily over his shoulder. He bowed courteously as he approached, and I +perceived that on the crown his hair was somewhat more than thin. I +hesitated a little, rather awkwardly, for the guide-book said that the +porter exacted a fee of one peseta for opening the chapel--one could +scarcely offer sevenpence-halfpenny to a duke. But he quickly put an end +to all doubt, for, as he unlocked the door, he turned to me and said,-- + +'The fee is one franc.' + +As I gave it him he put it in his pocket and gravely handed me a little +printed receipt. _Baedeker_ had obligingly informed me that the Duchy of +Losas was shorn of its splendour, but I had not understood that the +present representative added to his income by exhibiting the bones of +his ancestors at a franc a head.... + +We entered, and the duke pointed out the groining of the roof and the +tracery of the windows. + +'This chapel contains some of the finest Gothic in Spain,' he said. + +When he considered that I had sufficiently admired the architecture, he +turned to the pictures, and, with the fluency of a professional guide, +gave me their subjects and the names of the artists. + +'Now we come to the tombs of Don Sebastian, the first Duke of Losas, +and his spouse, Dona Sodina--not, however, the first duchess.' + +The monument stood in the middle of the chapel, covered with a great +pall of red velvet, so that no economical tourist should see it through +the bars of the gate and thus save his peseta. The duke removed the +covering and watched me silently, a slight smile trembling below his +little, black moustache. + +The duke and his wife, who was not his duchess, lay side by side on a +bed of carved alabaster; at the corners were four twisted pillars, +covered with little leaves and flowers, and between them bas-reliefs +representing Love, and Youth, and Strength, and Pleasure, as if, even in +the midst of death, death must be forgotten. Don Sebastian was in full +armour. His helmet was admirably carved with a representation of the +battle between the Centaurs and the Lapithae; on the right arm-piece were +portrayed the adventures of Venus and Mars, on the left the emotions of +Vulcan; but on the breast-plate was an elaborate Crucifixion, with +soldiers and women and apostles. The visor was raised, and showed a +stern, heavy face, with prominent cheek bones, sensual lips and a +massive chin. + +'It is very fine,' I remarked, thinking the duke expected some remark. + +'People have thought so for three hundred years,' he replied gravely. + +He pointed out to me the hands of Don Sebastian. + +'The guide-books have said that they are the finest hands in Spain. +Tourists especially admire the tendons and veins, which, as you +perceive, stand out as in no human hand would be possible. They say it +is the summit of art.' + +And he took me to the other side of the monument, that I might look at +Dona Sodina. + +'They say she was the most beautiful woman of her day,' he said, 'but in +that case the Castilian lady is the only thing in Spain which has not +degenerated.' + +She was, indeed, not beautiful: her face was fat and broad, like her +husband's; a short, ungraceful nose, and a little, nobbly chin; a thick +neck, set dumpily on her marble shoulders. One could not but hope that +the artist had done her an injustice. + +The Duke of Losas made me observe the dog which was lying at her feet. + +'It is a symbol of fidelity,' he said. + +'The guide-book told me she was chaste and faithful.' + +'If she had been,' he replied, smiling, 'Don Sebastian would perhaps +never have become Duque de Losas.' + +'Really!' + +'It is an old history which I discovered one day among some family +papers.' + +I pricked up my ears, and discreetly began to question him. + +'Are you interested in old manuscripts?' said the duke. 'Come with me +and I will show you what I have.' + +With a flourish of the hand he waved me out of the chapel, and, having +carefully locked the doors, accompanied me to his palace. He took me +into a Gothic chamber, furnished with worn French furniture, the walls +covered with cheap paper. Offering me a cigarette, he opened a drawer +and produced a faded manuscript. + +'This is the document in question,' he said. 'Those crooked and +fantastic characters are terrible. I often wonder if the writers were +able to read them.' + +'You are fortunate to be the possessor of such things,' I remarked. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +'What good are they? I would sooner have fifty pesetas than this musty +parchment.' + +An offer! I quickly reckoned it out into English money. He would +doubtless have taken less, but I felt a certain delicacy in bargaining +with a duke over his family secrets.... + +'Do you mean it? May I--er--' + +He sprang towards me. + +'Take it, my dear sir, take it. Shall I give you a receipt?' + +And so, for thirty-one shillings and threepence, I obtained the only +authentic account of how the frailty of the illustrious Senora Dona +Sodina was indirectly the means of raising her husband to the highest +dignities in Spain. + + +III + +Don Sebastian and his wife had lived together for fifteen years, with +the entirest happiness to themselves and the greatest admiration of +their neighbours. People said that such an example of conjugal felicity +was not often seen in those degenerate days, for even then they prated +of the golden age of their grandfathers, lamenting their own +decadence.... As behoved good Castilians, burdened with such a line of +noble ancestors, the fortunate couple conducted themselves with all +imaginable gravity. No strange eye was permitted to witness a caress +between the lord and his lady, or to hear an expression of endearment; +but everyone could see the devotion of Don Sebastian, the look of +adoration which filled his eyes when he gazed upon his wife. And people +said that Dona Sodina was worthy of all his affection. They said that +her virtue was only matched by her piety, and her piety was patent to +the whole world, for every day she went to the cathedral at Xiormonez +and remained long immersed in her devotions. Her charity was exemplary, +and no beggar ever applied to her in vain. + +But even if Don Sebastian and his wife had not possessed these conjugal +virtues, they would have been in Xiormonez persons of note, since not +only did they belong to an old and respected family, which was rich as +well, but the gentleman's brother was archbishop of the See, who, when +he graced the cathedral city with his presence, paid the greatest +attention to Don Sebastian and Dona Sodina. Everyone said that the +Archbishop Pablo would shortly become a cardinal, for he was a great +favourite with the king, and with the latter His Holiness the Pope was +then on terms of quite unusual friendship. + +And in those days, when the priesthood was more noticeable for its +gallantry than for its good works, it was refreshing to find so +high-placed a dignitary of the Church a pattern of Christian virtues, +who, notwithstanding his gorgeous habit of life, his retinue, his +palaces, recalled, by his freedom from at least two of the seven deadly +sins, the simplicity of the apostles, which the common people have often +supposed the perfect state of the minister of God. + +Don Sebastian had been affianced to Dona Sodina when he was a boy of +ten, and before she could properly pronounce the viperish sibilants of +her native tongue. When the lady attained her sixteenth year, the pair +were solemnly espoused, and the young priest Pablo, the bridegroom's +brother, assisted at the ceremony. In these days the union would have +been instanced as a triumphant example of the success of the _mariage de +convenance_, but at that time such arrangements were so usual that it +never occurred to anyone to argue for or against them. Yet it was not +customary for a young man of two-and-twenty to fall madly in love with +the bride whom he saw for the first time a day or two before his +marriage, and it was still less customary for the bride to give back an +equal affection. For fifteen years the couple lived in harmony and +contentment, with nothing to trouble the even tenor of their lives; and +if there was a cloud in their sky, it was that a kindly Providence had +vouchsafed no fruit to the union, notwithstanding the prayers and +candles which Dona Sodina was known to have offered at the shrine of +more than one saint in Spain who had made that kind of miracle +particularly his own. + +But even felicitous marriages cannot last for ever, since if the love +does not die the lovers do. And so it came to pass that Dona Sodina, +having eaten excessively of pickled shrimps, which the abbess of a +highly respected convent had assured her were of great efficacy in the +begetting of children, took a fever of the stomach, as the chronicle +inelegantly puts it, and after a week of suffering was called to the +other world, from which, as from the pickled shrimps, she had always +expected much. There let us hope her virtues have been rewarded, and she +rests in peace and happiness. + + +IV + +When Don Sebastian walked from the cathedral to his house after the +burial of his wife, no one saw a trace of emotion on his face, and it +was with his wonted grave courtesy that he bowed to a friend as he +passed him. Sternly and briefly, as usual, he gave orders that no one +should disturb him, and went to the room of Dona Sodina; he knelt on the +praying-stool which Dona Sodina had daily used for so many years, and he +fixed his eyes on the crucifix hanging on the wall above it. The day +passed, and the night passed, and Don Sebastian never moved--no thought +or emotion entered him; being alive, he was like the dead; he was like +the dead that linger on the outer limits of hell, with never a hope for +the future, dull with the despair that shall last for ever and ever and +ever. But when the woman who had nursed him in his childhood lovingly +disobeyed his order and entered to give him food, she saw no tear in his +eye, no sign of weeping. + +'You are right!' he said, painfully rising from his knees. 'Give me to +eat.' + +Listlessly taking the food, he sank into a chair and looked at the bed +on which had lately rested the corpse of Dona Sodina; but a kindly +nature relieved his unhappiness, and he fell into a weary sleep. + +When he awoke, the night was far advanced; the house, the town were +filled with silence; all round him was darkness, and the ivory crucifix +shone dimly, dimly. Outside the door a page was sleeping; he woke him +and bade him bring light.... In his sorrow, Don Sebastian began to look +at the things his wife had loved; he fingered her rosary, and turned +over the pages of the half-dozen pious books which formed her library; +he looked at the jewels which he had seen glittering on her bosom; the +brocades, the rich silks, the cloths of gold and silver that she had +delighted to wear. And at last he came across an old breviary which he +thought she had lost--how glad she would have been to find it, she had +so often regretted it! The pages were musty with their long concealment, +and only faintly could be detected the scent which Dona Sodina used +yearly to make and strew about her things. Turning over the pages +listlessly, he saw some crabbed writing; he took it to the +light--'_To-night, my beloved, I come._' And the handwriting was that of +Pablo, Archbishop of Xiormonez. Don Sebastian looked at it long. Why +should his brother write such words in the breviary of Dona Sodina? He +turned the pages and the handwriting of his wife met his eye and the +words were the same--'_To-night, my beloved, I come_'--as if they were +such delight to her that she must write them herself. The breviary +dropped from Don Sebastian's hand. + +The taper, flickering in the draught, threw glaring lights on Don +Sebastian's face, but it showed no change in it. He sat looking at the +fallen breviary, and, in his mind, at the love which was dead. At last +he passed his hand over his forehead. + +'And yet,' he whispered, 'I loved thee well!' + +But as the day came he picked up the breviary and locked it in a casket; +he knelt again at the praying-stool and, lifting his hands to the +crucifix, prayed silently. Then he locked the door of Dona Sodina's +room, and it was a year before he entered it again. + +That day the Archbishop Pablo came to his brother to offer consolation +for his loss, and Don Sebastian at the parting kissed him on either +cheek. + + +V + +The people of Xiormonez said that Don Sebastian was heart-broken, for +from the date of his wife's interment he was not seen in the streets by +day. A few, returning home from some riot, had met him wandering in the +dead of the night, but he passed them silently by. But he sent his +servants to Toledo and Burgos, to Salamanca, Cordova, even to Paris and +Rome; and from all these places they brought him books--and day after +day he studied in them, till the common folk asked if he had turned +magician. + +So passed eleven months, and nearly twelve, till it wanted but five days +to the anniversary of the death of Dona Sodina. Then Don Sebastian wrote +to his brother the letter which for months he had turned over in his +mind,-- + + '_Seeing the instability of all human things, and the uncertain + length of our exile upon earth, I have considered that it is evil + for brothers to remain so separate. Therefore I implore you--who + are my only relative in this world, and heir to all my goods and + estates--to visit me quickly, for I have a presentiment that death + is not far off, and I would see you before we are parted by the + immense sea._' + +The archbishop was thinking that he must shortly pay a visit to his +cathedral city, and, as his brother had desired, came to Xiormonez +immediately. On the anniversary of Dona Sodina's interment, Don +Sebastian entertained Archbishop Pablo to supper. + +'My brother,' said he, to his guest, 'I have lately received from +Cordova a wine which I desire you to taste. It is very highly prized in +Africa, whence I am told it comes, and it is made with curious art and +labour.' + +Glass cups were brought, and the wine poured in. The archbishop was a +connoisseur, and held it between the light and himself, admiring the +sparkling clearness, and then inhaled the odour. + +'It is nectar,' he said. + +At last he sipped it. + +'The flavour is very strange.' + +He drank deeply. Don Sebastian looked at him and smiled as his brother +put down the empty glass. But when he was himself about to drink, the +cup fell between his hands and the steward's, breaking into a hundred +fragments, and the wine spilt on the floor. + +'Fool!' cried Don Sebastian, and in his anger struck the servant. + +But being a man of peace, the archbishop interposed. + +'Do not be angry with him; it was an accident. There is more wine in the +flagon.' + +'No, I will not drink it,' said Don Sebastian, wrathfully. 'I will drink +no more to-night.' + +The archbishop shrugged his shoulders. + +When they were alone, Don Sebastian made a strange request. + +'My brother, it is a year to-day that Sodina was buried, and I have not +entered her room since then. But now I have a desire to see it. Will you +come with me?' + +The archbishop consented, and together they crossed the long corridor +that led to Dona Sodina's apartment, preceded by a boy with lights. + +Don Sebastian unlocked the door, and, taking the taper from the page's +hand, entered. The archbishop followed. The air was chill and musty, and +even now an odour of recent death seemed to pervade the room. + +Don Sebastian went to a casket, and from it took a breviary. He saw his +brother start as his eye fell on it. He turned over the leaves till he +came to a page on which was the archbishop's handwriting, and handed it +to him. + +'Oh God!' exclaimed the priest, and looked quickly at the door. Don +Sebastian was standing in front of it. He opened his mouth to cry out, +but Don Sebastian interrupted him. + +'Do not be afraid! I will not touch you.' + +For a while they looked at one another silently; one pale, sweating with +terror, the other calm and grave as usual. At last Don Sebastian spoke, +hoarsely. + +'Did she--did she love you?' + +'Oh, my brother, forgive her. It was long ago--and she repented +bitterly. And I--I!' + +'I have forgiven you.' + +The words were said so strangely that the archbishop shuddered. What did +he mean? + +Don Sebastian smiled. + +'You have no cause for anxiety. From now it is finished. I will forget.' +And, opening the door, he helped his brother across the threshold. The +archbishop's hand was clammy as a hand of death. + +When Don Sebastian bade his brother good-night, he kissed him on either +cheek. + + +VI + +The priest returned to his palace, and when he was in bed his secretary +prepared to read to him, as was his wont, but the archbishop sent him +away, desiring to be alone. He tried to think; but the wine he had drunk +was heavy upon him, and he fell asleep. But presently he awoke, feeling +thirsty; he drank some water.... Then he became strangely wide-awake, a +feeling of uneasiness came over him as of some threatening presence +behind him, and again he felt the thirst. He stretched out his hand for +the flagon, but now there was a mist before his eyes and he could not +see, his hand trembled so that he spilled the water. And the uneasiness +was magnified till it became a terror, and the thirst was horrible. He +opened his mouth to call out, but his throat was dry, so that no sound +came. He tried to rise from his bed, but his limbs were heavy and he +could not move. He breathed quicker and quicker, and his skin was +extraordinarily dry. The terror became an agony; it was unbearable. He +wanted to bury his face in the pillows to hide it from him; he felt the +hair on his head hard and dry, and it stood on end! He called to God for +help, but no sound came from his mouth. Then the terror took shape and +form, and he knew that behind him was standing Dona Sodina, and she was +looking at him with terrible, reproachful eyes. And a second Dona Sodina +came and stood at the end of the bed, and another came by her side, and +the room was filled with them. And his thirst was horrible; he tried to +moisten his mouth with spittle, but the source of it was dry. Cramps +seized his limbs, so that he writhed with pain. Presently a red glow +fell upon the room and it became hot and hotter, till he gasped for +breath; it blinded him, but he could not close his eyes. And he knew it +was the glow of hell-fire, for in his ears rang the groans of souls in +torment, and among the voices he recognised that of Dona Sodina, and +then--then he heard his own voice. And, in the livid heat, he saw +himself in his episcopal robes, lying on the ground, chained to Dona +Sodina, hand and foot. And he knew that as long as heaven and earth +should last, the torment of hell would continue. + +When the priests came in to their master in the morning, they found him +lying dead, with his eyes wide open, staring with a ghastly brilliancy +into the unknown. Then there was weeping and lamentation, and from house +to house the people told one another that the archbishop had died in his +sleep. The bells were set tolling, and as Don Sebastian, in his +solitude, heard them, referring to the chief ingredient of that strange +wine from Cordova, he permitted himself the only jest of his life. + +'It was _Belladonna_ that sent his body to the worms; and it was +_Belladonna_ that sent his soul to hell.' + + +VII + +The chronicle does not state whether the thought of his brother's +heritage had ever entered Don Sebastian's head; but the fact remains +that he was sole heir, and the archbishop had gathered the loaves and +fishes to such purpose during his life that his death made Don Sebastian +one of the wealthiest men in Spain. The simplest actions in this world, +oh Martin Tupper! have often the most unforeseen results. + +Now, Don Sebastian had always been ambitious, and his changed +circumstances made him realise more clearly than ever that his merit was +worthy of a brilliant arena. The times were propitious, for the old king +had just died, and the new one had sent away the army of priests and +monks which had turned every day into a Sunday; people said that God +Almighty had had His day, and that the heathen deities had come to rule +in His stead. From all corners of Spain gallants were coming to enjoy +the sunshine, and everyone who could make a compliment or a graceful bow +was sure of a welcome. + +So Don Sebastian prepared to go to Madrid. But before leaving his native +town he thought well to appease a possibly vengeful Providence by +erecting in the cathedral a chapel in honour of his patron saint; not +that he thought the saints would trouble themselves about the death of +his brother, even though the causes of it were not entirely natural, but +Don Sebastian remembered that Pablo was an archbishop, and the fact +caused him a certain anxiety. He called together architects and +sculptors, and ordered them to erect an edifice befitting his dignity; +and being a careful man, as all Spaniards are, thought he would serve +himself as well as the saint, and bade the sculptors make an image of +Dona Sodina and an image of himself, in order that he might use the +chapel also as a burial-place. + +To pay for this, Don Sebastian left the revenue of several of his +brother's farms, and then, with a peaceful conscience, set out for the +capital. + +At Madrid he laid himself out to gain the favour of his sovereign, and +by dint of unceasing flattery soon received much of the king's +attention; and presently Philip deigned to ask his advice on petty +matters. And since Don Sebastian took care to advise as he saw the king +desired, the latter concluded that the courtier was a man of stamina and +ability, and began to consult him on matters of state. Don Sebastian +opined that the pleasure of the prince must always come before the +welfare of the nation, and the king was so impressed with his sagacity +that one day he asked his opinion on a question of precedence--to the +indignation of the most famous councillors in the land. + +But the haughty soul of Don Sebastian chafed because he was only one +among many favourites. The court was full of flatterers as assiduous and +as obsequious as himself; his proud Castilian blood could brook no +companions.... But one day, as he was moodily waiting in the royal +antechamber, thinking of these things, it occurred to him that a certain +profession had always been in great honour among princes, and he +remembered that he had a cousin of eighteen, who was being educated in a +convent near Xiormonez. She was beautiful. With buoyant heart he went to +his house and told his steward to fetch her from the convent at once. +Within a fortnight she was at Madrid.... Mercia was presented to the +queen in the presence of Philip, and Don Sebastian noticed that the +royal eye lighted up as he gazed on the bashful maiden. Then all the +proud Castilian had to do was to shut his eyes and allow the king to +make his own opportunities. Within a week Mercia was created maid of +honour to the queen, and Don Sebastian was seized with an indisposition +which confined him to his room. + +The king paid his court royally, which is, boldly; and Dona Mercia had +received in the convent too religious an education not to know that it +was her duty to grant the king whatever it graciously pleased him to +ask.... + +When Don Sebastian recovered from his illness, he found the world at his +feet, for everyone was talking of the king's new mistress, and it was +taken as a matter of course that her cousin and guardian should take a +prominent part in the affairs of the country. But Don Sebastian was +furious! He went to the king and bitterly reproached him for thus +dishonouring him.... Philip was a humane and generous-minded man, and +understood that with a certain temperament it might be annoying to have +one's ward philander with a king, so he did his best to console the +courtier. He called him his friend and brother; he told him he would +always love him, but Don Sebastian would not be consoled. And nothing +would comfort him except to be made High Admiral of the Fleet. Philip +was charmed to settle the matter so simply, and as he delighted in +generosity when to be generous cost him nothing, he also created Don +Sebastian Duke of Losas, and gave him, into the bargain, the hand of +the richest heiress in Spain. + +And that is the end of the story of the punctiliousness of Don +Sebastian. With his second wife he lived many years, beloved of his +sovereign, courted by the world, honoured by all, till he was visited by +the Destroyer of Delights and the Leveller of the Grandeur of this +World.... + + +VIII + +Towards evening, the Duke of Losas passed my hotel, and, seeing me at +the door, asked if I had read the manuscript. + +'I thought it interesting,' I said, a little coldly, for, of course, I +knew no Englishman would have acted like Don Sebastian. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +'It is not half so interesting as a good dinner.' + +At these words I felt bound to offer him such hospitality as the hotel +afforded. I found him a very agreeable messmate. He told me the further +history of his family, which nearly became extinct at the end of the +last century, since the only son of the seventh duke had, unfortunately, +not been born of any duchess. But Ferdinand, who was then King of Spain, +was unwilling that an ancient family should die out, and was, at the +same time, sorely in want of money; so the titles and honours of the +house were continued to the son of the seventh duke, and King Ferdinand +built himself another palace. + +'But now,' said my guest, mournfully shaking his head, 'it is finished. +My palace and a few acres of barren rock are all that remain to me of +the lands of my ancestors, and I am the last of the line.' + +But I bade him not despair. He was a bachelor and a duke, and not yet +forty. I advised him to go to the United States before they put a duty +on foreign noblemen; this was before the war; and I recommended him to +take Maida Vale and Manchester on his way. Personally, I gave him a +letter of introduction to an heiress of my acquaintance at Hampstead; +for even in these days it is not so bad a thing to be Duchess of Losas, +and the present duke has no brother. + + + + +A BAD EXAMPLE + + +I + +James Clinton was a clerk in the important firm of Haynes, Bryan & Co., +and he held in it an important position. He was the very essence of +respectability, and he earned one hundred and fifty-six pounds per +annum. James Clinton believed in the Church of England and the +Conservative party, in the greatness of Great Britain, in the need of +more ships for the navy, and in the superiority of city men to other +members of the commonweal. + +'It's the man of business that makes the world go round,' he was in the +habit of saying. 'D'you think, sir, that fifty thousand country squires +could rule Great Britain? No; it's the city man, the man who's 'ad a +sound business training, that's made England what it is. And that is why +I 'old the Conservative party most capable of governing this mighty +empire, because it 'as taken the business man to its 'eart. The +strength of the Conservative party lies in its brewers and its city +men, its bankers and iron-founders and stockbrokers; and as long as the +Liberal party is a nest of Socialists and Trades-Unionists and +Anarchists, we city men cannot and will not give it our support.' + +Except for the lamentable conclusion of his career, he would undoubtedly +have become an Imperialist, and the Union of the Great Anglo-Saxon Races +would have found in him the sturdiest of supporters! + +Mr Clinton was a little, spindly-shanked man, with weak, myopic eyes, +protruding fishlike behind his spectacles. His hair was scant, worn long +to conceal the baldness of the crown--and Caesar was pleased to wear a +wreath of laurel for the same purpose.... Mr Clinton wore small +side-whiskers, but was otherwise clean-shaven, and the lack of beard +betrayed the weakness of his mouth; his teeth were decayed and yellow. +He was always dressed in a black tail-coat, shiny at the elbows; and he +wore a shabby, narrow black tie, with a false diamond stud in his +dickey. His grey trousers were baggy at the knees and frayed at the +edges; his boots had a masculine and English breadth of toe. His top +hat, of antiquated shape, was kept carefully brushed, but always looked +as if it were suffering from a recent shower. When he had deserted the +frivolous byways in which bachelordom is wont to disport itself for the +sober path of the married man, he had begun to carry to and from the +city a small black bag to impress upon the world at large his eminent +respectability. Mr Clinton was married to Amy, second daughter of John +Rayner, Esquire, of Peckham Rye.... + + +II + +Every morning Mr Clinton left his house in Camberwell in time to catch +the eight-fifty-five train for the city. He made his way up Ludgate +Hill, walking sideways, with a projection of the left part of his body, +a habit he had acquired from constantly slipping past and between people +who walked less rapidly than himself. Such persons always annoyed him; +if they were not in a hurry he was, and they had no right to obstruct +the way; and it was improper for a city man to loiter in the +morning--the luncheon-hour was the time for loitering, no one was then +in haste; but in the morning and at night on the way back to the +station, one ought to walk at the same pace as everybody else. If Mr +Clinton had been head of a firm, he would never have had in his office a +man who sauntered in the morning. If a man wanted to loiter, let him go +to the West-end; there he could lounge about all day. But the city was +meant for business, and there wasn't time for West-end airs in the city. + +Mr Clinton reached his office at a quarter to ten, except when the +train, by some mistake, arrived up to time, when he arrived at +nine-thirty precisely. On these occasions he would sit in his room with +the door open, awaiting the coming of the office-boy, who used to arrive +two minutes before Mr Clinton and was naturally much annoyed when the +punctuality of the train prepared him a reprimand. + +'Is that you, Dick?' called Mr Clinton, when he heard a footstep. + +'Yes, sir,' answered the boy, appearing. + +Mr Clinton looked up from his nails, which he was paring with a pair of +pocket scissors. + +'What is the meaning of this? You don't call this 'alf-past nine, do +you?' + +'Very sorry,' said the boy; 'it wasn't my fault, sir; train was late.' + +'It's not the first time I've 'ad to speak to you about this, Dick; you +know quite well that the company is always unpunctual; you should come +by an earlier train.' + +The office-boy looked sulky and did not answer. Mr Clinton proceeded, 'I +'ad to open the office myself. As assistant-manager, you know quite well +that it is not my duty to open the office. You receive sixteen shillings +a week to be 'ere at 'alf-past nine, and if you don't feel yourself +capable of performing the duties for which you was engaged, you should +give notice.... Don't let it occur again.' + +But usually, on arriving, Mr Clinton took off his tail-coat and put on a +jacket, manufactured from the office paper a pair of false cuffs to keep +his own clean, and having examined the nibs in both his penholders and +sharpened his pencil, set to work. From then till one o'clock he +remained at his desk, solemnly poring over figures, casting accounts, +comparing balance-sheets, writing letters, occasionally going for some +purpose or another into the clerks' office or into the room of one of +the partners. At one he went to luncheon, taking with him the portion +of his _Daily Telegraph_ which he was in the habit of reading during +that meal. He went to an A. B. C. shop and ordered a roll and butter, a +cup of chocolate and a scone. He divided his pat of butter into two, one +half being for the roll and the other for the scone; he drank one moiety +of the cup of chocolate after eating the roll, and the other after +eating the scone. Meanwhile he read pages three and four of the _Daily +Telegraph_. At a quarter to two he folded the paper, put down sixpence +in payment, and slowly walked back to the office. He returned to his +desk and there spent the afternoon solemnly poring over figures, casting +accounts, comparing balance-sheets, writing letters, occasionally going +for some purpose or another into the clerks' office or into the room of +one of the partners. At ten minutes to six he wiped his pens and put +them back in the tray, tidied his desk and locked his drawer. He took +off his paper cuffs, washed his hands, wiped his face, brushed his hair, +arranging the long whisps over the occipital baldness, and combed his +whiskers. At six he left the office, caught the six-seventeen train from +Ludgate Hill, and thus made his way back to Camberwell and the bosom of +his family. + + +III + +On Sunday, Mr Clinton put on Sunday clothes, and heading the little +procession formed by Mrs Clinton and the two children, went to church, +carrying in his hand a prayer book and a hymn book. After dinner he took +a little walk with his wife along the neighbouring roads, avenues and +crescents, examining the exterior of the houses, stopping now and then +to look at a garden or a well-kept house, or trying to get a peep into +some room. Mr and Mrs Clinton criticised as they went along, comparing +the window curtains, blaming a door in want of paint, praising a +well-whitened doorstep.... + +The Clintons lived in the fifth house down in the Adonis Road, and the +house was distinguishable from its fellows by the yellow curtains with +which Mrs Clinton had furnished all the windows. Mrs Clinton was a woman +of taste. Before marriage, the happy pair, accompanied by Mrs Clinton's +mother, had gone house-hunting, and fixed on the Adonis Road, which was +cheap, respectable and near the station. Mrs Clinton would dearly have +liked a house on the right-hand side of the road, which had nooks and +angles and curiously-shaped windows. But Mr Clinton was firm in his +refusal, and his mother-in-law backed him up. + +'I dare say they're artistic,' he said, in answer to his wife's +argument, 'but a man in my position don't want art--he wants +substantiality. If the governor'--the governor was the senior partner of +the firm--'if the governor was going to take a 'ouse I'd 'ave nothing to +say against it, but in my position art's not necessary.' + +'Quite right, James,' said his mother-in-law; 'I 'old with what you say +entirely.' + +Even in his early youth Mr Clinton had a fine sense of the +responsibility of life, and a truly English feeling for the fitness of +things. + +So the Clintons took one of the twenty-three similar houses on the +left-hand side of the street, and there lived in peaceful happiness. But +Mr Clinton always pointed the finger of scorn at the houses opposite, +and he never rubbed the back of his hands so heartily as when he could +point out to his wife that such-and-such a number was having its roof +repaired; and when the builder went bankrupt, he cut out the notice in +the paper and sent it to his spouse anonymously.... + +At the beginning of August, Mr Clinton was accustomed, with his wife and +family, to desert the sultry populousness of London for the solitude and +sea air of Ramsgate. He read the _Daily Telegraph_ by the sad sea waves, +and made castles in the sand with his children. Then he changed his +pepper-and-salt trousers for white flannel, but nothing on earth would +induce him to forsake his top hat. He entirely agreed with the heroes of +England's proudest epoch--of course I mean the middle Victorian--that +the top hat was the sign-manual, the mark, the distinction of the true +Englishman, the completest expression of England's greatness. Mr Clinton +despised all foreigners, and although he would never have ventured to +think of himself in the same breath with an English lord, he felt +himself the superior of any foreign nobleman. + +'I dare say they're all right in their way, but with these foreigners +you don't feel they're gentlemen. I don't know what it is, but there's +something, you understand, don't you? And I do like a man to be a +gentleman. I thank God I'm an Englishman!' + + +IV + +Now, it chanced one day that the senior partner of the firm was summoned +to serve on a jury at a coroner's inquest, and Mr Clinton, furnished +with the excuse that Mr Haynes was out of town, was told to go in his +stead. Mr Clinton had never performed that part of a citizen's duties, +for on becoming a householder he had hit upon the expedient of being +summoned for his rates, so that his name should be struck off the +coroner's list; he was very indifferent to the implied dishonour. It was +with some curiosity, therefore, that he repaired to the court on the +morning of the inquest. + +The weather was cold and grey, and a drizzling rain was falling. Mr +Clinton did not take a 'bus, since by walking he could put in his pocket +the threepence which he meant to charge the firm for his fare. The +streets were wet and muddy, and people walked close against the houses +to avoid the splash of passing vehicles. Mr Clinton thought of the +jocose solicitor who was in the habit of taking an articled clerk with +him on muddy days, to walk on the outside of the street and protect his +master from the flying mud. The story particularly appealed to Mr +Clinton; that solicitor must have been a fine man of business. As he +walked leisurely along under his umbrella, Mr Clinton looked without +envy upon the city men who drove along in hansoms. + +'Some of us,' he said, 'are born great, others achieve greatness. A man +like that'--he pointed with his mind's finger at a passing alderman--'a +man like that can go about in 'is carriage and nobody can say anything +against it. 'E's worked 'imself up from the bottom.' + +But when he came down Parliament Street to Westminster Abbey he felt a +different atmosphere, and he was roused to Jeremiac indignation at the +sight, in a passing cab, of a gilded youth in an opera hat, with his +coat buttoned up to hide his dress clothes. + +'That's the sort of young feller I can't abide,' said Mr Clinton. 'And +if I was a member of Parliament I'd stop it. That's what comes of 'aving +too much money and nothing to do. If I was a member of the aristocracy +I'd give my sons five years in an accountant's office. There's nothing +like a sound business training for making a man.' He paused in the road +and waved his disengaged hand. 'Now, what should I be if I 'adn't 'ad a +sound business training?' + +Mr Clinton arrived at the mortuary, a gay red and white building, which +had been newly erected and consecrated by a duke with much festivity and +rejoicing. Mr Clinton was sworn with the other jurymen, and with them +repaired to see the bodies on which they were to sit. But Mr Clinton was +squeamish. + +'I don't like corpses,' he said. 'I object to them on principle.' + +He was told he must look at them. + +'Very well,' said Mr Clinton. 'You can take a 'orse to the well but you +can't make 'im drink.' When it came to his turn to look through the pane +of glass behind which was the body, he shut his eyes. + +'I can't say I'm extra gone on corpses,' he said, as they walked back to +the Court. 'The smell of them ain't what you might call +_eau-de-Cologne_.' The other jurymen laughed. Mr Clinton often said +witty things like that. + +'Well, gentlemen,' said the coroner, rubbing his hands, 'we've only got +three cases this morning, so I sha'n't have to keep you long. And they +all seem to be quite simple.' + + +V + +The first was an old man of seventy; he had been a respectable, +hard-working man till two years before, when a paralytic stroke had +rendered one side of him completely powerless. He lost his work. He was +alone in the world--his wife was dead, and his only daughter had not +been heard of for thirty years--and gradually he had spent his little +savings; one by one he sent his belongings to the pawn shop, his pots +and pans, his clothes, his arm-chair, finally his bedstead, then he +died. The doctor said the man was terribly emaciated, his stomach was +shrivelled up for want of food, he could have eaten nothing for two days +before death.... The jury did not trouble to leave the box; the foreman +merely turned round and whispered to them a minute; they all nodded, and +a verdict was returned in accordance with the doctor's evidence! + +The next inquiry was upon a child of two. The coroner leant his head +wearily on his hand, such cases were so common! The babe's mother came +forward to give her evidence--a pale little woman, with thin and hollow +cheeks, her eyes red and dim with weeping. She sobbed as she told the +coroner that her husband had left her, and she was obliged to support +herself and two children. She was out of work, and food had been rather +scanty; she had suckled the dead baby as long as she could, but her milk +dried up. Two days before, on waking up in the morning, the child she +held in her arms was cold and dead. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. +Want of food! And the jury returned their verdict, framed in a beautiful +and elaborate sentence, in accordance with the evidence. + +The last case was a girl of twenty. She had been found in the Thames; a +bargee told how he saw a confused black mass floating on the water, and +he put a boat-hook in the skirt, tying the body up to the boat while he +called the police, he was so used to such things! In the girl's pocket +was found a pathetic little letter to the coroner, begging his pardon +for the trouble she was causing, saying she had been sent away from her +place, and was starving, and had resolved to put an end to her troubles +by throwing herself in the river. She was pregnant. The medical man +stated that there were signs on the body of very great privation, so the +jury returned a verdict that the deceased had committed suicide whilst +in a state of temporary insanity! + +The coroner stretched his arms and blew his nose, and the jury went +their way. + +But Mr Clinton stood outside the mortuary door, meditating, and the +coroner's officer remarked that it was a wet day. + +'Could I 'ave another look at the bodies?' timidly asked the clerk, +stirring himself out of his contemplation. + +The coroner's officer looked at him with surprise, and laughed. + +'Yes, if you like.' + +Mr Clinton looked through the glass windows at the bodies, and he +carefully examined their faces; he looked at them one after another +slowly, and it seemed as if he could not tear himself away. Finally he +turned round, his face was very pale, and it had quite a strange +expression on it; he felt very sick. + +'Thank you!' he said to the coroner's officer, and walked away. But +after a few steps he turned back, touching the man on the arm. 'D'you +'ave many cases like that?' he asked. + +'Why, you look quite upset,' said the coroner's officer, with amusement. +'I can see you're not used to such things. You'd better go to the pub. +opposite and 'ave three 'aporth of brandy.' + +'They seemed rather painful cases,' said Mr Clinton, in a low voice. + +'Oh, it was a slack day to-day. Nothing like what it is usually this +time of year.' + +'They all died of starvation--starvation, and nothing else.' + +'I suppose they did, more or less,' replied the officer. + +'D'you 'ave many cases like that?' + +'Starvation cases? Lor' bless you! on a 'eavy day we'll 'ave 'alf a +dozen, easy.' + +'Oh!' said Mr Clinton. + +'Well, I must be getting on with my work,' said the officer--they were +standing on the doorstep and he looked at the public-house opposite, but +Mr Clinton paid no further attention to him. He began to walk slowly +away citywards. + +'Well, you are a rummy old file!' said the coroner's officer. + +But presently a mist came before Mr Clinton's eyes, everything seemed +suddenly extraordinary, he had an intense pain and he felt himself +falling. He opened his eyes slowly, and found himself sitting on a +doorstep; a policeman was shaking him, asking what his name was. A woman +standing by was holding his top hat; he noticed that his trousers were +muddy, and mechanically he pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe +them. + +He looked vacantly at the policeman asking questions. The woman asked +him if he was better. He motioned her to give him his hat; he put it +feebly on his head and, staggering to his feet, walked unsteadily away. + +The rain drizzled down impassively, and cabs passing swiftly splashed up +the yellow mud.... + + +VI + +Mr Clinton went back to the office; it was his boast that for ten years +he had never missed a day. But he was dazed; he did his work +mechanically, and so distracted was he that, on going home in the +evening, he forgot to remove his paper cuffs, and his wife remarked upon +them while they were supping. Mrs Clinton was a short, stout person, +with an appearance of immense determination; her black, shiny hair was +parted in the middle--the parting was broad and very white--severely +brushed back and gathered into a little knot at the back of the head; +her face was red and strongly lined, her eyes spirited, her nose +aggressive, her mouth resolute. Everyone has some one procedure which +seems most exactly to suit him--a slim youth bathing in a shaded stream, +an alderman standing with his back to the fire and his thumbs in the +arm-holes of his waistcoat--and Mrs Clinton expressed her complete self, +exhibiting every trait and attribute, on Sunday in church, when she sat +in the front pew self-reliantly singing the hymns in the wrong key. It +was then that she seemed more than ever the personification of a full +stop. Her morals were above suspicion, and her religion Low Church. + +'They've moved into the second 'ouse down,' she remarked to her +husband. 'And Mrs Tilly's taken 'er summer curtains down at last.' Mrs +Clinton spent most of her time in watching her neighbours' movements, +and she and her husband always discussed at the supper-table the events +of the day, but this time he took no notice of her remark. He pushed +away his cold meat with an expression of disgust. + +'You don't seem up to the mark to-night, Jimmy,' said Mrs Clinton. + +'I served on a jury to-day in place of the governor, and it gave me +rather a turn.' + +'Why, was there anything particular?' + +Mr Clinton crumbled up his bread, rolling it about on the table. + +'Only some poor things starved to death.' + +Mrs Clinton shrugged her shoulders. 'Why couldn't they go to the +workhouse, I wonder? I've no patience with people like that.' + +Mr Clinton looked at her for a moment, then rose from the table. 'Well, +dear, I think I'll get to bed; I daresay I shall be all right in the +morning.' + +'That's right,' said Mrs Clinton; 'you get to bed and I'll bring you +something 'ot. I expect you've got a bit of a chill and a good +perspiration'll do you a world of good.' + +She mixed bad whisky with harmless water, and stood over her husband +while he patiently drank the boiling mixture. Then she piled a couple of +extra blankets on him and went down stairs to have her usual nip, +'Scotch and cold,' before going to bed herself. + +All night Mr Clinton tossed from side to side; the heat was unbearable, +and he threw off the clothes. His restlessness became so great that he +got out of bed and walked up and down the room--a pathetically +ridiculous object in his flannel nightshirt, from which his thin legs +protruded grotesquely. Going back to bed, he fell into an uneasy sleep; +but waking or sleeping, he had before his eyes the faces of the three +horrible bodies he had seen at the mortuary. He could not blot out the +image of the thin, baby face with the pale, open eyes, the white face +drawn and thin, hideous in its starved, dead shapelessness. And he saw +the drawn, wrinkled face of the old man, with the stubbly beard; looking +at it, he felt the long pain of hunger, the agony of the hopeless +morrow. But he shuddered with terror at the thought of the drowned girl +with the sunken eyes, the horrible discolouration of putrefaction; and +Mr Clinton buried his face in his pillow, sobbing, sobbing very silently +so as not to wake his wife.... + +The morning came at last and found him feverish and parched, unable to +move. Mrs Clinton sent for the doctor, a slow, cautious Scotchman, in +whose wisdom Mrs Clinton implicitly relied, since he always agreed with +her own idea of her children's ailments. This prudent gentleman ventured +to assert that Mr Clinton had caught cold and had something wrong with +his lungs. Then, promising to send medicine and come again next day, +went off on his rounds. Mr Clinton grew worse; he became delirious. When +his wife, smoothing his pillow, asked him how he felt, he looked at her +with glassy eyes. + +'Lor' bless you!' he muttered, 'on a 'eavy day we'll 'ave 'alf a dozen, +easy.' + +'What's this he's talking about?' asked the doctor, next day. + +''E was serving on a jury the day before yesterday, and my opinion is +that it's got on 'is brain,' answered Mrs Clinton. + +'Oh, that's nothing. You needn't worry about that. I daresay it'll turn +to clothes or religion before he's done. People talk of funny things +when they're in that state. He'll probably think he's got two hundred +pairs of trousers or a million pounds a year.' + +A couple of days later the doctor came to the final conclusion that it +was a case of typhoid, and pronounced Mr Clinton very ill. He was +indeed; he lay for days, between life and death, on his back, looking at +people with dull, unknowing eyes, clutching feebly at the bed-clothes. +And for hours he would mutter strange things to himself so quietly that +one could not hear. But at last Dame Nature and the Scotch doctor +conquered the microbes, and Mr Clinton became better. + + +VII + +One day Mrs Clinton was talking to a neighbour in the bedroom, the +patient was so quiet that they thought him asleep. + +'Yes, I've 'ad a time with 'im, I can tell you,' said Mrs Clinton. 'No +one knows what I've gone through.' + +'Well, I must say,' said the friend, 'you haven't spared yourself; +you've nursed him like a professional nurse.' + +Mrs Clinton crossed her hands over her stomach and looked at her husband +with self-satisfaction. But Mr Clinton was awake, staring in front of +him with wide-open, fixed eyes; various thoughts confusedly ran through +his head. + +'Isn't 'e looking strange?' whispered Mrs Clinton. + +The two women kept silence, watching him. + +'Amy, are you there?' asked Mr Clinton, suddenly, without turning his +eyes. + +'Yes, dear. Is there anything you want?' + +Mr Clinton did not reply for several minutes; the women waited in +silence. + +'Bring me a Bible, Amy,' he said at last. + +'A Bible, Jimmy?' asked Mrs Clinton, in astonishment. + +'Yes, dear!' + +She looked anxiously at her friend. + +'Oh, I do 'ope the delirium isn't coming on again,' she whispered, and, +pretending to smooth his pillow, she passed her hand over his forehead +to see if it was hot. 'Are you quite comfortable, dear?' she asked, +without further allusion to the Bible. + +'Yes, Amy, quite!' + +'Don't you think you could go to sleep for a little while?' + +'I don't feel sleepy, I want to read; will you bring me the Bible?' + +Mrs Clinton looked helplessly at her friend; she feared something was +wrong, and she didn't know what to do. But the neighbour, with a +significant look, pointed to the _Daily Telegraph_, which was lying on a +chair. Mrs Clinton brightened up and took it to her husband. + +'Here's the paper, dear.' Mr Clinton made a slight movement of +irritation. + +'I don't want it; I want the Bible.' Mrs Clinton looked at her friend +more helplessly than ever. + +'I've never known 'im ask for such a thing before,' she whispered, 'and +'e's never missed reading the _Telegraph_ a single day since we was +married.' + +'I don't think you ought to read,' she said aloud to her husband. 'But +the doctor'll be here soon, and I'll ask 'im then.' + +The doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'I don't think there'd be any +harm in letting him have a Bible,' he said, 'but you'd better keep an +eye on him.... I suppose there's no insanity in the family?' + +'No, doctor, not as far as I know. I've always 'eard that my mother's +uncle was very eccentric, but that wouldn't account for this, because we +wasn't related before we married.' + +Mr Clinton took the Bible, and, turning to the New Testament, began to +read. He read chapter after chapter, pausing now and again to meditate, +or reading a second time some striking passage, till at last he finished +the first gospel. Then he turned to his wife. + +'Amy, d'you know, I think I should like to do something for my +feller-creatures. I don't think we're meant to live for ourselves alone +in this world.' + +Mrs Clinton was quite overcome; she turned away to hide the tears which +suddenly filled her eyes, but the shock was too much for her, and she +had to leave the room so that her husband might not see her emotion; she +immediately sent for the doctor. + +'Oh, doctor,' she said, her voice broken with sobs, 'I'm afraid--I'm +afraid my poor 'usband's going off 'is 'ead.' + +And she told him of the incessant reading and the remark Mr Clinton had +just made. The doctor looked grave, and began thinking. + +'You're quite sure there's no insanity in the family?' he asked again. + +'Not to the best of my belief, doctor.' + +'And you've noticed nothing strange in him? His mind hasn't been running +on money or clothes?' + +'No, doctor; I wish it 'ad. I shouldn't 'ave thought anything of that; +there's something natural in a man talking about stocks and shares and +trousers, but I've never 'eard 'im say anything like this before. He was +always a wonderfully steady man.' + + +VIII + +Mr Clinton became daily stronger, and soon he was quite well. He resumed +his work at the office, and in every way seemed to have regained his old +self. He gave utterance to no more startling theories, and the casual +observer might have noticed no difference between him and the model +clerk of six months back. But Mrs Clinton had received too great a shock +to look upon her husband with casual eyes, and she noticed in his manner +an alteration which disquieted her. He was much more silent than before; +he would take his supper without speaking a word, without making the +slightest sign to show that he had heard some remark of Mrs Clinton's. +He did not read the paper in the evening as he had been used to do, but +would go upstairs to the top of the house, and stand by an open window +looking at the stars. He had an enigmatical way of smiling which Mrs +Clinton could not understand. Then he had lost his old punctuality--he +would come home at all sorts of hours, and, when his wife questioned +him, would merely shrug his shoulders and smile strangely. Once he told +her that he had been wandering about looking at men's lives. + +Mrs Clinton thought that a very unsatisfactory explanation of his +unpunctuality, and after a long consultation with the cautious doctor +came to the conclusion that it was her duty to discover what her husband +did during the long time that elasped between his leaving the office and +returning home. + +So one day, at about six, she stationed herself at the door of the big +building in which were Mr Clinton's offices, and waited. Presently he +appeared in the doorway, and after standing for a minute or two on the +threshold, ever with the enigmatical smile hovering on his lips, came +down the steps and walked slowly along the crowded street. His wife +walked behind him; and he was not difficult to follow, for he had lost +his old, quick, business-like step, and sauntered along, looking to the +right and to the left, carelessly, as if he had not awaiting him at home +his duties as the father of a family.... After a while he turned down a +side street, and his wife followed with growing astonishment; she could +not imagine where he was going. Just then a little flower-girl passed by +and offered him a yellow rose. He stopped and looked at her; Mrs Clinton +could see that she was a grimy little girl, with a shock of unkempt +brown hair and a very dirty apron; but Mr Clinton put his hand on her +head and looked into her eyes; then he gave her a penny, and, stooping +down, lightly kissed her hair. + +'Bless you, my dear!' he said, and passed on. + +'Well, I never!' said Mrs Clinton, quite aghast; and as she walked by +the flower girl, snorted at her and looked so savagely that the poor +little maiden quite started. Mr Clinton walked very slowly, stopping now +and then to look at a couple of women seated on a doorstep, or the +children round an ice-cream stall. Mrs Clinton saw him pay a penny and +give an ice to a little child who was looking with longing eyes at its +more fortunate companions as they licked out the little glass cups. He +remained quite a long while watching half a dozen young girls dancing to +the music of a barrel organ, and again, to his wife's disgust, Mr +Clinton gave money. + +'We shall end in the work'ouse if this goes on,' muttered Mrs Clinton, +and she pursed up her lips more tightly than ever, thinking of the +explanation she meant to have when her mate came home. + +At last Mr Clinton came to a narrow slum, down which he turned, and so +filthy was it that the lady almost feared to follow. But indignation, +curiosity, and a stern sense of duty prevailed. She went along with +up-turned nose, making her way carefully between cabbages and other +vegetable refuse, sidling up against a house to avoid a dead cat which +lay huddled up in the middle of the way, with a great red wound in its +head. + +Mrs Clinton was disgusted to see her husband enter a public-house. + +'Is this where he gets to?' she said to herself, and, looking through +the door, saw him talk with two or three rough men who were standing at +the bar, drinking 'four 'arf.' + +But she waited determinedly. She had made up her mind to see the matter +to the end, come what might; she was willing to wait all night. + +After a time he came out, and, going through a narrow passage made his +way into an alley. Then he went straight up to a big-boned, +coarse-featured woman in a white apron, who was standing at an open +door, and when he had said a few words to her, the two entered the house +and the door was closed behind them. + +Mrs Clinton suddenly saw it all. + +'I am deceived!' she said tragically, and she crackled with virtuous +indignation. + +Her first impulse was to knock furiously at the door and force her way +in to bear her James away from the clutches of the big-boned siren. But +she feared that her rival would meet her with brute force, and the +possibility of defeat made her see the unladylikeness of the proceeding. +So she turned on her heel, holding up her skirts and her nose against +the moral contamination and made her way out of the low place. She +walked tempestuously down to Fleet Street, jumped fiercely on a 'bus, +frantically caught the train to Camberwell, and, having reached her +house in the Adonis Road, flung herself furiously down on a chair and +gasped,-- + +'Oh!' + +Then she got ready for her husband's return. + +'Well?' she said, when he came in; and she looked daggers.... 'Well?' + +'I'm afraid I'm later than usual, my dear.' It was, in fact, past nine +o'clock. + +'Don't talk to me!' she replied, with a vigorous jerk of her head. 'I +know what you've been up to.' + +'What do you mean, my love?' he gently asked. + +She positively snorted with indignation; she had rolled her handkerchief +into a ball, and nervously dabbed the palms of her hands with it. 'I +followed you this afternoon, and I saw you go into that 'ouse with that +low woman. What now? Eh?' She spoke with the greatest possible emphasis. + +'Woman!' said Mr Clinton, with a smile, 'What are you to me?' + +'Don't call me woman!' said Mrs Clinton, very angrily. 'What am I to +you? I'm your wife, and I've got the marriage certificate in my pocket +at this moment.' She slapped her pocket loudly. 'I'm your wife, and you +ought to be ashamed of yourself.' + +'Wife! You are no more to me than any other woman!' + +'And you 'ave the audacity to tell me that to my face! Oh, you--you +villain! I won't stand it, I tell you; I won't stand it. I know I can't +get a divorce--the laws of England are scandalous--but I'll 'ave a +judicious separation.... I might have known it, you're all alike, every +one of you; that's 'ow you men treat women. You take advantage of their +youth and beauty, and then.... Oh, you villain! Here 'ave I worked +myself to the bone for you and brought up your children, and I don't +know what I 'aven't done, and now you go and take on with some woman, +and leave me. Oh!' She burst into tears. Mr Clinton still smiled, and +there was a curious look in his eyes. + +'Woman! woman!' he said, 'you know not what you say!' He went up to his +wife and laid his hand on her shoulder. 'Dry your tears,' he said, 'and +I will tell you of these things.' + +Mrs Clinton shook herself angrily, keeping her face buried in her pocket +handkerchief, but he turned away without paying more attention to her; +then, standing in front of the glass, he looked at himself earnestly and +began to speak. + +'It was during my illness that my eyes were opened. Lying in bed through +those long hours I thought of the poor souls whose tale I 'ad 'eard in +the coroner's court. And all night I saw their dead faces. I thought of +the misery of mankind and of the 'ardness of men's 'earts.... Then a ray +of light came to me, and I called for a Bible, and I read, and read; and +the light grew into a great glow, and I saw that man was not meant to +live for 'imself alone; that there was something else in life, that it +was man's duty to 'elp his fellers; and I resolved, when I was well, to +do all that in me lay to 'elp the poor and the wretched, and faithfully +to carry out those precepts which the Book 'ad taught me.' + +'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' sobbed Mrs Clinton, who had looked up and listened +with astonishment to her husband's speech. 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is +he talking about?' + +Mr Clinton turned towards her and again put his hand on her shoulder. + +'And that is 'ow I spend my time, Amy. I go into the most miserable +'ouses, into the dirtiest 'oles, the foulest alleys, and I seek to make +men 'appier. I do what I can to 'elp them in their distress, and to show +them that brilliant light which I see so gloriously lighting the way +before me. And now good-night!' He stretched out his arm, and for a +moment let his hand rest above her head; then, turning on his heel, he +left the room. + +Next day Mrs Clinton called on the doctor, and told him of her husband's +strange behaviour. The doctor slowly and meditatively nodded, then he +raised his eyebrows, and with his finger significantly tapped his +head.... + +'Well,' he said, 'I think you'd better wait a while and see how things +go on. I'll just write out a prescription, and you can give him the +medicine three times a day after meals,' and he ordered the unhappy Mr +Clinton another tonic, which, if it had no effect on that gentleman, +considerably reassured his wife. + + +IX + +Mr Clinton, in fact, became worse. He came home later and later every +night, and his wife was disgusted at the state of uncleanness which his +curious wanderings brought about. He refused to take the baths which Mrs +Clinton prepared for him. He was more silent than ever, but when he +spoke it was in biblical language; and always hovered on his lips the +enigmatical smile, and his eyes always had the strange, disconcerting +look. Mrs Clinton perseveringly made him take his medicine, but she lost +faith in its power when, one night at twelve, Mr Clinton brought home +with him a very dirty, ragged man, who looked half-starved and smelt +distinctly alcoholic. + +'Jim,' she said, on seeing the miserable object slinking in behind her +husband, 'Jim, what's that?' + +'That, Amy? That is your brother!' + +'My brother? What d'you mean?' cried Mrs Clinton, firing up. 'That's no +brother of mine. I 'aven't got a brother.' + +'It's your brother and my brother. Be good to him.' + +'I tell you it isn't my brother,' repeated Mrs Clinton; 'my brother +Adolphus died when he was two years old, and that's the only brother I +ever 'ad.' + +Mr Clinton merely looked at her with his usual gentle expression, and +she asked angrily,-- + +'What 'ave you brought 'im 'ere for?' + +''E is 'ungry, and I am going to give 'im food; 'e is 'omeless, and I am +going to give 'im shelter.' + +'Shelter? Where?' + +'Here, in my 'ouse, in my bed.' + +'In my bed!' screamed Mrs Clinton. 'Not if I know it! 'Ere, you,' she +said, addressing the man, and pushing past her husband. 'Out you get! +I'm not going to 'ave tramps and loafers in my 'ouse. Get out!' Mrs +Clinton was an energetic woman, and a strong one. Catching hold of her +husband's stick, and flourishing it, she opened the front door. + +'Amy! Amy!' expostulated Mr Clinton. + +'Now, then, you be quiet. I've 'ad about enough of you! Get on out, will +you?' + +The man made a rush for the door, and as he scrambled down the steps she +caught him a smart blow on the back, and slammed the door behind him. +Then, returning to the sitting-room, she sank panting on a chair. Mr +Clinton slowly recovered from his surprise. + +'Woman,' he said, this being now his usual mode of address--he spoke +solemnly and sadly--'you 'ave cast out your brother, you 'ave cast out +your husband, you 'ave cast out yourself.' + +'Don't talk to me!' said Mrs Clinton, very wrathfully. 'It's bed time +now; come along upstairs.' + +'I will not come to your bed again. You 'ave refused it to one who was +better than I; and why should I 'ave it? Go, woman; go and leave me.' + +'Now, then, don't come trying your airs on me,' said Mrs Clinton. 'They +won't wash. Come up to bed.' + +'I tell you I will not,' replied Mr Clinton, decisively. 'Go, woman, and +leave me!' + +'Well, if I do, I sha'n't leave the light; so there!' she said +spitefully, and, taking the lamp, left Mr Clinton in darkness. + +Mrs Clinton was not henceforth on the very best of terms with her +husband, but he always treated her with his accustomed gentleness, +though he insisted on spending his nights on the dining-room sofa. + +But perhaps the most objectionable to Mrs Clinton of all her good man's +eccentricities, was that he no longer gave her his week's money every +Saturday afternoon as he had been accustomed to do; the coldness between +them made her unwilling to say anything about it, but the approach of +quarter day forced her to pocket her dignity and ask for the money. + +'Oh, James!'--she no longer called him Jimmy--'will you give me the +money for the rent?' + +'Money?' he answered with the usual smile on his lips. 'I 'ave no +money.' + +'What d'you mean? You've not given me a farthing for ten weeks.' + +'I 'ave given it to those who want it more than I.' + +'You don't mean to tell me that you've given your salary away?' + +'Yes, dear.' + +Mrs Clinton groaned. + +'Oh, you're dotty!... I can understand giving a threepenny bit, or even +sixpence, at the offertory on Sunday at church, and of course one 'as to +give Christmas-boxes to the tradesmen; but to give your whole salary +away! 'Aven't you got anything left?' + +'No!' + +'You--you aggravating fool! And I'll be bound you gave it to lazy +loafers and tramps and Lord knows what!' + +Mr Clinton did not answer; his wife walked rapidly backwards and +forwards, wringing her hands. + +'Well, look here, James,' she said at last. 'It's no use crying over +spilt milk; but from this day you just give me your salary the moment +you receive it. D'you hear? I tell you I will not 'ave any more of your +nonsense.' + +'I shall get no more salaries,' he quietly remarked. + +Mrs Clinton looked at him; he was quite calm, and smilingly returned +her glance. + +'What do you mean by that?' she asked. + +'I am no longer at the office.' + +'James! You 'aven't been sacked?' she screamed. + +'Oh, they said I did not any longer properly attend to my work. They +said I was careless, and that I made mistakes; they complained that I +was unpunctual, that I went late and came away early; and one day, +because I 'adn't been there the day before, they told me to leave. I was +watching at the bedside of a man who was dying and 'ad need of me; so +'ow could I go? But I didn't really mind; the office 'indered me in my +work.' + +'But what are you going to do now?' gasped Mrs Clinton. + +'I 'ave my work; that is more important than ten thousand offices.' + +'But 'ow are you going to earn your living? What's to become of us?' + +'Don't trouble me about those things. Come with me, and work for the +poor.' + +'James, think of the children!' + +'What are your children to me more than any other children?' + +'But--' + +'Woman, I tell you not to trouble me about these things. 'Ave we not +money enough, and to spare?' + +He waved his hand, and putting on his top hat, which looked more than +ever in need of restoration, went out, leaving his wife in a perfect +agony. + +There was worse to follow. Coming home a few days later, Mr Clinton told +his wife that he wished to speak with her. + +'I 'ave been looking into my books,' he said, 'and I find that we have +invested in various securities a sum of nearly seven 'undred pounds.' + +'Thank 'Eaven for that!' answered his wife. 'It's the only thing that'll +save us from starvation now that you moon about all day, instead of +working like a decent man.' + +'Well, I 'ave been thinking, and I 'ave been reading; and I 'ave found +it written--Give all and follow me.' + +'Well, there's nothing new in that,' said Mrs Clinton, viciously. 'I've +known that text ever since I was a child.' + +'And as it were a Spirit 'as come to me and said that I too must give +all. In short, I 'ave determined to sell out my stocks and my shares; my +breweries are seven points 'igher than when I bought them; I knew it was +a good investment. I am going to realise everything; I am going to take +the money in my hand, and I am going to give it to the poor.' + +Mrs Clinton burst into tears. + +'Do not weep,' he said solemnly. 'It is my duty, and it is a pleasant +one. Oh, what joy to make a 'undred people 'appy; to relieve a poor man +who is starving, to give a breath of country air to little children who +are dying for the want of it, to 'elp the poor, to feed the 'ungry, to +clothe the naked! Oh, if I only 'ad a million pounds!' He stretched out +his arms in a gesture of embrace, and looked towards heaven with an +ecstatic smile upon his lips. + +It was too serious a matter for Mrs Clinton to waste any words on; she +ran upstairs, put on her bonnet, and quickly walked to her friend, the +doctor. + +He looked graver than ever when she told him. + +'Well,' he said, 'I'm afraid it's very serious. I've never heard of +anyone doing such a thing before.... Of course I've known of people who +have left all their money to charities after their death, when they +didn't want it; but it couldn't ever occur to a normal, healthy man to +do it in his lifetime.' + +'But what shall I do, doctor?' Mrs Clinton was almost in hysterics. + +'Well, Mrs Clinton, d'you know the clergyman of the parish?' + +'I know Mr Evans, the curate, very well; he's a very nice gentleman.' + +'Perhaps you could get him to have a talk with your husband. The fact +is, it's a sort of religious mania he's got, and perhaps a clergyman +could talk him out of it. Anyhow, it's worth trying.' + +Mrs Clinton straightway went to Mr Evans's rooms, explained to him the +case, and settled that on the following day he should come and see what +he could do with her husband. + + +X + +In expectation of the curate's visit, Mrs Clinton tidied the house and +adorned herself. It has been said that she was a woman of taste, and so +she was. The mantelpiece and looking glass were artistically draped with +green muslin, and this she proceeded to arrange, tying and carefully +forming the yellow satin ribbon with which it was relieved. The chairs +were covered with cretonne which might have come from the Tottenham +Court Road, and these she placed in positions of careless and artistic +confusion, smoothing down the antimacassars which were now her pride, as +the silk petticoat from which she had manufactured them had been once +her glory. For the flower-pots she made fresh coverings of red tissue +paper, re-arranged the ornaments gracefully scattered about on little +Japanese tables; then, after pausing a moment to admire her work and see +that nothing had been left undone, she went upstairs to perform her own +toilet.... In less than half an hour she reappeared, holding herself in +a dignified posture, with her head slightly turned to one side and her +hands meekly folded in front of her, stately and collected as Juno, a +goddess in black satin. Her dress was very elegant; it might have +typified her own life, for in its original state of virgin whiteness it +had been her wedding garment; then it was dyed purple, and might have +betokened a sense of change and coming responsibilities; lastly it was +black, to signify the burden of a family, and the seriousness of life. +No one had realised so intensely as Mrs Clinton the truth of the poet's +words. Life is not an empty dream. She took out her handkerchief, +redolent with lascivious patchouli, and placed it in her bosom--a spot +of whiteness against the black.... She sat herself down to wait. + +There was a knock and a ring at the door, timid, as befitted a +clergyman; and the servant-girl showed in Mr Evans. He was a thin and +short young man, red faced, with a long nose and weak eyes, looking +underfed and cold, keeping his shoulders screwed up in a perpetual +shiver. He was an earnest, God-fearing man, spending much money in +charities, and waging constant war against the encroachments of the +Scarlet Woman. + +'I think I'll just take my coat off, if you don't mind, Mrs Clinton,' he +said, after the usual greetings. He folded it carefully, and hung it +over the back of a chair; then, coming forward, he sat down and rubbed +the back of his hands. + +'I asked my 'usband to stay in because you wanted to see 'im, but he +would go out. 'Owever'--Mrs Clinton always chose her language on such +occasions--''owever, 'e's promised to return at four, and I will say +this for 'im, he never breaks 'is word.' + +'Oh, very well!' + +'May I 'ave the pleasure of offering you a cup of tea, Mr Evans?' + +The curate's face brightened up. + +'Oh, thank you so much!' And he rubbed his hands more energetically than +ever. + +Tea was brought in, and they drank it, talking of parish matters, Mrs +Clinton discreetly trying to pump the curate. Was it really true that +Mrs Palmer of No. 17 Adonis Road drank so terribly? + +At last Mr Clinton came, and his wife glided out of the room, leaving +the curate to convert him. There was a little pause while Mr Evans took +stock of the clerk. + +'Well, Mr Clinton,' he said finally, 'I've come to talk to you about +yourself.... Your wife tells me that you have adopted certain curious +views on religious matters; and she wishes me to have some conversation +with you about them.' + +'You are a man of God,' replied Mr Clinton; 'I am at your service.' + +Mr Evans, on principle, objected to the use of the Deity's name out of +church, thinking it a little blasphemous, but he said nothing. + +'Well,' he said, 'of course, religion is a very good thing; in fact, it +is the very best thing; but it must not be abused, Mr Clinton,' and he +repeated gravely, as if his interlocutor were a naughty schoolboy--'it +mustn't be abused. Now, I want to know exactly what you views are.' + +Mr Clinton smiled gently. + +'I 'ave no views, sir. The only rule I 'ave for guidance is this--love +thy neighbour as thyself.' + +'Hum!' murmured the curate; there was really nothing questionable in +that, but he was just slightly prejudiced against a man who made such a +quotation; it sounded a little priggish. + +'But your wife tells me that you've been going about with all sorts of +queer people?' + +'I found that there was misery and un'appiness among people, and I tried +to relieve it.' + +'Of course, I strongly approve of district visiting; I do a great deal +of it myself; but you've been going about with public-house loafers +and--bad women.' + +'Is it not said: "I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to +repentance"?' + +'No doubt,' answered Mr Evans, slightly frowning. 'But obviously one +isn't meant to do that to such an extent as to be dismissed from one's +place.' + +'My wife 'as posted you well up in all my private affairs.' + +'Well, I don't think you can have done well to be sent away from your +office.' + +'Is it not said: "Forsake all and follow me"?' + +Decidedly this was bad form, and Mr Evans, pursing up his lips and +raising his eyebrows, was silent. 'That's the worst of these +half-educated people,' he said to himself; 'they get some idea in their +heads which they don't understand, and, of course, they do idiotic +things....' + +'Well, to pass over all that,' he added out loud, 'apparently you've +been spending your money on these people to such an extent that your +wife and children are actually inconvenienced by it.' + +'I 'ave clothed the naked,' said Mr Clinton, looking into the curate's +eyes; 'I 'ave visited the sick; I 'ave given food to 'im that was an +'ungered, and drink to 'im that was athirst.' + +'Yes, yes, yes; that's all very well, but you should always remember +that charity begins at home.... I shouldn't have anything to say to a +rich man's doing these things, but it's positively wicked for you to do +them. Don't you understand that? And last of all, your wife tells me +that you're realising your property with the idea of giving it away.' + +'It's perfectly true,' said Mr Clinton. + +Mr Evans's mind was too truly pious for a wicked expletive to cross it; +but a bad man expressing the curate's feeling would have said that Mr +Clinton was a damned fool. + +'Well, don't you see that it's a perfectly ridiculous and unheard-of +thing?' he asked emphatically. + +'"Sell all that thou 'ast, and distribute unto the poor." It is in the +Gospel of St Luke. Do you know it?' + +'Of course I know it, but, naturally, these things aren't to be taken +quite literally.' + +'It is clearly written. What makes you say it is not to be taken +literally?' + +Mr Evans shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +'Why, don't you see it would be impossible? The world couldn't go on. +How do you expect your children to live if you give this money away?' + +'"Look at the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin; +yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these."'.... + +'Oh, my dear sir, you make me lose my patience. You're full of the +hell-fire platitudes of a park spouter, and you think it's religion.... +I tell you all these things are allegorical. Don't you understand that? +You mustn't carry them out to the letter. They are not meant to be taken +in that way.' + +Mr Clinton smiled a little pitifully at the curate. + +'And think of yourself--one must think of oneself. "God helps those who +help themselves." How are you going to exist when this little money of +yours is gone? You'll simply have to go to the workhouse.... It's +absurd, I tell you.' + +Mr Clinton took no further notice of the curate, but he broke into a +loud chant,-- + +'"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon the earth, where moth and +rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up +for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth +corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal."' Then, +turning on the unhappy curate, he stretched out his arm and pointed his +finger at him. 'Last Sunday,' he said, 'I 'eard you read those very +words from the chancel steps. Go! go! I tell you, go! You are a bad man, +a wolf in sheep's clothing--go!' Mr Clinton walked up to him +threateningly, and the curate, with a gasp of astonishment and +indignation, fled from the room. + +He met Mrs Clinton outside. + +'I can't do anything with him at all,' he said angrily. 'I've never +heard such things in my life. He's either mad or he's got into the hands +of the Dissenters. That's the only explanation I can offer.' + +Then, to quiet his feelings, he called on a wealthy female parishioner, +with whom he was a great favourite, because she thought him 'such a +really pious man,' and it was not till he had drunk two cups of tea that +he recovered his equilibrium. + + +XI + +Mrs Clinton was at her wit's end. Her husband had sold out his shares, +and the money was lying at the bank ready to be put to its destined use. +Visions of debt and bankruptcy presented themselves to her. She saw her +black satin dress in the ruthless clutches of a pawnbroker, the house +and furniture sold over her head, the children down at heel, and herself +driven to work for her living--needlework, nursing, charing--what might +not things come to? However, she went to the doctor and told him of the +failure of their scheme. + +'I've come to the end of my tether, Mrs Clinton; I really don't know +what to do. The only thing I can suggest is that a mental specialist +should examine into the state of his mind. I really think he's wrong in +his head, and, you know, it may be necessary for your welfare and his +own that he be kept under restriction.' + +'Well, doctor,' answered Mrs Clinton, putting her handkerchief up to her +eyes and beginning to cry, 'well, doctor, of course I shouldn't like him +to be shut up--it seems a terrible thing, and I shall never 'ave a +moment's peace all the rest of my life; but if he must be shut up, for +Heaven's sake let it be done at once, before the money's gone.' And here +she began to sob very violently. + +The doctor said he would immediately write to the specialist, so that +they might hold a consultation on Mr Clinton the very next day. + +So, the following morning, Mrs Clinton again put on her black satin +dress, and, further, sent to her grocer's for a bottle of sherry, her +inner consciousness giving her to understand that specialists expected +something of the kind.... + +The specialist came. He was a tall, untidily-dressed man, with his hair +wild and straggling, as if he had just got out of bed. He was very +clever, and very impatient of stupid people, and he seldom met anyone +whom he did not think in one way or another intensely stupid. + +Mr Clinton, as before, had gone out, but Mrs Clinton did her best to +entertain the two doctors. The specialist, who talked most incessantly +himself, was extremely impatient of other people's conversation. + +'Why on earth don't people see that they're much more interesting when +they hold their tongues than when they speak?' he was in the habit of +saying, and immediately would pour out a deluge of words, emphasising +and explaining the point, giving instances of its truth.... + +'You must see a lot of strange things, doctor,' said Mrs Clinton, +amiably. + +'Yes,' answered the specialist. + +'I think it must be very interesting to be a doctor,' said Mrs Clinton. + +'Yes, yes.' + +'You _must_ see a lot of strange things.' + +'Yes, yes,' repeated the doctor, and as Mrs Clinton went on +complacently, he frowned and drummed his fingers on the table and looked +to the right and left. 'When is the man coming in?' he asked +impatiently. + +And at last he could not contain himself. + +'If you don't mind, Mrs Clinton, I should like to talk to your doctor +alone about the case. You can wait in the next room.' + +'I'm sure I don't wish to intrude,' said Mrs Clinton, bridling up, and +she rose in a dignified manner from her chair. She thought his manners +were distinctly queer. 'But, of course,' she said to a friend +afterwards, 'he's a genius, there's no mistaking it, and people like +that are always very eccentric.' + +'What an insufferable woman!' he began, when the lady had retired, +talking very rapidly, only stopping to take an occasional breath. 'I +thought she was going on all night. She's enough to drive the man mad. +One couldn't get a word in edgeways. Why on earth doesn't this man come? +Just like these people, they don't think that my time's valuable. I +expect she drinks. Shocking, you know, these women, how they drink!' And +still talking, he looked at his watch for the eighth time in ten +minutes. + +'Well, my man,' he said, as Mr Clinton at last came in, 'what are you +complaining of?... One moment,' he added, as Mr Clinton was about to +reply. He opened his notebook and took out a stylographic pen. 'Now, I'm +ready for you. What are you complaining of?' + +'I'm complaining that the world is out of joint,' answered Mr Clinton, +with a smile. + +The specialist raised his eyebrows and significantly looked at the +family doctor. + +'It's astonishing how much you can get by a well-directed question,' he +said to him, taking no notice of Mr Clinton. 'Some people go floundering +about for hours, but, you see, by one question I get on the track.' +Turning to the patient again, he said, 'Ah! and do you see things?' + +'Certainly; I see you.' + +'I don't mean that,' impatiently said the specialist. 'Distinctly +stupid, you know,' he added to his colleague. 'I mean, do you see things +that other people don't see?' + +'Alas! yes; I see Folly stalking abroad on a 'obby 'orse.' + +'Do you really? Anything else?' said the doctor, making a note of the +fact. + +'I see Wickedness and Vice beating the land with their wings.' + +'_Sees things beating with their wings_,' wrote down the doctor. + +'I see misery and un'appiness everywhere.' + +'Indeed!' said the doctor. '_Has delusions._ Do you think your wife puts +things in your tea?' + +'Yes.' + +'Ah!' joyfully uttered the doctor, 'that's what I wanted to get +at--_thinks people are trying to poison him_. What is it they put in, my +man?' + +'Milk and sugar,' answered Mr Clinton. + +'Very dull mentally,' said the specialist, in an undertone, to his +colleague. 'Well, I don't think we need go into any more details. +There's no doubt about it, you know. That curious look in his eyes, and +the smile--the smile's quite typical. It all clearly points to insanity. +And then that absurd idea of giving his money to the poor! I've heard of +people taking money away from the poor, there's nothing mad in that; but +the other, why, it's a proof of insanity itself. And then your account +of his movements! His giving ice-creams to children. Most pernicious +things, those ice-creams! The Government ought to put a stop to them. +Extraordinary idea to think of reforming the world with ice-cream! +Post-enteric insanity, you know. Mad as a hatter! Well, well, I must be +off.' Still talking, he put on his hat and talked all the way +downstairs, and finally talked himself out of the house. + +The family doctor remained behind to see Mrs Clinton. + +'Yes, it's just as I said,' he told her. 'He's not responsible for his +actions. I think he's been insane ever since his illness. When you think +of his behaviour since then--his going among those common people and +trying to reform them, and his ideas about feeding the hungry and +clothing the naked, and finally wanting to give his money to the +poor--it all points to a completely deranged mind.' + +Mrs Clinton heaved a deep sigh. 'And what do you think 'ad better be +done now?' she asked. + +'Well, I'm very sorry, Mrs Clinton; of course it's a great blow to you; +but really I think arrangements had better be made for him to be put +under restraint.' + +Mrs Clinton began to cry, and the doctor looked at her compassionately. + +'Ah, well,' she said at last, 'if it must be done, I suppose it 'ad +better be done at once; and I shall be able to save the money after +all.' At the thought of this she dried her tears. + +The moral is plain. + + + + +DE AMICITIA + + +I + +They were walking home from the theatre. + +'Well, Mr White,' said Valentia, 'I think it was just fine.' + +'It was magnificent!' replied Mr White. + +And they were separated for a moment by the crowd, streaming up from the +Francais towards the Opera and the Boulevards. + +'I think, if you don't mind,' she said, 'I'll take your arm, so that we +shouldn't get lost.' + +He gave her his arm, and they walked through the Louvre and over the +river on their way to the Latin Quarter. + +Valentia was an art student and Ferdinand White was a poet. Ferdinand +considered Valentia the only woman who had ever been able to paint, and +Valentia told Ferdinand that he was the only man she had met who knew +anything about Art without being himself an artist. On her arrival in +Paris, a year before, she had immediately inscribed herself, at the +offices of the _New York Herald_, Valentia Stewart, Cincinnati, Ohio, +U.S.A. She settled down in a respectable _pension_, and within a week +was painting vigorously. Ferdinand White arrived from Oxford at about +the same time, hired a dirty room in a shabby hotel, ate his meals at +cheap restaurants in the Boulevard St Michel, read Stephen Mallarme, and +flattered himself that he was leading '_la vie de Boheme_.' + +After two months, the Fates brought the pair together, and Ferdinand +began to take his meals at Valentia's _pension_. They went to the +museums together; and in the Sculpture Gallery at the Louvre, Ferdinand +would discourse on ancient Greece in general and on Plato in particular, +while among the pictures Valentia would lecture on tones and values and +chiaroscuro. Ferdinand renounced Ruskin and all his works; Valentia read +the Symposium. Frequently in the evening they went to the theatre; +sometimes to the Francais, but more often to the Odeon; and after the +performance they would discuss the play, its art, its technique--above +all, its ethics. Ferdinand explained the piece he had in contemplation, +and Valentia talked of the picture she meant to paint for next year's +Salon; and the lady told her friends that her companion was the +cleverest man she had met in her life, while he told his that she was +the only really sympathetic and intelligent girl he had ever known. Thus +were united in bonds of amity, Great Britain on the one side and the +United States of America and Ireland on the other. + +But when Ferdinand spoke of Valentia to the few Frenchmen he knew, they +asked him,-- + +'But this Miss Stewart--is she pretty?' + +'Certainly--in her American way; a long face, with the hair parted in +the middle and hanging over the nape of the neck. Her mouth is quite +classic.' + +'And have you never kissed the classic mouth?' + +'I? Never!' + +'Has she a good figure?' + +'Admirable!' + +'And yet--Oh, you English!' And they smiled and shrugged their shoulders +as they said, 'How English!' + +'But, my good fellow,' cried Ferdinand, in execrable French, 'you don't +understand. We are friends, the best of friends.' + +They shrugged their shoulders more despairingly than ever. + + +II + +They stood on the bridge and looked at the water and the dark masses of +the houses on the Latin side, with the twin towers of Notre Dame rising +dimly behind them. Ferdinand thought of the Thames at night, with the +barges gliding slowly down, and the twinkling of the lights along the +Embankment. + +'It must be a little like that in Holland,' she said, 'but without the +lights and with greater stillness.' + +'When do you start?' + +She had been making preparations for spending the summer in a little +village near Amsterdam, to paint. + +'I can't go now,' cried Valentia. 'Corrie Sayles is going home, and +there's no one else I can go with. And I can't go alone. Where are you +going?' + +'I? I have no plans.... I never make plans.' + +They paused, looking at the reflections in the water. Then she said,-- + +'I don't see why you shouldn't come to Holland with me!' + +He did not know what to think; he knew she had been reading the +Symposium. + +'After all,' she said, 'there's no reason why one shouldn't go away with +a man as well as with a woman.' + +His French friends would have suggested that there were many reasons why +one should go away with a woman rather than a man; but, like his +companion, Ferdinand looked at it in the light of pure friendship. + +'When one comes to think of it, I really don't see why we shouldn't. And +the mere fact of staying at the same hotel can make no difference to +either of us. We shall both have our work--you your painting, and I my +play.' + +As they considered it, the idea was distinctly pleasing; they wondered +that it had not occurred to them before. Sauntering homewards, they +discussed the details, and in half an hour had decided on the plan of +their journey, the date and the train. + +Next day Valentia went to say good-bye to the old French painter whom +all the American girls called Popper. She found him in a capacious +dressing-gown, smoking cigarettes. + +'Well, my dear,' he said, 'what news?' + +'I'm going to Holland to paint windmills.' + +'A very laudable ambition. With your mother?' + +'My good Popper, my mother's in Cincinnati. I'm going with Mr White.' + +'With Mr White?' He raised his eyebrows. 'You are very frank about it.' + +'Why--what do you mean?' + +He put on his glasses and looked at her carefully. + +'Does it not seem to you a rather--curious thing for a young girl of +your age to go away with a young man of the age of Mr Ferdinand White?' + +'Good gracious me! One would think I was doing something that had never +been done before!' + +'Oh, many a young man has gone travelling with a young woman, but they +generally start by a night train, and arrive at the station in different +cabs.' + +'But surely, Popper, you don't mean to insinuate--Mr White and I are +going to Holland as friends.' + +'Friends!' + +He looked at her more curiously than ever. + +'One can have a man friend as well as a girl friend,' she continued. +'And I don't see why he shouldn't be just as good a friend.' + +'The danger is that he become too good.' + +'You misunderstand me entirely, Popper; we are friends, and nothing but +friends.' + +'You are entirely off your head, my child.' + +'Ah! you're a Frenchman, you can't understand these things. We are +different.' + +'I imagine that you are human beings, even though England and America +respectively had the intense good fortune of seeing your birth.' + +'We're human beings--and more than that, we're nineteenth century human +beings. Love is not everything. It is a part of one--perhaps the lower +part--an accessory to man's life, needful for the continuation of the +species.' + +'You use such difficult words, my dear.' + +'There is something higher and nobler and purer than love--there is +friendship. Ferdinand White is my friend. I have the amplest confidence +in him. I am certain that no unclean thought has ever entered his head.' + +She spoke quite heatedly, and as she flushed up, the old painter thought +her astonishingly handsome. Then she added as an afterthought,-- + +'We despise passion. Passion is ugly; it is grotesque.' + +The painter stroked his imperial and faintly smiled. + +'My child, you must permit me to tell you that you are foolish. Passion +is the most lovely thing in the world; without it we should not paint +beautiful pictures. It is passion that makes a woman of a society lady; +it is passion that makes a man even of--an art critic.' + +'We do not want it,' she said. 'We worship Venus Urania. We are all +spirit and soul.' + +'You have been reading Plato; soon you will read Zola.' + +He smiled again, and lit another cigarette. + +'Do you disapprove of my going?' she asked after a little silence. + +He paused and looked at her. Then he shrugged his shoulders. + +'On the contrary, I approve. It is foolish, but that is no reason why +you should not do it. After all, folly is the great attribute of man. No +judge is as grave as an owl; no soldier fighting for his country flies +as rapidly as the hare. You may be strong, but you are not so strong as +a horse; you may be gluttonous, but you cannot eat like a +boa-constrictor. But there is no beast that can be as foolish as man. +And since one should always do what one can do best--be foolish. Strive +for folly above all things. Let the height of your ambition be the +pointed cap with the golden bells. So, _bon voyage!_ I will come and see +you off to-morrow.' + +The painter arrived at the station with a box of sweets, which he handed +to Valentia with a smile. He shook Ferdinand's hand warmly and muttered +under his breath,-- + +'Silly fool! he's thinking of friendship, too!' + +Then, as the train steamed out, he waved his hand and cried,-- + +'Be foolish! Be foolish!' + +He walked slowly out of the station, and sat down at a _cafe_. He lit a +cigarette, and, sipping his absinthe, said,-- + +'Imbeciles!' + + +III + +They arrived at Amsterdam in the evening, and, after dinner, gathered +together their belongings and crossed the Ij as the moon shone over the +waters; then they got into the little steam tram and started for +Monnickendam. They stood side by side on the platform of the carriage +and watched the broad meadows bathed in moonlight, the formless shapes +of the cattle lying on the grass, and the black outlines of the mills; +they passed by a long, sleeping canal, and they stopped at little, +silent villages. At last they entered the dead town, and the tram put +them down at the hotel door. + +Next morning, when she was half dressed, Valentia threw open the window +of her room, and looked out into the garden. Ferdinand was walking +about, dressed as befitted the place and season--in flannels--with a +huge white hat on his head. She could not help thinking him very +handsome--and she took off the blue skirt she had intended to work in, +and put on a dress of muslin all bespattered with coloured flowers, and +she took in her hand a flat straw hat with red ribbons. + +'You look like a Dresden shepherdess,' he said, as they met. + +They had breakfast in the garden beneath the trees; and as she poured +out his tea, she laughed, and with the American accent which he was +beginning to think made English so harmonious, said,-- + +'I reckon this about takes the shine out of Paris.' + +They had agreed to start work at once, losing no time, for they wanted +to have a lot to show on their return to France, that their scheme might +justify itself. Ferdinand wished to accompany Valentia on her search for +the picturesque, but she would not let him; so, after breakfast, he sat +himself down in the summer-house, and spread out all round him his nice +white paper, lit his pipe, cut his quills, and proceeded to the +evolution of a masterpiece. Valentia tied the red strings of her +sun-bonnet under her chin, selected a sketchbook, and sallied forth. + +At luncheon they met, and Valentia told of a little bit of canal, with +an old windmill on one side of it, which she had decided to paint, while +Ferdinand announced that he had settled on the names of his _dramatis +personae_. In the afternoon they returned to their work, and at night, +tired with the previous day's travelling, went to bed soon after dinner. + +So passed the second day; and the third day, and the fourth; till the +end of the week came, and they had worked diligently. They were both of +them rather surprised at the ease with which they became accustomed to +their life. + +'How absurd all this fuss is,' said Valentia, 'that people make about +the differences of the sexes! I am sure it is only habit.' + +'We have ourselves to prove that there is nothing in it,' he replied. +'You know, it is an interesting experiment that we are making.' + +She had not looked at it in that light before. + +'Perhaps it is. We may be the fore-runners of a new era.' + +'The Edisons of a new communion!' + +'I shall write and tell Monsieur Rollo all about it.' + +In the course of the letter, she said,-- + + '_Sex is a morbid instinct. Out here, in the calmness of the canal + and the broad meadows, it never enters one's head. I do not think + of Ferdinand as a man--_' + +She looked up at him as she wrote the words. He was reading a book and +she saw him in profile, with the head bent down. Through the leaves the +sun lit up his face with a soft light that was almost green, and it +occurred to her that it would be interesting to paint him. + + '_I do not think of Ferdinand as a man; to me he is a companion. He + has a wider experience than a woman, and he talks of different + things. Otherwise I see no difference. On his part, the idea of my + sex never occurs to him, and far from being annoyed as an ordinary + woman might be, I am proud of it. It shows me that, when I chose a + companion, I chose well. To him I am not a woman; I am a man._' + +And she finished with a repetition of Ferdinand's remark,-- + +'We are the Edisons of a new communion!' + +When Valentia began to paint her companion's portrait, they were +naturally much more together. And they never grew tired of sitting in +the pleasant garden under the trees, while she worked at her canvas and +green shadows fell on the profile of Ferdinand White. They talked of +many things. After a while they became less reserved about their private +concerns. Valentia told Ferdinand about her home in Ohio, and about her +people; and Ferdinand spoke of the country parsonage in which he had +spent his childhood, and the public school, and lastly of Oxford and the +strange, happy days when he had learnt to read Plato and Walter +Pater.... + +At last Valentia threw aside her brushes and leant back with a sigh. + +'It is finished!' + +Ferdinand rose and stretched himself, and went to look at his portrait. +He stood before it for a while, and then he placed his hand on +Valentia's shoulder. + +'You are a genius, Miss Stewart.' + +She looked up at him. + +'Ah, Mr White, I was inspired by you. It is more your work than mine.' + + +IV + +In the evening they went out for a stroll. They wandered through the +silent street; in the darkness they lost the quaintness of the red brick +houses, contrasting with the bright yellow of the paving, but it was +even quieter than by day. The street was very broad, and it wound about +from east to west and from west to east, and at last it took them to the +tiny harbour. Two fishing smacks were basking on the water, moored to +the side, and the Zuyder Zee was covered with the innumerable +reflections of the stars. On one of the boats a man was sitting at the +prow, fishing, and now and then, through the darkness, one saw the red +glow of his pipe; by his side, huddled up on a sail, lay a sleeping boy. +The other boat seemed deserted. Ferdinand and Valentia stood for a long +time watching the fisher, and he was so still that they wondered whether +he too were sleeping. They looked across the sea, and in the distance +saw the dim lights of Marken, the island of fishers. They wandered on +again through the street, and now the lights in the windows were +extinguished one by one, and sleep came over the town; and the +quietness was even greater than before. They walked on, and their +footsteps made no sound. They felt themselves alone in the dead city, +and they did not speak. + +At length they came to a canal gliding towards the sea; they followed it +inland, and here the darkness was equal to the silence. Great trees that +had been planted when William of Orange was king in England threw their +shade over the water, shutting out the stars. They wandered along on the +soft earth, they could not hear themselves walk--and they did not speak. + +They came to a bridge over the canal and stood on it, looking at the +water and the trees above them, and the water and the trees below +them--and they did not speak. + +Then out of the darkness came another darkness, and gradually loomed +forth the heaviness of a barge. Noiselessly it glided down the stream, +very slowly; at the end of it a boy stood at the tiller, steering; and +it passed beneath them and beyond, till it lost itself in the night, and +again they were alone. + +They stood side by side, leaning against the parapet, looking down at +the water.... And from the water rose up Love, and Love fluttered down +from the trees, and Love was borne along upon the night air. Ferdinand +did not know what was happening to him; he felt Valentia by his side, +and he drew closer to her, till her dress touched his legs and the silk +of her sleeve rubbed against his arm. It was so dark that he could not +see her face; he wondered of what she was thinking. She made a little +movement and to him came a faint wave of the scent she wore. Presently +two forms passed by on the bank and they saw a lover with his arm round +a girl's waist, and then they too were hidden in the darkness. Ferdinand +trembled as he spoke. + +'Only Love is waking!' + +'And we!' she said. + +'And--you!' + +He wondered why she said nothing. Did she understand? He put his hand on +her arm. + +'Valentia!' + +He had never called her by her Christian name before. She turned her +face towards him. + +'What do you mean?' + +'Oh, Valentia, I love you! I can't help it.' + +A sob burst from her. + +'Didn't you understand,' he said, 'all those hours that I sat for you +while you painted, and these long nights in which we wandered by the +water?' + +'I thought you were my friend.' + +'I thought so too. When I sat before you and watched you paint, and +looked at your beautiful hair and your eyes, I thought I was your +friend. And I looked at the lines of your body beneath your dress. And +when it pleased me to carry your easel and walk with you, I thought it +was friendship. Only to-night I know I am in love. Oh, Valentia, I am so +glad!' + +She could not keep back her tears. Her bosom heaved, and she wept. + +'You are a woman,' he said. 'Did you not see?' + +'I am so sorry,' she said, her voice all broken. 'I thought we were such +good friends. I was so happy. And now you have spoilt it all.' + +'Valentia, I love you.' + +'I thought our friendship was so good and pure. And I felt so strong in +it. It seemed to me so beautiful.' + +'Did you think I was less a man than the fisherman you see walking +beneath the trees at night?' + +'It is all over now,' she sighed. + +'What do you mean?' + +'I can't stay here with you alone.' + +'You're not going away?' + +'Before, there was no harm in our being together at the hotel; but +now--' + +'Oh, Valentia, don't leave me. I can't--I can't live without you.' + +She heard the unhappiness in his voice. She turned to him again and laid +her two hands on his shoulders. + +'Why can't you forget it all, and let us be good friends again? Forget +that you are a man. A woman can remain with a man for ever, and always +be content to walk and read and talk with him, and never think of +anything else. Can you forget it, Ferdinand? You will make me so happy.' + +He did not answer, and for a long time they stood on the bridge in +silence. At last he sighed--a heartbroken sigh. + +'Perhaps you're right. It may be better to pretend that we are friends. +If you like, we will forget all this.' + +Her heart was too full; she could not answer; but she held out her hands +to him. He took them in his own, and, bending down, kissed them. + +Then they walked home, side by side, without speaking. + + +V + +Next morning Valentia received M. Rollo's answer to her letter. He +apologised for his delay in answering. + + '_You are a philosopher_,' he said--she could see the little + snigger with which he had written the words--'_You are a + philosopher, and I was afraid lest my reply should disturb the + course of your reflections on friendship. I confess that I did not + entirely understand your letter, but I gathered that the sentiments + were correct, and it gave me great pleasure to know that your + experiment has had such excellent results. I gather that you have + not yet discovered that there is more than a verbal connection + between Friendship and Love._' + +The reference is to the French equivalents of those states of mind. + + '_But to speak seriously, dear child. You are young and beautiful + now, but not so very many years shall pass before your lovely skin + becomes coarse and muddy, and your teeth yellow, and the wrinkles + appear about your mouth and eyes. You have not so very many years + before you in which to collect sensations, and the recollection of + one's loves is, perhaps, the greatest pleasure left to one's old + age. To be virtuous, my dear, is admirable, but there are so many + interpretations of virtue. For myself, I can say that I have never + regretted the temptations to which I succumbed, but often the + temptations I have resisted. Therefore, love, love, love! And + remember that if love at sixty in a man is sometimes pathetic, in a + woman at forty it is always ridiculous. Therefore, take your youth + in both hands and say to yourself, "Life is short, but let me live + before I die!"_' + +She did not show the letter to Ferdinand. + + * * * * * + +Next day it rained. Valentia retired to a room at the top of the house +and began to paint, but the incessant patter on the roof got on her +nerves; the painting bored her, and she threw aside the brushes in +disgust. She came downstairs and found Ferdinand in the dining-room, +standing at the window looking at the rain. It came down in one +continual steady pour, and the water ran off the raised brickwork of the +middle of the street to the gutters by the side, running along in a +swift and murky rivulet. The red brick of the opposite house looked cold +and cheerless in the wet.... He did not turn or speak to her as she came +in. She remarked that it did not look like leaving off. He made no +answer. She drew a chair to the second window and tried to read, but she +could not understand what she was reading. And she looked out at the +pouring rain and the red brick house opposite. She wondered why he had +not answered. + +The innkeeper brought them their luncheon. Ferdinand took no notice of +the preparations. + +'Will you come to luncheon, Mr White?' she said to him. 'It is quite +ready.' + +'I beg your pardon,' he said gravely, as he took his seat. + +He looked at her quickly, and then immediately dropping his eyes, began +eating. She wished he would not look so sad; she was very sorry for him. + +She made an observation and he appeared to rouse himself. He replied +and they began talking, very calmly and coldly, as if they had not known +one another five minutes. They talked of Art with the biggest of A's, +and they compared Dutch painting with Italian; they spoke of Rembrandt +and his life. + +'Rembrandt had passion,' said Ferdinand, bitterly, 'and therefore he was +unhappy. It is only the sexless, passionless creature, the block of ice, +that can be happy in this world.' + +She blushed and did not answer. + +The afternoon Valentia spent in her room, pretending to write letters, +and she wondered whether Ferdinand was wishing her downstairs. + +At dinner they sought refuge in abstractions. They talked of dykes and +windmills and cigars, the history of Holland and its constitution, the +constitution of the United States and the edifying spectacle of the +politics of that blessed country. They talked of political economy and +pessimism and cattle rearing, the state of agriculture in England, the +foreign policy of the day, Anarchism, the President of the French +Republic. They would have talked of bi-metallism if they could. People +hearing them would have thought them very learned and extraordinarily +staid. + +At last they separated, and as she undressed Valentia told herself that +Ferdinand had kept his promise. Everything was just as it had been +before, and the only change was that he used her Christian name. And she +rather liked him to call her Valentia. + +But next day Ferdinand did not seem able to command himself. When +Valentia addressed him, he answered in monosyllables, with eyes averted; +but when she had her back turned, she felt that he was looking at her. +After breakfast she went away painting haystacks, and was late for +luncheon. + +She apologised. + +'It is of no consequence,' he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. And +those were the only words he spoke to her during the remainder of the +day. Once, when he was looking at her surreptitiously, and she suddenly +turned round, their eyes met, and for a moment he gazed straight at her, +then walked away. She wished he would not look so sad. As she was going +to bed, she held out her hand to him to say good-night, and she +added,-- + +'I don't want to make you unhappy, Mr White. I'm very sorry.' + +'It's not your fault,' he said. 'You can't help it, if you're a stock +and a stone.' + +He went away without taking the proffered hand. Valentia cried that +night. + +In the morning she found a note outside her door:-- + + '_Pardon me if I was rude, but I was not master of myself. I am + going to Volendam; I hate Monnickendam_.' + + +VI + +Ferdinand arrived at Volendam. It was a fishing village, only three +miles across country from Monnickendam, but the route, by steam tram and +canal, was so circuitous, that, with luggage, it took one two hours to +get from place to place. He had walked over there with Valentia, and it +had almost tempted them to desert Monnickendam. Ferdinand took a room at +the hotel and walked out, trying to distract himself. The village +consisted of a couple of score of houses, built round a semi-circular +dyke against the sea, and in the semi-circle lay the fleet of fishing +boats. Men and women were sitting at their doors mending nets. He looked +at the fishermen, great, sturdy fellows, with rough, weather-beaten +faces, huge earrings dangling from their ears. He took note of their +quaint costume--black stockings and breeches, the latter more baggy than +a Turk's, and the crushed strawberry of their high jackets, cut close to +the body. He remembered how he had looked at them with Valentia, and the +group of boys and men that she had sketched. He remembered how they +walked along, peeping into the houses, where everything was spick and +span, as only a Dutch cottage can be, with old Delft plates hanging on +the walls, and pots and pans of polished brass. And he looked over the +sea to the island of Marken, with its masts crowded together, like a +forest without leaf or branch. Coming to the end of the little town he +saw the church of Monnickendam, the red steeple half-hidden by the +trees. He wondered where Valentia was--what she was doing. + +But he turned back resolutely, and, going to his room, opened his books +and began reading. He rubbed his eyes and frowned, in order to fix his +attention, but the book said nothing but Valentia. At last he threw it +aside and took his Plato and his dictionary, commencing to translate a +difficult passage, word for word. But whenever he looked up a word he +could only see Valentia, and he could not make head or tail of the +Greek. He threw it aside also, and set out walking. He walked as hard as +he could--away from Monnickendam. + +The second day was not quite so difficult, and he read till his mind was +dazed, and then he wrote letters home and told them he was enjoying +himself tremendously, and he walked till he felt his legs dropping off. + +Next morning it occurred to him that Valentia might have written. +Trembling with excitement, he watched the postman coming down the +street--but he had no letter for Ferdinand. There would be no more post +that day. + +But the next day Ferdinand felt sure there would be a letter for him; +the postman passed by the hotel door without stopping. Ferdinand thought +he should go mad. All day he walked up and down his room, thinking only +of Valentia. Why did she not write? + +The night fell and he could see from his window the moon shining over +the clump of trees about Monnickendam church--he could stand it no +longer. He put on his hat and walked across country; the three miles +were endless; the church and the trees seemed to grow no nearer, and at +last, when he thought himself close, he found he had a bay to walk +round, and it appeared further away than ever. + +He came to the mouth of the canal along which he and Valentia had so +often walked. He looked about, but he could see no one. His heart beat +as he approached the little bridge, but Valentia was not there. Of +course she would not come out alone. He ran to the hotel and asked for +her. They told him she was not in. He walked through the town; not a +soul was to be seen. He came to the church; he walked round, and +then--right at the edge of the trees--he saw a figure sitting on a +bench. + + * * * * * + +She was dressed in the same flowered dress which she had worn when he +likened her to a Dresden shepherdess; she was looking towards Volendam. + +He went up to her silently. She sprang up with a little shriek. + +'Ferdinand!' + +'Oh, Valentia, I cannot help it. I could not remain away any longer. I +could do nothing but think of you all day, all night. If you knew how I +loved you! Oh, Valentia, have pity on me! I cannot be your friend. It's +all nonsense about friendship; I hate it. I can only love you. I love +you with all my heart and soul, Valentia.' + +She was frightened. + +'Oh! how can you stand there so coldly and watch my agony? Don't you +see? How can you be so cold?' + +'I am not cold, Ferdinand,' she said, trembling. 'Do you think I have +been happy while you were away?' + +'Valentia!' + +'I thought of you, too, Ferdinand, all day, all night. And I longed for +you to come back. I did not know till you went that--I loved you.' + +'Oh, Valentia!' + +He took her in his arms and pressed her passionately to him. + +'No, for God's sake!' + +She tore herself away. But again he took her in his arms, and this time +he kissed her on the mouth. She tried to turn her face away. + +'I shall kill myself, Ferdinand!' + +'What do you mean?' + +'In those long hours that I sat here looking towards you, I felt I loved +you--I loved you as passionately as you said you loved me. But if you +came back, and--anything happened--I swore that I would throw myself in +the canal.' + +He looked at her. + +'I could not--live afterwards,' she said hoarsely. 'It would be too +horrible. I should be--oh, I can't think of it!' + +He took her in his arms again and kissed her. + +'Have mercy on me!' she cried. + +'You love me, Valentia.' + +'Oh, it is nothing to you. Afterwards you will be just the same as +before. Why cannot men love peacefully like women? I should be so happy +to remain always as we are now, and never change. I tell you I shall +kill myself.' + +'I will do as you do, Valentia.' + +'You?' + +'If anything happens, Valentia,' he said gravely, 'we will go down to +the canal together.' + +She was horrified at the idea; but it fascinated her. + +'I should like to die in your arms,' she said. + +For the second time he bent down and took her hands and kissed them. +Then she went alone into the silent church, and prayed. + + +VII + +They went home. Ferdinand was so pleased to be at the hotel again, near +her. His bed seemed so comfortable; he was so happy, and he slept, +dreaming of Valentia. + +The following night they went for their walk, arm in arm; and they came +to the canal. From the bridge they looked at the water. It was very +dark; they could not hear it flow. No stars were reflected in it, and +the trees by its side made the depth seem endless. Valentia shuddered. +Perhaps in a little while their bodies would be lying deep down in the +water. And they would be in one another's arms, and they would never be +separated. Oh, what a price it was to pay! She looked tearfully at +Ferdinand, but he was looking down at the darkness beneath them, and he +was intensely grave. + +And they wandered there by day and looked at the black reflection of the +trees. And in the heat it seemed so cool and restful.... + +They abandoned their work. What did pictures and books matter now? They +sauntered about the meadows, along shady roads; they watched the black +and white cows sleepily browsing, sometimes coming to the water's edge +to drink, and looking at themselves, amazed. They saw the huge-limbed +milkmaids come along with their little stools and their pails, deftly +tying the cow's hind legs that it might not kick. And the steaming milk +frothed into the pails and was poured into huge barrels, and as each cow +was freed, she shook herself a little and recommenced to browse. + +And they loved their life as they had never loved it before. + +One evening they went again to the canal and looked at the water, but +they seemed to have lost their emotions before it. They were no longer +afraid. Ferdinand sat on the parapet and Valentia leaned against him. He +bent his head so that his face might touch her hair. She looked at him +and smiled, and she almost lifted her lips. He kissed them. + +'Do you love me, Ferdinand?' + +He gave the answer without words. + +Their faces were touching now, and he was holding her hands. They were +both very happy. + +'You know, Ferdinand,' she whispered, 'we are very foolish.' + +'I don't care.' + +'Monsieur Rollo said that folly was the chief attribute of man.' + +'What did he say of love?' + +'I forget.' + +Then, after a pause, he whispered in her ear,-- + +'I love you!' + +And she held up her lips to him again. + +'After all,' she said, 'we're only human beings. We can't help it. I +think--' + +She hesitated; what she was going to say had something of the +anti-climax in it. + +'I think--it would be very silly if--if we threw ourselves in the horrid +canal.' + +'Valentia, do you mean--?' + +She smiled charmingly as she answered,-- + +'What you will, Ferdinand.' + +Again he took both her hands, and, bending down, kissed them.... But +this time she lifted him up to her and kissed him on the lips. + + +VIII + +One night after dinner I told this story to my aunt. + +'But why on earth didn't they get married?' she asked, when I had +finished. + +'Good Heavens!' I cried. 'It never occurred to me.' + +'Well, I think they ought,' she said. + +'Oh, I have no doubt they did. I expect they got on their bikes and rode +off to the Consulate at Amsterdam there and then. I'm sure it would have +been his first thought.' + +'Of course, some girls are very queer,' said my aunt. + + + + +FAITH + + +I + +The moon shone fitfully through the clouds on to the weary face of +Brother Jasper kneeling in his cell. His hands were fervently clasped, +uplifted to the crucifix that hung on the bare wall, and he was praying, +praying as he had never prayed before. All through the hours of night, +while the monks were sleeping, Brother Jasper had been supplicating his +God for light; but in his soul remained a darkness deeper than that of +the blackest night. At last he heard the tinkling of the bell that +called the monks to prayers, and with a groan lifted himself up. He +opened his cell door and went out into the cloister. With down-turned +face he walked along till he came to the chapel, and, reaching his seat, +sank again heavily to his knees. + +The lights in the chapel were few enough, for San Lucido was nearly the +poorest monastery in Spain; a few dim candles on the altar threw long +shadows on the pavement, and in the choir their yellow glare lit up +uncouthly the pale faces of the monks. When Brother Jasper stood up, the +taper at his back cast an unnatural light over him, like a halo, making +his great black eyes shine strangely from their deep sockets, while +below them the dark lines and the black shadow of his shaven chin gave +him an unearthly weirdness. He looked like a living corpse standing in +the brown Franciscan cowl--a dead monk doomed for some sin to wander +through the earth till the day, the Day of Judgment; and in the agony of +that weary face one could almost read the terrors of eternal death. + +The monks recited the service with their heavy drone, and the sound of +the harsh men's voices ascended to the vault, dragging along the roof. +But Jasper heard not what they said; he rose and knelt as they did; he +uttered the words; he walked out of the church in his turn, and through +the cloister to his cell. And he threw himself on the floor and beat his +head against the hard stones, weeping passionately. And he cried out,-- + +'What shall I do? What shall I do?' + +For Brother Jasper did not believe. + + +II + +Two days before, the monk, standing amid the stunted shrubs on the hill +of San Lucido, had looked out on the arid plain before him. It was all +brown and grey, the desolate ground strewn with huge granite boulders, +treeless; and for the wretched sheep who fed there, thin and scanty +grass; the shepherd, in his tattered cloak, sat on a rock, moodily, +paying no heed to his flock, dully looking at the desert round him. +Brother Jasper gazed at the scene as he had gazed for three years since +he had come to San Lucido, filled with faith and great love for God. In +those days he had thought nothing of the cold waste as his eyes rested +on it; the light of heaven shed a wonderful glow on the scene, and when +at sunset the heavy clouds were piled one above the other, like huge, +fantastic mountains turned into golden fire, when he looked beyond them +and saw the whole sky burning red and then a mass of yellow and gold, he +could imagine that God was sitting there on His throne of fire, with +Christ on His right hand in robes of light and glory, and Mary the Queen +on His left. And above them the Dove with its outstretched wings, the +white bird hovering in a sea of light! And it seemed so near! Brother +Jasper felt in him almost the power to go there, to climb up those massy +clouds of fire and attain the great joy--the joy of the presence of God. + +The sun sank slowly, the red darkened into purple, and over the whole +sky came a colour of indescribable softness, while in the east, very far +away, shone out the star. And soon the soft faint blue sank before the +night, and the stars in the sky were countless; but still in the west +there was the shadow of the sun, a misty gleam. Over the rocky plain the +heavens seemed so great, so high, that Brother Jasper sank down in his +insignificance; yet he remembered the glories of the sunset, and felt +that he was almost at the feet of God. + +But now, when he looked at the clouds and the sun behind them, he saw +no God; he saw the desert plain, the barrenness of the earth, the +overladen, wretched donkey staggering under his pannier, and the +broad-hatted peasant urging him on. He looked at the sunset and tried to +imagine the Trinity that sat there, but he saw nothing. And he asked +himself,-- + +'Why should there be a God?' + +He started up with a cry of terror, with his hands clasped to his head. + +'My God! what have I done?' + +He sank to his knees, humiliating himself. What vengeance would fall on +him? He prayed passionately. But again the thought came; he shrieked +with terror, he invoked the Mother of God to help him. + +'Why should there be a God?' + +He could not help it. The thought would not leave him that all this +might exist without. How did he know? How could anyone be sure, quite +sure? But he drove the thoughts away, and in his cell imposed upon +himself a penance. It was Satan that stood whispering in his ear, Satan +lying in wait for his soul; let him deny God and he would be damned for +ever. + +He prayed with all his strength, he argued with himself, he cried out, +'I believe! I believe!' but in his soul was the doubt. The terror made +him tremble like a leaf in the wind, and great drops of sweat stood on +his forehead and ran heavily down his cheek. He beat his head against +the wall, and in his agony swayed from side to side.... But he could not +believe. + + +III + +And for two days he had endured the torments of hell-fire, battling +against himself--in vain. The heavy lines beneath his eyes grew blacker +than the night, his lips were pale with agony and fasting. He had not +dared to speak to anyone, he could not tell them, and in him was the +impulse to shout out, 'Why should there be?' Now he could bear it no +longer. In the morning he went to the prior's cell, and, falling on his +knees, buried his face in the old man's lap. + +'Oh, father, help me! help me!' + +The prior was old and wasted; for fifty years he had lived in the desert +Castilian plain in the little monastery--all through his youth and +manhood, through his age; and now he was older than anyone at San +Lucido. White haired and wrinkled, but with a clear, rosy skin like a +boy's; his soft blue eyes had shone with light, but a cataract had +developed, and gradually his sight had left him till he could barely see +the crucifix in his cell and the fingers of his hand; at last he could +only see the light. But the prior did not lose the beautiful serenity of +his life; he was always happy and kind; and feeling that his death could +not now be very distant, he was filled with a heavenly joy that he would +shortly see the face of God. Long hours he sat in his chair looking at +the light with an indescribably charming smile hovering on his lips. + +His voice broken by sobs, Brother Jasper told his story, while the prior +gently stroked the young man's hands and face. + +'Oh, father, make me believe!' + +'One cannot force one's faith, my dear. It comes, it goes, and no man +knows the wherefore. Faith does not come from reasoning; it comes from +God.... Pray for it and rest in peace.' + +'I want to believe so earnestly. I am so unhappy!' + +'You are not the only one who has been tried, my son. Others have +doubted before you and have been saved.' + +'But if I died to-night--I should die in mortal sin.' + +'Believe that God counts the attempt as worthy as the achievement.' + +'Oh, pray for me, father, pray for me! I cannot stand alone. Give me +your strength.' + +'Go in peace, my son; I will pray for you, and God will give you +strength!' + +Jasper went away. + +Day followed day, and week followed week; the spring came, and the +summer; but there was no difference in the rocky desert of San Lucido. +There were no trees to bud and burst into leaf, no flowers to bloom and +fade; biting winds gave way to fiery heat, the sun beat down on the +plain, and the sky was cloudless, cloudless--even the nights were so hot +that the monks in their cells gasped for breath. And Brother Jasper +brooded over the faith that was dead; and in his self-torment his cheeks +became so hollow that the bones of his face seemed about to pierce the +skin, the flesh shrunk from his hands, and the fingers became long and +thin, like the claws of a vulture. He used to spend long hours with the +prior, while the old man talked gently, trying to bring faith to the +poor monk, that his soul might rest. But one day, in the midst of the +speaking, the prior stopped, and Jasper saw an expression of pain pass +over his face. + +'What is it?' + +'Nothing, my son,' he replied, smiling.... 'We enter the world with +pain, and with pain we leave it!' + +'What do you mean? Are you ill? Father! father!' + +The prior opened his mouth and showed a great sloughing sore; he put +Jasper's fingers to his neck and made him feel the enlarged and hardened +glands. + +'What is it? You must see a surgeon.' + +'No surgeon can help me, Brother Jasper. It is cancer, the Crab--it is +the way that God has sent to call me to Himself.' + +Then the prior began to suffer the agonies of the disease, terrible +pains shot through his head and neck; he could not swallow. It was a +slow starvation; the torment kept him awake through night after night, +and only occasionally his very exhaustion gave him a little relief so +that he slept. Thinner and thinner he became, and his whole mouth was +turned into a putrid, horrible sore. But yet he never murmured. Brother +Jasper knelt by his bed, looking at him pitifully. + +'How can you suffer it all? What have you done that God should give you +this? Was it not enough that you were blind?' + +'Ah, I saw such beautiful things after I became blind--all heaven +appeared before me.' + +'It is unjust--unjust!' + +'My son, all is just.' + +'You drive me mad!... Do you still believe in the merciful goodness of +God?' + +A beautiful smile broke through the pain on the old man's face. + +'I still believe in the merciful goodness of God!' + +There was a silence. Brother Jasper buried his face in his hands and +thought brokenheartedly of his own affliction. How happy he could be if +he had that faith.... But the silence in the room was more than the +silence of people who did not speak. Jasper looked up suddenly. + +The prior was dead. + +Then the monk bent over the body and looked at the face into the opaque +white eyes; there was no difference, the flesh was warm--everything was +just the same, and yet ... and yet he was dead. What did they mean by +saying the soul had fled? What had happened? Jasper understood nothing +of it. And afterwards, before the funeral, when he looked at the corpse +again, and it was cold and a horrible blackness stained the lips, he +felt sure. + +Brother Jasper could not believe in the resurrection of the dead. And +the soul--what did they mean by the soul? + + +IV + +Then a great loneliness came over him; the hours of his life seemed +endless, and there was no one in whom he could find comfort. The prior +had given him a ray of hope, but he was gone, and now Jasper was alone +in the world.... And beyond? Oh! how could one be certain? It was awful +this perpetual doubt, recurring more strongly than ever. Men had +believed so long. Think of all the beautiful churches that had been made +in the honour of God, and the pictures. Think of the works that had +been done for his love, the martyrs who had cheerfully given up their +lives. It seemed impossible that it should be all for nothing. But--but +Jasper could not believe. And he cried out to the soul of the prior, +resting in heaven, to come to him and help him. Surely, if he really +were alive again, he would not let the poor monk whom he had loved +linger in this terrible uncertainty. Jasper redoubled his prayers; for +hours he remained on his knees, imploring God to send him light.... But +no light came, and exhausted Brother Jasper sank into despair. + +The new prior was a tall, gaunt man, with a great hooked nose and heavy +lips; his keen, dark eyes shone fiercely from beneath his shaggy brows. +He was still young, full of passionate energy. And with large gesture +and loud, metallic voice he loved to speak of hell-fire and the pains of +the damned, hating the Jews and heretics with a bitter personal hatred. + +'To the stake!' he used to say. 'The earth must be purged of this +vermin, and it must be purged by fire.' + +He exacted the most absolute obedience from the monks, and pitiless was +the punishment for any infringement of his rules.... Brother Jasper +feared the man with an almost unearthly terror; when he felt resting +upon him the piercing black eyes, he trembled in his seat, and a cold +sweat broke out over him. If the prior knew--the thought almost made him +faint. And yet the fear of it seemed to drag him on; like a bird before +a serpent, he was fascinated. Sometimes he felt sudden impulses to tell +him--but the vengeful eyes terrified him. + +One day he was in the cloister, looking out at the little green plot in +the middle where the monks were buried, wondering confusedly whether all +that prayer and effort had been offered up to empty images of what--of +the fear of Man? Turning round, he started back and his heart beat, for +the prior was standing close by, looking at him with those horrible +eyes. Brother Jasper trembled so that he could scarcely stand; he looked +down. + +'Brother Jasper!' The prior's voice seemed sterner than it had ever been +before. 'Brother Jasper!' + +'Father!' + +'What have you to tell me?' + +Jasper looked up at him; the blood fled from his lips. + +'Nothing, my father!' The prior looked at him firmly, and Jasper thought +he read the inmost secrets of his heart. + +'Speak, Brother Jasper!' said the prior, and his voice was loud and +menacing. + +Then hurriedly, stuttering in his anxiety, the monk confessed his +misery.... A horror came over the prior's face as he listened, and +Jasper became so terrified that he could hardly speak; but the prior +seemed to recover himself, and interrupted him with a furious burst of +anger. + +'You look over the plain and do not see God, and for that you doubt Him? +Miserable fool!' + +'Oh, father, have mercy on me! I have tried so hard. I want to believe. +But I cannot.' + +'I cannot! I cannot! What is that? Have men believed for a thousand +years--has God performed miracle after miracle--and a miserable monk +dares to deny Him?' + +'I cannot believe!' + +'You must!' His voice was so loud that it rang through the cloisters. He +seized Jasper's clasped hands, raised in supplication before him, and +forced him to his knees. 'I tell you, you shall believe!' + +Quivering with wrath, he looked at the prostrate form at his feet, moved +by convulsive weeping. He raised his hand as if to strike the monk, but +with difficulty contained himself. + +Then the prior bade Brother Jasper go to the church and wait. The monks +were gathered together, all astonished. They stood in their usual +places, but Jasper remained in the middle, away from them, with head +cast down. The prior called out to them in his loud, clear voice,-- + +'Pray, my brethren, pray for the soul of Brother Jasper, which lies in +peril of eternal death.' + +The monks looked at him suddenly, and Brother Jasper's head sank lower, +so that no one could see his face. The prior sank to his knees and +prayed with savage fervour. Afterwards the monks went their ways; but +when Jasper passed them they looked down, and when by chance he +addressed a novice, the youth hurried from him without answering. They +looked upon him as accursed. The prior spoke no more, but often Jasper +felt his stern gaze resting on him, and a shiver would pass through +him. In the services Jasper stood apart from the rest, like an unclean +thing; he did not join in their prayers, listening confusedly to their +monotonous droning; and when a pause came and he felt all eyes turn to +him, he put his hands to his face to hide himself. + +'Pray, my brethren, pray for the soul of Brother Jasper, which lies in +peril of eternal death.' + + +V + +In his cell the monk would for days sit apathetically looking at the +stone wall in front of him, sore of heart; the hours would pass by +unnoticed, and only the ringing of the chapel bell awoke him from his +stupor. And sometimes he would be seized with sudden passion and, +throwing himself on his knees, pour forth a stream of eager, vehement +prayer. He remembered the penances which the seraphic father imposed on +his flesh--but he always had faith; and Jasper would scourge himself +till he felt sick and faint, and, hoping to gain his soul by +mortification of the body, refuse the bread and water which was thrust +into his cell, and for a long while eat nothing. He became so weak and +ill that he could hardly stand; and still no help came. + +Then he took it into his head that God would pity him and send a miracle +to drive away his uncertainty. Was he not anxious to believe, if only he +could?--so anxious! God would not send a miracle to a poor monk.... Yet +miracles had been performed for smaller folk than he--for shepherds and +tenders of swine. But Christ himself had said that miracles only came by +faith, but--Jasper remembered that often the profligate and the harlot +had been brought to repentance by a vision. Even the Holy Francis had +been but a loose gallant till Christ appeared to him. Yet, if Christ had +appeared, it showed--ah! but how could one be sure? it might only have +been a dream. Let a vision appear to him and he would believe. Oh, how +enchanted he would be to believe, to rest in peace, to know that before +him, however hard the life, were eternal joy and the kingdom of heaven. + +But Brother Jasper put his hands to his head cruelly aching. He could +not understand, he could not know--the doubt weighed on his brain like +a sheet of lead; he felt inclined to tear his skull apart to relieve the +insupportable pressure. How endless life was! Why could it not finish +quickly and let him know? But supposing there really was a God, He would +exact terrible vengeance. What punishment would He inflict on the monk +who had denied Him--who had betrayed Him like a second Judas? Then a +fantastic idea came into his crazy brain. Was it Satan that put all +these doubts into his head? If it were, Satan must exist; and if he did, +God existed too. He knew that the devil stood ready to appear to all who +called. If Christ would not appear, let Satan show himself. It meant +hell-fire; but if God were, the monk felt he was damned already--for the +truth he would give his soul! + +The idea sent a coldness through him, so that he shivered; but it +possessed him, and he exulted, thinking that he would know at last. He +rose from his bed--it was the dead of night and all the monks were +sleeping--and, trembling with cold, began to draw with chalk strange +figures on the floor. He had seen them long ago in an old book of magic, +and their fantastic shapes, fascinating him, had remained in his +memory. + +In the centre of the strange confusion of triangles he stood and uttered +in a husky voice the invocation. He murmured uncouth words in an unknown +language, and bade Satan stand forth.... He expected a thunderclap, the +flashing of lightning, sulphurous fumes--but the night remained silent +and quiet; not a sound broke the stillness of the monastery; the snow +outside fell steadily. + + +VI + +Next day the prior sent for him and repeated his solemn question. + +'Brother Jasper, what have you to say to me?' + +And absolutely despairing, Jasper answered,-- + +'Nothing, nothing, nothing!' + +Then the prior strode up to him in wrath and smote him on the cheek. + +'It is a devil within you--a devil of obstinacy and pride. You shall +believe!' + +He cried to monks to lay hold of him; they dragged him roughly to the +cloisters, and stripping him of his cowl tied it round his waist, and +bound him by the hands to a pillar.... And the prior ordered them to +give Jasper eight-and-thirty strokes with the scourge--one less than +Christ--that the devil might be driven out. The scourge was heavy and +knotted, and the porter bared his arms that he might strike the better; +the monks stood round in eager expectation. The scourge whizzed through +the air and came down with a thud on Jasper's bare shoulders; a tremor +passed through him, but he did not speak. Again it came down, and as the +porter raised it for the third time the monks saw great bleeding weals +on Brother Jasper's back. Then, as the scourge fell heavily, a terrible +groan burst from him. The porter swung his arm, and this time a shriek +broke from the wretched monk; the blows came pitilessly and Jasper lost +all courage. He shrieked with agony, imploring them to stop. + +But ferociously the prior cried,-- + +'Did Christ bear in silence forty stripes save one, and do you cry out +like a woman before you have had ten!' + +The porter went on, and the prior's words were interrupted by piercing +shrieks. + +'It is the devil crying out within him,' said the monks, gloating on the +bleeding back and the face of agony. + +Heavy drops of sweat ran off the porter's face and his arm began to +tire; but he seized the handle with both hands and swung the knotted +ropes with all his strength. + +Jasper fainted. + +'See!' said the prior. 'See the fate of him who has not faith in God!' + +The cords with which he was tied prevented the monk from falling, and +stroke after stroke fell on his back till the number was completed. Then +they loosed him from the column, and he sank senseless and bleeding to +the ground. They left him. Brother Jasper regained slowly his senses, +lying out in the cold cloister with the snow on the graves in the +middle; his hands and feet were stiff and blue. He shivered and drew +himself together for warmth, then a groan burst from him, feeling the +wounds of his back. Painfully he lifted himself up and crawled to the +chapel door; he pushed it open, and, staggering forward, fell on his +face, looking towards the altar. He remained there long, dazed and +weary, pulling his cowl close round him to keep out the bitter cold. +The pain of his body almost relieved the pain of his mind; he wished +dumbly that he could lie there and die, and be finished with it all. He +did not know the time; he wondered whether any service would soon bring +the monks to disturb him. He took sad pleasure in the solitude, and in +the great church the solitude seemed more intense. Oh, and he hated the +monks! it was cruel, cruel, cruel! He put his hands to his face and +sobbed bitterly. + +But suddenly a warmth fell on him; he looked up, and the glow seemed to +come from the crucified Christ in the great painted window by the altar. +The monk started up with a cry and looked eagerly; the bell began to +ring. The green colour of death was becoming richer, the glass gained +the fulness of real flesh; now it was a soft round whiteness. And +Brother Jasper cried out in ecstasy,-- + +'It is Christ!' + +Then the glow deepened, and from the Crucified One was shed a wonderful +light like the rising of the sun behind the mountains, and the church +was filled with its rich effulgence. + +'Oh, God, it is moving!' + +The Christ seemed to look at Brother Jasper and bow His head. + +Two by two the monks walked silently in, and Brother Jasper lifted up +his arms, crying: + +'Behold a miracle! Christ has appeared to me!' + +A murmur of astonishment broke from them, and they looked at Jasper +gazing in ecstasy at the painted window. + +'Christ has appeared to me.... I am saved!' + +Then the prior came up to him and took him in his arms and kissed him. + +'My son, praise be to God! you are whole again.' + +But Jasper pushed him aside, so that he might not be robbed of the sight +which filled him with rapture; the monks crowded round, questioning, but +he took no notice of them. He stood with outstretched arms, looking +eagerly, his face lighted up with joy. The monks began to kiss his cowl +and his feet, and they touched his hands. + +'I am saved! I am saved!' + +And the prior cried to them,-- + +'Praise God, my brethren, praise God! for we have saved the soul of +Brother Jasper from eternal death.' + +But when the service was over and the monks had filed out, Brother +Jasper came to himself--and he saw that the light had gone from the +window; the Christ was cold and dead, a thing of the handicraft of man. +What was it that had happened? Had a miracle occurred? The question +flashing through his mind made him cry out. He had prayed for a miracle, +and a miracle had been shown him--the poor monk of San Lucido....And +now he doubted the miracle. Oh, God must have ordained the damnation of +his soul to give him so little strength--perhaps He had sent the miracle +that he might have no answer at the Day of Judgment. + +'Faith thou hadst not--I showed Myself to thee in flesh and blood, I +moved My head; thou didst not believe thine own eyes.' ... + + +VII + +Next day, at vespers, Jasper anxiously fixed his gaze on the +stained-glass window--again a glow came from it, and as he moved the +head seemed to incline itself; but now Jasper saw it was only the sun +shining through the window--only the sun! Then the heaviness descended +into the deepest parts of Jasper's soul, and he despaired. + +The night came and Jasper returned to his cell.... He leant against the +door, looking out through the little window, but he could only see the +darkness. And he likened it to the darkness in his own soul. + +'What shall I do?' he groaned. + +He could not tell the monks that it was not a miracle he had seen; he +could not tell them that he had lost faith again.... And then his +thoughts wandering to the future,-- + +'Must I remain all my life in this cold monastery? If there is no God, +if I have but one life, what is the good of it? Why cannot I enjoy my +short existence as other men? Am not I young--am not I of the same flesh +and blood as they?' + +Vague recollections came to him of those new lands beyond the ocean, +those lands of sunshine and sweet odours. His mind became filled with a +vision of broad rivers, running slow and cool, overshadowed by strange, +luxuriant trees. And all was a wealth of beautiful colour. + +'Oh, I cannot stay!' he cried; 'I cannot stay!' + +And it was a land of loving-kindness, a land of soft-eyed, gentle women. + +'I cannot stay! I cannot stay!' + +The desire to go forth was overwhelming, the walls of his cell seemed +drawing together to crush him; he must be free. Oh, for life! life! He +started up, not seeing the madness of his adventure; he did not think of +the snow-covered desert, the night, the distance from a town. He saw +before him the glorious sunshine of a new life, and he went towards it +like a blind man, with outstretched arms. + +Everyone was asleep in the monastery. He crept out of his cell and +silently opened the door of the porter's lodge; the porter was sleeping +heavily. Jasper took the keys and unlocked the gate. He was free. He +took no notice of the keen wind blowing across the desert; he hurried +down the hill, slipping on the frozen snow.... Suddenly he stopped; he +had caught sight of the great crucifix which stood by the wayside at the +bottom of the hill. Then the madness of it all occurred to him. Wherever +he went he would find the crucifix, even beyond the sea, and nowhere +would he be able to forget his God. Always the recollection, always the +doubt, and he would never have rest till he was in the grave. He went +close to it and looked up; it was one of those strange Spanish +crucifixes--a wooden image with long, thin arms and legs and protruding +ribs, with real hair hanging over the shoulders, and a true crown of +thorns placed on the head; the ends of the tattered cloth fastened about +the loins fluttered in the wind. In the night the lifelikeness was +almost ghastly; it might have been a real man that hung there, with +great nails through his feet. The common people paid superstitious +reverence to it, and Jasper had often heard the peasants tell of the +consolations they had received. + +Why should not he too receive consolation? Was his soul not as worth +saving as theirs? A last spark of hope filled him, and he lifted himself +up on tip-toe to touch the feet. + +'Oh, Christ, come down to me! tell me whether Thou art indeed a God. Oh, +Christ, help me!' + +But the words lost themselves in the wind and night.... Then a great +rage seized him that he alone should receive no comfort. He clenched +his fists and beat passionately against the cross. + +'Oh, you are a cruel God! I hate you, I hate you!' + +If he could have reached it he would have torn the image down, and beat +it as he had been beaten. In his impotent rage he shrieked out curses +upon it--he blasphemed. + +But his strength spent itself and he sank to the foot of the cross, +bursting into tears. In his self-pity he thought his heart was broken. +Lifting himself to his knees, he clasped the wood with his hands and +looked up for the last time at the dead face of Christ. + +It was the end.... A strange peace came over him as the anguish of his +mind fell away before the cold. His hands and his feet were senseless, +he felt his heart turning to ice--and he felt nothing. + +In a little while the snow began to fall, lightly covering his +shoulders. Brother Jasper knew the secret of death at last. + + +VIII + +The day broke slowly, dim and grey. There was a hurried knocking at the +porter's door, a peasant with white and startled face said that a +brother was kneeling at the great cross in the snow, and would not +speak. + +The monks sallied forth anxiously, and came to the silent figure, +clasping the cross in supplication. + +'Brother Jasper!' + +The prior touched his hands; they were as cold as ice. + +'He is dead!' + +The villagers crowded round in astonishment, whispering to one another. +The monks tried to move him, but his hands, frozen to the cross, +prevented them. + +'He died in prayer--he was a saint!' + +But a woman with a paralysed arm came near him, and in her curiosity +touched his ragged cowl.... Suddenly she felt a warmth pass through her, +and the dead arm began to tingle. She cried out in astonishment, and as +the people turned to look she moved the fingers. + +'He has restored my arm,' she said. 'Look!' + +'A miracle!' they cried out. 'A miracle! He is a saint!' + +The news spread like fire; and soon they brought a youth lying on a bed, +wasted by a mysterious illness, so thin that the bones protruding had +formed angry sores on the skin. They touched him with the hem of the +monk's garment, and immediately he roused himself. + +'I am whole; give me to eat!' + +A murmur of wonder passed through the crowd. The monks sank to their +knees and prayed. + + * * * * * + +At last they lifted up the dead monk and bore him to the church. But +people all round the country crowded to see him; the sick and the +paralysed came from afar, and often went away sound as when they were +born. + +They buried him at last, but still to his tomb they came from all sides, +rich and poor; and the wretched monk, who had not faith to cure the +disease of his own mind, cured the diseases of those who had faith in +him. + + + + +THE CHOICE OF AMYNTAS + + +I + +Often enough the lover of cities tires of their unceasing noise; the din +of the traffic buzzes perpetually in his ears, and even in the silences +of night he hears the footfalls on the pavement, the dull stamping of +horses, the screeching of wheels; the fog chokes up the lungs so that he +cannot breathe; he sees no longer any charms in the tall chimneys of the +factory and the heavy smoke winding in curves against the leaden sky; +then he flies to countries where the greenness is like cold spring +water, where he can hear the budding of the trees and the stars tell him +fantastic things, the silence is full of mysterious new emotions. And so +the writer sometimes grows weary to death of the life he sees, and he +presses his hands before his eyes, that he may hide from him the endless +failure in the endless quest; then he too sets sail for Bohemia by the +Sea, and the other countries of the Frankly Impossible, where men are +always brave and women ever beautiful; there the tears of the morning +are followed by laughter at night, trials are easily surmountable, +virtue is always triumphant; there no illusions are lost, and lovers +live ever happily in a world without end. + + +II + +Once upon a time, very long ago, when the world was younger and more +wicked than it is now, there lived in the West Country a man called +Peter the Schoolmaster. But he was very different from ordinary +schoolmasters, for he was a scholar and a man of letters; he was +consequently very poor. All his life he had pored over old books and +musty parchments; but from them he had acquired little wisdom, for one +bright spring-time he fell in love with a farmer's daughter--and married +her. The farmer's daughter was a buxom wench, and, to the schoolmaster's +delight--he had a careless, charming soul--she presented him in course +of time with a round dozen of sturdy children. Peter compared himself +with Priam of Troy, with Jacob, with King Solomon of Israel and with +Queen Anne of England. Peter wrote a Latin ode to each offspring in +turn, which he recited to the assembled multitude when the midwife put +into his arms for the first time the new arrival. There was great +rejoicing over the birth of every one of the twelve children; but, as +was most proper in a land of primogeniture, the chiefest joy was the +first-born; and to him Peter wrote an Horatian ode, which was two +stanzas longer than the longest Horace ever wrote. Peter vowed that no +infant had ever been given the world's greeting in so magnificent a +manner; certainly he had never himself surpassed that first essay. As he +told the parson, to write twelve odes on paternity, twelve greetings to +the new-born soul, is a severe tax even on the most fertile imagination. + +But the object of all this eloquence was the cause of the first and only +quarrel between the gentle schoolmaster and his spouse; for the learned +man had dug out of one of his old books the name of Amyntas, and Amyntas +he vowed should be the name of his son; so with that trisyllable he +finished every stanza of his ode. His wife threw her head back, and, +putting her hands on her hips, stood with arms akimbo; she said that +never in all her born days had she heard of anyone being called by such +a name, which was more fit for a heathen idol than for a plain, +straightforward member of the church by law established. In its stead +she suggested that the boy be called Peter, after his father, or John, +after hers. The gentle schoolmaster was in the habit of giving way to +his wife in all things, and it may be surmised that this was the reason +why the pair had lived in happiest concord; but now he was firm! He said +it was impossible to call the boy by any other name than Amyntas. + +'The name is necessary to the metre of my ode,' he said. 'It is its very +life. How can I finish my stanzas with Petrus or Johannes? I would +sooner die.' + +His wife did not think the ode mattered a rap. Peter turned pale with +emotion; he could scarcely express himself. + +'Every mother in England has had a child; children have been born since +the days of Cain and Abel thicker than the sands of the sea. What is a +child? But an ode--my ode! A child is but an ordinary product of man and +woman, but a poem is a divine product of the Muses. My poem is sacred; +it shall not be defiled by any Petrus or Johannes! Let my house fall +about my head, let my household gods be scattered abroad, let the Fates +with their serpent hair render desolate my hearth; but do not rob me of +my verse. I would sooner lose the light of my eyes than the light of my +verse! Ah! let me wander through the land like Homer, sightless, +homeless; let me beg my bread from door to door, and I will sing the +ode, the ode to Amyntas.' ... + +He said all this with so much feeling that Mrs Peter began to cry, and, +with her apron up to her eyes, said that she didn't want him to go +blind; but even if he did, he should never want, for she would work +herself to the bone to keep him. Peter waved his hand in tragic +deprecation. No, he would beg his bread from door to door; he would +sleep by the roadside in the bitter winter night. + +Now, the parson was present during this colloquy, and he proposed an +arrangement; and finally it was settled that Peter should have his way +in this case, but that Mrs Peter should have the naming of all +subsequent additions to the family. So, of the rest, one was called +Peter, and one was called John, and there was a Mary, and a Jane, and a +Sarah; but the eldest, according to agreement, was christened Amyntas, +although to her dying day, notwithstanding the parson's assurances, the +mother was convinced in her heart of hearts that the name was papistical +and not fit for a plain, straightforward member of the church by law +established. + + +III + +Now, it was as clear as a pikestaff to Peter the Schoolmaster that a +person called Amyntas could not go through the world like any other +ordinary being; so he devoted particular care to his son's education, +teaching him, which was the way of schoolmasters then as now, very many +entirely useless things, and nothing that could be to him of the +slightest service in earning his bread and butter. + +But twelve children cannot be brought up on limpid air, and there were +often difficulties when new boots were wanted; sometimes, indeed, there +were difficulties when bread and meat and puddings were wanted. Such +things did not affect Peter; he felt not the pangs of hunger as he read +his books, and he vastly preferred to use the white and the yolk of an +egg in the restoration of an old leather binding than to have it +solemnly cooked and thrust into his belly. What cared he for the rantings +of his wife and the crying of the children when he could wander in +imagination on Mount Ida, clad only in his beauty, and the three +goddesses came to him promising wonderful things? He was a tall, lean +man, with thin, white hair and blue eyes, but his wrinkled cheeks were +still rosy; incessant snuff-taking had given a special character to his +nose. And sometimes, taking upon him the spirit of Catullus, he wrote +verses to Lesbia, or, beneath the breast-plate of Marcus Aurelius, he +felt his heart beat bravely as he marched against the barbarians; he was +Launcelot, and he made charming speeches to Guinevere as he kissed her +long white hand.... + +But now and then the clamour of the outer world became too strong, and +he had to face seriously the question of his children's appetite. + +It was on one of these occasions that the schoolmaster called his son to +his study and said to him,-- + +'Amyntas, you are now eighteen years of age. I have taught you all I +know, and you have profited by my teaching; you know Greek and Latin as +well as I do myself; you are well acquainted with Horace and Tully; you +have read Homer and Aristotle; and added to this, you can read the Bible +in the original Hebrew. That is to say, you have all knowledge at your +fingers' ends, and you are prepared to go forth and conquer the world. +Your mother will make a bundle of your clothes; I will give you my +blessing and a guinea, and you can start to-morrow.' + +Then he returned to his study of an oration of Isocrates. Amyntas was +thunder-struck. + +'But, father, where am I to go?' + +The schoolmaster raised his head in surprise, looking at his son over +the top of his spectacles. + +'My son,' he said, with a wave of the arm; 'my son, you have the world +before you--is that not enough?' + +'Yes, father,' said Amyntas, who thought it was a great deal too much; +'but what am I to do? I can't get very far on a guinea.' + +'Amyntas,' answered Peter, rising from his chair with great dignity, +'have you profited so ill by the examples of antiquity, which you have +had placed before you from your earliest years? Do you not know that +riches consist in an equal mind, and happiness in golden mediocrity? Did +the wise Odysseus quail before the unknown, because he had only a guinea +in his pocket? Shame on the heart that doubts! Leave me, my son, and +make ready.' + +Amyntas, very crestfallen, left the room and went to his mother to +acquaint her with the occurrence. She was occupied in the performance of +the family's toilet. + +'Well, my boy,' she said, as she scrubbed the face of the last but one, +'it's about time that you set about doing something to earn your living, +I must say. Now, if instead of learning all this popish stuff about +Greek and Latin and Lord knows what, you'd learnt to milk a cow or groom +a horse you'd be as right as a trivet now. Well, I'll put you up a few +things in a bundle as your father says and you can start early to-morrow +morning.... Now then, darling,' she added, turning to her Benjamin, +'come and have your face washed, there's a dear.' + + +IV + +Amyntas scratched his head, and presently an inspiration came to him. + +'I will go to the parson,' he said. + +The parson had been hunting, and he was sitting in his study in a great +oak chair, drinking a bottle of port; his huge body and his red face +expressed the very completest satisfaction with the world in general; +one felt that he would go to bed that night with the cheerful happiness +of duty performed, and snore stentoriously for twelve hours. He was +troubled by no qualms of conscience; the Thirty-nine Articles caused him +never a doubt, and it had never occurred to him to concern himself with +the condition of the working classes. He lived in a golden age, when the +pauper was allowed to drink himself to death as well as the nobleman, +and no clergyman's wife read tracts by his bedside.... + +Amyntas told his news. + +'Well, my boy'--he never spoke but he shouted--'so you're going away? +Well, God bless you!' + +Amyntas looked at him expectantly, and the parson, wondering what he +expected, came to the conclusion that it was a glass of port, for at +that moment he was able to imagine nothing that man could desire more. +He smiled benignly upon Amyntas, and poured him out a glass. + +'Drink that, my boy. Keep it in your memory. It's the finest thing in +the world. It's port that's made England what she is!' + +Amyntas drank the port, but his face did not express due satisfaction. + +'Damn the boy!' said the parson. 'Port's wasted on him.' ... Then, +thinking again what Amyntas might want, he rose slowly from his chair, +stretching his legs. 'I'm not so young as I used to be; I get stiff +after a day's hunting.' He walked round his room, looking at his +bookshelves; at last he picked out a book and blew the dust off the +edges. 'Here's a Bible for you, Amyntas. The two finest things in the +world are port and the Bible.' + +Amyntas thanked him, but without great enthusiasm. Another idea struck +the parson, and he shouted out another question. + +'Have you any money?' + +Amyntas told him of the guinea. + +'Damn your father! What's the good of a guinea?' He went to a drawer and +pulled out a handful of gold--the tithes had been paid a couple of days +before. 'Here are ten; a man can go to hell on ten guineas.' + +'Thank you very much, sir,' said Amyntas, pocketing the money, 'but I +don't think I want to go quite so far just yet.' + +'Then where the devil do you want to go?' shouted the parson. + +'That's just what I came to ask you about.' + +'Why didn't you say so at once? I thought you wanted a glass of port. +I'd sooner give ten men advice than one man port.' He went to the door +and called out, 'Jane, bring me another bottle.' He drank the bottle in +silence, while Amyntas stood before him, resting now upon one leg now +upon another, turning his cap round and round in his hands. At last the +parson spoke. + +'You may look upon a bottle of port in two ways,' he said; 'you may take +it as a symbol of a happy life or as a method of thought.... There are +four glasses in a bottle. The first glass is full of expectation; you +enter life with mingled feelings; you cannot tell whether it will be +good or no. The second glass has the full savour of the grape; it is +youth with vine-leaves in its hair and the passion of young blood. The +third glass is void of emotion; it is grave and calm, like middle age; +drink it slowly, you are in full possession of yourself, and it will not +come again. The fourth glass has the sadness of death and the bitter +sweetness of retrospect.' + +He paused a moment for Amyntas to weigh his words. + +'But a bottle of port is a better method of thought than any taught by +the school-men. The first glass is that of contemplation--I think of +your case; the second is apprehension--an idea occurs to me; the third +is elaboration--I examine the idea and weigh the pros and cons; the +fourth is realisation--and here I give you the completed scheme. Look at +this letter; it is from my old friend Van Tiefel, a Dutch merchant who +lives at Cadiz, asking for an English clerk. One of his ships is +sailing from Plymouth next Sunday, and it will put in at Cadiz on the +way to Turkey.' + +Amyntas thought the project could have been formed without a bottle of +port, but he was too discreet to say so, and heartily thanked the +parson. The good man lived in a time when teetotalism had not ruined the +clergy's nerves, and sanctity was not considered incompatible with a +good digestion and common humanity.... + + +V + +Amyntas spent the evening bidding tender farewells to a round dozen of +village beauties, whose susceptible hearts had not been proof against +the brown eyes and the dimples of the youth. There was indeed woe when +he spread the news of his departure; and all those maiden eyes ran +streams of salt tears as he bade them one by one good-bye; and though he +squeezed their hands and kissed their lips, vowing them one and all the +most unalterable fidelity, they were perfectly inconsolable. It is an +interesting fact to notice that the instincts of the true hero are +invariably polygamic.... + +It was lucky for Amyntas that the parson had given him money, for his +father, though he gave him a copy of the _Ethics of Aristotle_ and his +blessing, forgot the guinea; and Amyntas was too fearful of another +reproach to remind him of it. + +Amyntas was up with the lark, and having eaten as largely as he could in +his uncertainty of the future, made ready to start. The schoolmaster had +retired to his study to conceal his agitation; he was sitting like +Agamemnon with a dishcloth over his head, because he felt his face +unable to express his emotion. But the boy's mother stood at the cottage +door, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, surrounded by her +weeping children. She threw her arms about her son's neck, giving him a +loud kiss on either cheek, and Amyntas went the round of his brothers +and sisters, kissing them and bidding them not forget him. To console +them, he promised to bring back green parrots and golden bracelets, and +embroidered satins from Japan. As he passed down the village street he +shook hands with the good folk standing at their doors to bid him +good-bye, and slowly made his way into the open country. + + +VI + +The way of the hero is often very hard, and Amyntas felt as if he would +choke as he walked slowly along. He looked back at every step, wondering +when he would see the old home again. He loitered through the lanes, +taking a last farewell of the nooks and corners where he had sat on +summer evenings with some fair female friend, and he heartily wished +that his name were James or John, and that he were an ordinary farmer's +son who could earn his living without going out for it into the wide, +wide world. So may Dick Whittington have meditated as he trudged the +London road, but Amyntas had no talismanic cat and no church bells rang +him inspiring messages. Besides, Dick Whittington had in him from his +birth the makings of a Lord Mayor--he had the golden mediocrity which is +the surest harbinger of success. But to Amyntas the world seemed cold +and grey, notwithstanding the sunshine of the morning; and the bare +branches of the oak trees were gnarled and twisted like the fingers of +evil fate. At last he came to the top of a little hill whence one had +the last view of the village. He looked at the red-roofed church +nestling among the trees, and in front of the inn he could still see the +sign of the 'Turk's Head.' A sob burst from him; he felt he could not +leave it all; it would not be so bad if he could see it once more. He +might go back at night and wander through the streets; he could stand +outside his own home door and look up at his father's light, perhaps +seeing his father's shadow bent over his books. He cared nothing that +his name was Amyntas; he would go to the neighbouring farmers and offer +his services as labourer--the village barber wanted an apprentice. Ah! +he would ten times sooner be a village Hampden or a songless Milton than +any hero! He hid his face in the grass and cried as if his heart were +breaking. + +Presently he cried himself to sleep, and when he awoke the sun was high +in the heavens and he had the very healthiest of appetites. He repaired +to a neighbouring inn and ordered bread and cheese and a pot of beer. +Oh, mighty is the power of beer! Why am I not a poet, that I may stand +with my hair dishevelled, one hand in my manly bosom and the other +outstretched with splendid gesture, to proclaim the excellent beauty of +beer? Avaunt! ye sallow teetotalers, ye manufacturers of lemonade, ye +cocoa-drinkers! You only see the sodden wretch who hangs about the +public-house door in filthy slums, blinking his eyes in the glaze of +electric light, shivering in his scanty rags--and you do not know the +squalor and the terrible despair of hunger which he strives to +forget.... But above all, you do not know the glorious ale of the +country, the golden brown ale, with its scent of green hops, its broad +scents of the country; its foam is whiter than snow and lighter than the +almond blossoms; and it is cold, cold.... Amyntas drank his beer, and he +sighed with great content; the sun shone hopefully upon him now, and the +birds twittered all sorts of inspiring things; still in his mouth was +the delightful bitterness of the hops. He threw off care as a mantle, +and he stepped forward with joyful heart. Spain was a wild country, the +land of the grave hidalgo and the haughty princess. He felt in his +strong right arm the power to fight and kill and conquer. Black-bearded +villains should capture beautiful maidens on purpose for him to rescue. +Van Tiefel was but a stepping-stone; he was not made for the desk of a +counting-house. No heights dazzled him; he saw himself being made a peer +or a prince, being granted wide domains by a grateful monarch. He was +not too low to aspire to the hand of a king's fair daughter; he was a +hero, every inch a hero. Great is the power of beer. Avaunt! ye sallow +teetotalers, ye manufacturers of lemonade, ye cocoa-drinkers! + +At night he slept on a haystack, with the blue sky, star-bespangled, for +his only roof, and dreamed luxurious dreams.... The mile-stones flew +past one another as he strode along, two days, three days, four days. On +the fifth, as he reached the summit of a little hill, he saw a great +expanse of light shining in the distance, and the sea glittered before +him like the bellies of innumerable little silver fishes. He went down +the hill, up another, and thence saw Plymouth at his feet; the masts of +the ships were like a great forest of leafless trees.... He thanked his +stars, for one's imagination is all very well for a while, and the +thought of one's future prowess certainly shortens the time; but roads +are hard and hills are steep, one's legs grow tired and one's feet grow +sore; and things are not so rose-coloured at the end of a journey as at +the beginning. Amyntas could not for ever keep thinking of beautiful +princesses and feats of arms, and after the second day he had exhausted +every possible adventure; he had raised himself to the highest possible +altitudes, and his aristocratic amours had had the most successful +outcome. + +He sat down by a little stream that ran along the roadside, and bathed +his aching feet; he washed his face and hands; starting down the hill, +he made his way towards the town and entered the gate. + + +VII + + +Amyntas discovered Captain Thorman of the good ship _Calderon_ drinking +rum punch in a tavern parlour. In those days all men were heroic.... He +gave him the parson's letter. + +'Well, my boy,' said the captain, after twice reading it; 'I don't mind +taking you to Cadiz; I daresay you'll be able to make yourself useful on +board. What can you do?' + +'Please, sir,' answered Amyntas, with some pride, 'I know Latin and +Greek; I am well acquainted with Horace and Tully; I have read Homer and +Aristotle; and added to this, I can read the Bible in the original +Hebrew.' + +The captain looked at him. + +'If you talk to me like that,' he said, 'I'll shy my glass at your +head.' He shook with rage, and the redness of his nose emitted lightning +sparks of indignation; when he had recovered his speech, he asked +Amyntas why he stood there like an owl, and told him to get on board. + +Amyntas bowed himself meekly out of the room, went down to the harbour, +and bearing in mind what he had heard of the extreme wickedness of +Plymouth, held tightly on to his money; he had been especially warned +against the women who lure the unwary seaman into dark dens and rob him +of money and life. But no adventure befell him, thanks chiefly to the +swiftness of his heels, for when a young lady of prepossessing +appearance came up to him and inquired after his health, affectionately +putting her arm in his, he promptly took to his legs and fled. + +Amyntas was in luck's way, for it was not often that an English ship +carried merchandise to Spain. As a rule, the two powers were at daggers +drawn; but at this period they had just ceased cutting one another's +throats and sinking one another's ships, joining together in fraternal +alliance to cut the throats and sink the ships of a rival power, which, +till the treaty, had been a faithful and brotherly ally to His Majesty +of Great Britain, and which our gracious king had abandoned with unusual +dexterity, just as it was preparing to abandon him.... + +As Amyntas stood on the deck of the ship and saw the grey cliffs of +Albion disappear into the sea, he felt the emotions and sentiments which +inevitably come to the patriotic Englishman who leaves his native shore; +his melancholy became almost unbearable as the ship, getting out into +the open sea, began to roll, and he drank to the dregs the bitter cup of +leaving England, home, beauty--and _terra firma_. He went below, and, +climbing painfully into his hammock, gave himself over to misery and +_mal-de-mer_. + +Two days he spent of lamentation and gnashing of teeth, wishing he had +never been born, and not till the third day did he come on deck. He was +pale and weak, feeling ever so unheroic, but the sky was blue and the +ship bounded over the blue waves as if it were alive. Amyntas sniffed in +the salt air and the rushing wind, and felt alive again. The days went +by, the sun became hotter, and the sky a different, deeper blue, while +its vault spread itself over the sea in a vaster expanse. They came in +sight of land again; they coasted down a gloomy country with lofty +cliffs going sheer into the sea; they passed magnificent galleons laden +with gold from America; and one morning, when Amyntas came on deck at +break of day, he saw before him the white walls and red roofs of a +southern city. The ship slowly entered the harbour of Cadiz. + + +VIII + +At last! Amyntas went on shore immediately. His spirit was so airy +within him that he felt he could hover along in the air, like Mr Lang's +spiritualistic butlers, and it was only by a serious effort of will that +he walked soberly down the streets like normal persons. His soul shouted +with the joy of living. He took in long breaths as if to breathe in the +novelty and the strangeness. He walked along, too excited to look at +things, only conscious of a glare of light and colour, a thronging +crowd, life and joyousness on every side.... He walked through street +after street, almost sobbing with delight, through narrow alleys down +which the sun never fell, into big squares hot as ovens and dazzling, +up hill and down hill, past ragged slums, past the splendid palaces of +the rich, past shops, past taverns. Finally he came on to the shore +again and threw himself down in the shade of a little grove of orange +trees to sleep. + +When he awoke, he saw, standing motionless by his side, a Spanish lady. +He looked at her silently, noting her olive skin, her dark and lustrous +eyes, the luxuriance of her hair. If she had only possessed a tambourine +she would have been the complete realisation of his dreams. He smiled. + +'Why do you lie here alone, sweet youth?' she asked, with an answering +smile. 'And who and what are you?' + +'I lay down here to rest, lady,' he replied. 'I have this day arrived +from England, and I am going to Van Tiefel, the merchant.' + +'Ah! a young English merchant. They are all very rich. Are you?' + +'Yes, lady,' frankly answered Amyntas, pulling out his handful of gold. + +The Spaniard smiled on him, and then sighed deeply. + +'Why do you sigh?' he asked. + +'Ah! you English merchants are so fascinating.' She took his hand and +pressed it. Amyntas was not a forward youth, but he had some experience +of English maidens, and felt that there was but one appropriate +rejoinder. He kissed her. + +She sighed again as she relinquished herself to his embrace. + +'You English merchants are so fascinating--and so rich.' + +Amyntas thought the Spanish lady was sent him by the gods, for she took +him to her house and gave him melons and grapes, which, being young and +of lusty appetite, he devoured with great content. She gave him +wine--strong, red, fiery wine, that burned his throat--and she gave him +sundry other very delightful things, which it does not seem necessary to +relate. + +When Amyntas on his departure shyly offered some remuneration for his +entertainment, it was with an exquisite southern grace that she relieved +him of his ten golden guineas, and he almost felt she was doing him a +favour as she carelessly rattled the coins into a silken purse. And if +he was a little dismayed to see his treasure go so speedily, he was far +too delicate-minded to betray any emotion; but he resolved to lose no +time in finding out the offices of the wealthy Tiefel. + + +IX + + +But Van Tiefel was no longer in Cadiz! On the outbreak of the treaty, +the Spanish authorities had given the Dutch merchant four-and-twenty +hours to leave the country, and had seized his property, making him +understand that it was only by a signal mercy that his life was spared. +Amyntas rushed down to the harbour in dismay. The good ship _Calderon_ +had already sailed. Amyntas cursed his luck, he cursed himself; above +all, he cursed the lovely Spanish lady whose charms had caused him to +delay his search for Van Tiefel till the ship had gone on its eastward +journey. + +After looking long and wistfully at the sea, he turned back into the +town and rambled melancholy through the streets, wondering what would +become of him. Soon the pangs of hunger assailed him, and he knew the +discomfort of a healthy English appetite. He hadn't a single farthing, +and even Scotch poets, when they come to London to set the Thames on +fire, are wont to put a half-crown piece in their pockets. Amyntas +meditated upon the folly of extravagance, the indiscretion of youth and +the wickedness of woman.... He tightened his belt and walked on. At +last, feeling weary and faint with hunger, he lay down on the steps of a +church and there spent the night. When he awoke next morning, he soon +remembered that he had slept supperless; he was ravenous. Suddenly his +eye, looking across the square, caught sight of a book shop, and it +occurred to him that he might turn to account the books which his father +and the parson had given him. He blessed their foresight. The Bible +fetched nothing, but the Aristotle brought him enough to keep him from +starvation for a week. Having satisfied his hunger, he set about trying +to find work. He went to booksellers and told them his accomplishments, +but no one could see any use in a knowledge of Greek, Latin and the +Hebrew Bible. He applied at shops. Growing bolder with necessity, he +went into merchants' offices, and to great men's porters, but all with +great civility sent him about his business, and poor Amyntas was no more +able to get work than nowadays a professional tramp or the secretary of +a trade's union. + +Four days he went on, trying here and trying there, eating figs and +melons and bread, drinking water, sleeping beneath archways or on the +steps of churches, and he dreamed of the home of roast beef and ale +which he had left behind him. Every day he became more disheartened. But +at last he rose up against Fate; he cursed it Byronically. Every man's +hand was against him; his hand should be against every man. He would be +a brigand! He shook off his feet the dust of Cadiz, and boldly went into +the country to find a band of free companions. He stopped herdsmen and +pedlars and asked them where brigands were. They pointed to the +mountains, and to the mountains he turned his face. He would join the +band, provoke a quarrel with the chief, kill him and be made chief in +his stead. Then he would scour the country in a velvet mask and a peaked +hat with a feather in it, carrying fire and desolation everywhere. A +price would be set on his head, but he would snap his fingers in the +face of the Prime Minister. He would rule his followers with an iron +hand. But now he was in the midst of the mountains, and there were not +the smallest signs of lawless folk, not even a gibbet with a skeleton +hanging in chains to show where lawless folk had been. He sought high +and low, but he never saw a living soul besides a few shepherds clothed +in skins. It was most disheartening! Once he saw two men crouching +behind a rock, and approached them; but as soon as they saw him they ran +away, and although he followed them, shouting that they were not to be +afraid since he wanted to be a brigand too, they paid no attention, but +only ran the faster, and at last he had to give up the chase for want of +breath. One can't be a robber chief all by oneself, nor is it given to +everyone in this world to be a brigand. Amyntas found that even heroes +have their limitations. + + +X + +One day, making his way along a rocky path, he found a swineherd +guarding his flock. + +'Good-morrow!' said the man, and asked Amyntas whither he was bound. + +'God knows!' answered Amyntas. 'I am wandering at chance, and know not +where I go.' + +'Well, youth, stay the night with me, and to-morrow you can set out +again. In return for your company I will give you food and shelter.' + +Amyntas accepted gratefully, for he had been feeding on herbs for a +week, and the prospect of goat's milk, cheese and black bread was like +the feast of Trimalchion. When Amyntas had said his story, the herdsman +told him that there was a rich man in the neighbouring village who +wanted a swineherd, and in the morning showed him the way to the rich +man's house. + +'I will come a little way with you lest you take the wrong path.' ... + +They walked along the rocky track, and presently the way divided. + +'This path to the right leads to the village,' said the man. + +'And this one to the left, swineherd?' + +The swineherd crossed himself. + +'Ah! that is the path of evil fortune. It leads to the accursed cavern.' + +A cold wind blew across their faces. + +'Come away,' said the herdsman, shuddering. 'Do you not feel on your +face the cold breath of it?' + +'Tell me what it is,' said Amyntas. He stood looking at the opening +between the low trees. + +'It is a lake of death--a lake beneath the mountain--and the roof of it +is held up by marble columns, which were never wrought by the hand of +man. Come away! do you not feel on your face the cold breath of it?' + +He dragged Amyntas away along the path that led to the village, and when +the way was clear before him, turned back, returning to his swine. But +Amyntas ran after him. + +'Tell me what they say of the accursed cavern.' + +'They say many things. Some say it is a treasure-house of the Moors, +where they have left their wealth. Some say it is an entrance to the +enchanted land; some say it is an entrance to hell itself.... Venturous +men have gone in to discover the terrible secret, but none has returned +to tell it.' + +Amyntas wandered slowly towards the village. Were his dreams to end in +the herding of swine? What was this cavern of which the herdsman spoke? +He felt a strange impulse to go back and look at the dark opening +between the little trees from which blew the cold wind.... But perhaps +the rich man had a beauteous daughter; history is full of the social +successes of swine herds. Amyntas felt a strange thrill as the dark lake +came before his mind; he almost heard the lapping of the water.... +Kings' daughters had often looked upon lowly swineherds and raised them +to golden thrones. But he could not help going to look again at the dark +opening between the little trees. He walked back and again the cold +breath blew against his face; he felt in it the icy coldness of the +water. It drew him in; he separated the little trees on either side. He +walked on as if a hidden power urged him. And now the path became less +clear; trees and bushes grew in the way and hindered him, brambles and +long creeping plants twisted about his legs and pulled him back. But the +wind with its coldness of the black water drew him on.... The birds of +the air were hushed, and not one of the thousand insects of the wood +uttered a note. Great trees above him hid the light. The silence was +ghastly; he felt as if he were the only person in the world. + +Suddenly he gave a cry; he had come to the end of the forest, and before +him he saw the opening of the cavern. He looked in; he saw black, +stagnant water, motionless and heavy, and, as far as the eye could +reach, sombre pillars, covered with green, moist slime; they stood half +out of the water, supporting the roof, and from the roof oozed moisture +which fell in heavy drops, in heavy drops continually. At the entrance +was a little skiff with a paddle in it. + +Amyntas stood at the edge. Dared he venture? What could there be behind +that darkness? The darkness was blacker than the blackest night. He +stepped into the boat. Should he go? With beating heart he untied the +rope; he hardly dared to breathe. He pushed away. + + +XI + +He looked to the right and left, paddling slowly; on all sides he saw +the slimy columns stretching regularly into the darkness. The light of +the open day grew dimmer as he advanced, the air became colder. He +looked eagerly around him, paddling slowly. Already he half repented the +attempt. The boat went along easily, and the black and heavy water +hardly splashed as he drew his paddle through it. Still nothing could +be seen but the even ranks of pillars. Then, all at once, the night grew +blacker, and again the cold wind arose and blew in his face; everywhere +was the ghastly silence and the darkness. A shiver went through him; he +could not bear it; in an agony of terror he turned his paddle to go +back. Whatever might be the secret of the cavern or the reward of the +adventure, he dared go no further. He must get back quickly to the open +air and the blue sky. He drew his paddle through the water. The boat did +not turn. He gave a cry, he pulled with all his might, the boat only +lurched a little and went on its way. He set his teeth and backed; his +life depended upon it. The boat swam on. A cold sweat broke out over +him; he put all his strength in his stroke. The boat went on into the +darkness swiftly and silently. He paused a little to regain force; he +stifled a sob of horror and despair. Then he made a last effort; the +skiff whirled round into another avenue of columns, and the paddle +shivered into atoms against a pillar. The little light of the cavern +entrance was lost, and there was utter darkness. + +Amyntas cowered down in the boat. He gave up hope of life, and lay there +for long hours awaiting his end; the water carried the skiff along +swiftly, silently. The darkness was so heavy that the columns were +invisible, heavy drops fell into the water from the roof. How long would +it last? Would the boat go on till he died, and then speed on for ever? +He thought of the others who had gone into the cavern. Were there other +boats hurrying eternally along the heavy waters, bearing cold skeletons? + +He covered his face with his hands and moaned. But he started up, the +night seemed less black; he looked intently; yes, he could distinguish +the outlines of the pillars dimly, so dimly that he thought he saw them +only in imagination. And soon he could see distinctly their massive +shapes against the surrounding darkness. And as gradually the night +thinned away into dim twilight, he saw that the columns were different +from those at the entrance of the cavern; they were no longer covered +with weed and slime, the marble was polished and smooth; and the water +beneath him appeared less black. The skiff went on so swiftly that the +perpetual sequence of the pillars tired his eyes; but their grim +severity gave way to round columns less forbidding and more graceful; as +the light grew clearer, there was almost a tinge of blue in the water. +Amyntas was filled with wonder, for the columns became lighter and more +decorated, surmounted by capitals, adorned with strange sculptures. Some +were green and some were red, others were yellow or glistening white; +they mirrored themselves in the sapphire water. Gradually the roof +raised itself and the columns became more slender; from them sprang +lofty arches, gorgeously ornamented, and all was gold and silver and +rich colour. The water turned to a dazzling, translucent blue, so that +Amyntas could see hundreds of feet down to the bottom, and the bottom +was covered with golden sand. And the light grew and grew till it was +more brilliant than the clearest day; gradually the skiff slowed down +and it swam leisurely towards the light's source, threading its way +beneath the horse-shoe arches among the columns, and these gathered +themselves into two lines to form a huge avenue surmounted by a vast +span, and at the end, in a splendour of light, Amyntas saw a wondrous +palace, with steps leading down to the water. The boat glided towards +it and at the steps ceased moving. + + +XII + +At the same moment the silver doors of the palace were opened, and from +them issued black slaves, magnificently apparelled; they descended to +Amyntas and with courteous gestures assisted him out of the boat. Then +two other slaves, even more splendidly attired than their fellows, came +down and led Amyntas slowly and with great state into the court of the +palace, at the end of which was a great chamber; into this they motioned +the youth to enter. They made him the lowest possible bows and retired, +letting a curtain fall over the doorway. But immediately the curtain was +raised and other slaves came in, bearing gorgeous robes and all kinds of +necessaries for the toilet. With much ceremony they proceeded to bathe +and scent the fortunate creature; they polished and dyed his finger +nails; they pencilled his eyebrows and faintly darkened his long +eyelashes; they put precious balsam on his hair; then they clothed him +in silken robes glittering with gold and silver; they put the daintiest +red morocco shoes on his feet, a jewelled chain about his neck, rings on +his fingers, and in his turban a rich diamond. Finally they placed +before him a gigantic mirror, and left him. + +Everything had been conducted in complete silence, and Amyntas +throughout had preserved the most intense gravity. But when he was alone +he gave a little silent laugh of delight. It was obvious that at last he +was to be rewarded according to his deserts. He looked at the rings on +his fingers, resisting a desire to put one or two of them in his pocket +in case of a future rainy day. Then, catching sight of himself in the +mirror, he started. Was that really himself? How very delightful! He +made sure that no one could see, and then began to make bows to himself +in the mirror; he walked up and down the room, observing the stateliness +of his gesture; he waved his hands in a lordly and patronising fashion; +he turned himself round to look at his back; he was very annoyed that +he could not see his profile. He came to the conclusion that he looked +every inch a king's son, and his inner consciousness told him that +consequently the king's daughter could not be far off. + +But he would explore his palace! He girded his sword about him; it was a +scimitar of beautiful workmanship, and the scabbard was incrusted with +precious stones.... From the court he passed into many wonderful rooms, +one leading out of the other; there were rich carpets on the marble +floors, and fountains played softly in the centre, the walls were inlaid +with rare marbles; but he never saw a living soul. + +In the last hour Amyntas had become fully alive to his great importance, +and carried himself accordingly. He took long, dignified steps, and held +one hand on the jewelled hilt of his sword, with his elbows stuck out at +right angles to his body; his head was thrown back proudly and his +nostrils dilated with appropriate scorn. At last he came to a door +closed by a curtain; he raised it. But he started back and was so +surprised that he found no words to express his emotions. Four maidens +were sitting in the room, more beautiful than he had thought possible +in his most extravagant dreams. The gods had evidently not intended +Amyntas for single blessedness.... The young persons appeared not to +have noticed him. Two of them were seated on rugs playing a languid game +of chess, the others were lazily smoking cigarettes. + +'Mate!' murmured one of the players. + +'Oh!' sighed the other, yawning, 'another game finished! That makes five +million and twenty-three games against your five million and +seventy-nine.' + +They all yawned. + +But Amyntas felt he must give notice of his presence, and suddenly +remembering an expression he had learnt on board ship, he put on a most +ferocious look and cried out,-- + +'Shiver my timbers!' + +The maidens turned towards him with a little cry, but they quickly +recovered themselves and one of them came towards him. + +'You speak like a king's son, oh youth!' she said. + +There was a moment's hesitation, and the lady, with a smile, added, 'Oh, +ardently expected one, you are a compendium of the seven excellences!' + +Then they all began to pay him compliments, each one capping the other's +remark. + +'You have a face like the full moon, oh youth; your eyes are the eyes of +the gazelle; your walk is like the gait of the mountain partridge; your +chin is as an apple; your cheeks are pomegranates.' + +But Amyntas interrupted them. + +'For God's sake, madam,' he said, 'let us have no palavering, and if you +love me give me some victuals!...' + +Immediately female slaves came in with salvers laden with choice food, +and the four maidens plied Amyntas with delicacies. At the end of the +repast they sprinkled him with rose-water, and the eldest of them put a +crown of roses on his hair. Amyntas thought that after all life was not +an empty dream. + + +XIII + +'And now, may it please you, oh stranger, to hear our story. + +'Know then that our father was a Moor, one of the wealthiest of his +people, and he dwelt with his fellows in Spain, honoured and beloved. +Now, when Allah--whose name be exalted!--decreed that our nation should +be driven from the country, he, unwilling to leave the land of his +birth, built him, with the aid of magic arts, this palace. Here he +brought us, his four daughters and all his riches; he peopled it with +slaves and filled it with all necessary things, and here we lived in +peace and prosperity for many years; but at last a great misfortune +befell us, for our father, who was a very learned man and accustomed to +busy himself with many abstruse matters, one day got lost in a +metaphysical speculation--and has never been found again.' + +Here she stopped, and they all sighed deeply. + +'We searched high and low, but in vain, and he has not been found to +this day. So we took his will, and having broken the seal, read the +following,--"My daughters, I know by my wisdom that the time will come +when I shall be lost to you; then you will live alone enjoying the +riches and the pleasures which I have put at your disposal; but I +foresee that at the end of many years a youth will find his way to this +your palace. And though my magic arts have been able to build this +paradise for your habitation, though they have endowed you with +perpetual youth and loveliness, and, greatest deed of all, have banished +hence the dark shadow of Death, yet have they not the power to make four +maidens live in happiness and unity with but one man! Therefore, I have +given unto each of you certain gifts, and of you four the youth shall +choose one to be his love; and to him and her shall belong this palace, +and all my riches, and all my power; while the remaining three shall +leave everything here to these two, and depart hence for ever." + +'Now, gentle youth, it is with you to choose which of us four you will +have remain.' + +Amyntas looked at the four damsels standing before him, and his heart +beat violently. + +'I,' resumed the speaker--'I am the eldest of the four, and it is my +right to speak first.' + +She stepped forward and stood alone in front of Amyntas; her aspect was +most queenly, her features beautiful and clear, her eyes proud and +fiery; and masses of raven hair contrasted with the red flaming of her +garments. With an imperious gesture she flung back her hair, and spoke +thus,-- + +'Know, youth, that the gift which my father gave me was the gift of war, +and I have the power to make a great warrior of him whose love I am. I +will make you a king, youth; you shall command mighty armies, and you +shall lead them to battle on a prancing horse; your enemies shall quail +before your face, and at last you shall die no sluggard's death, but +pierced by honourable wounds, and the field of battle shall be your +deathbed; a nation shall mourn your loss, and your name shall go down +famous to after ages.' + +'You are very beautiful,' said Amyntas, 'but I am not so eager for +warlike exploits as when I wandered through the green lanes of my native +land. Let me hear the others.' + +A second stepped forward. She was clad most gorgeously of all; a crown +of diamonds was on her head, and her robes were of cloth of gold sewn +with rubies and emeralds and sapphires. + +'The gift I have to give is wealth, riches--riches innumerable, riches +greater than man can dream of. Do you want to be a king, the riches I +can give will make you one; do you want armies, riches can procure +them; do you want victory, riches can buy it--all these that my sister +offers you can I with my riches give you; and more than that, for +everything in the world can be got with riches, and you shall be +all-powerful. Take me to be your love and I will make you the Lord of +Gold.' + +Amyntas smiled. + +'You forget, lady, that I am but twenty.' + +The third stepped forward. She was beautiful and pale and thoughtful. +Her hair was yellow, like corn when the sun is shining on it; and her +dress was green, like the young grass of the spring. She spoke without +the animation of the others, mournfully rather than proudly, and she +looked at Amyntas with melancholy eyes. + +'I am the Lady of Art; all that is beautiful and good and wise is in my +province. Live with me; I will make you a poet, and you shall sing +beautiful songs. You shall be wise; and in perfect wisdom, oh youth! is +perfect happiness.' + +'The poet has said that wisdom is weariness, oh lady!' said Amyntas. 'My +father is a poet; he has written ten thousand Latin hexameters, and a +large number of Greek iambics.' ... + +Then came forward the last. As she stood before Amyntas a cry burst from +him; he had never in his life seen anyone so ravishingly beautiful. She +was looking down, and her long eyelashes prevented her eyes from being +seen, but her lips were like a perfect rose, and her skin was like a +peach; her hair fell to her waist in great masses of curls, and their +sparkling auburn, many-hued and indescribable, changed in the sunbeams +from richest brown to gold, tinged with deep red. She wore a simple +tunic of thin silk, clasped at her waist with a jewelled belt of gold. + +She stood before Amyntas, letting him gaze; then suddenly she lifted her +eyes to his. Amyntas's heart gave a mighty beat against his chest. Her +eyes, her eyes were the very lights of love, carrying passionate kisses +on their beams. A sob of ecstasy choked the youth, and he felt that he +could kneel down and worship before them. + +Slowly her lips broke into a smile, and her voice was soft and low. + +'I am the Lady of Love,' she said. 'Look!' She raised her arms, and the +thin, loose sleeves falling back displayed their roundness and +exquisite shape; she lifted her head, and Amyntas thrilled to cover her +neck with kisses. At last she loosened her girdle, and when the silken +tunic fell to her feet she stood before him in perfect loveliness. + +'I cannot give you fame, or riches, or wisdom; I can only give you Love, +Love, Love.... Oh, what an eternity of delight shall we enjoy in one +another's arms! Come, my beloved, come!' + +'Yes, I come, my darling!' Amyntas stepped forward with outstretched +arms, and took her hands in his. 'I take you for my love; I want not +wealth nor great renown, but only you. You will give me love-alluring +kisses, and we will live in never-ending bliss.' + +He drew her to him, and, with his arms around her, pressed back her head +and covered her lips with kisses. + + +XIV + + +And while Amyntas lost his soul in the eyes of his beloved, the three +sisters went sadly away. They ascended the stately barge which awaited +them, and the water bore them down the long avenue of columns into the +darkness. After a long time they reached the entrance of the cavern, and +having placed a great stone against it, that none might enter more, they +separated, wandering in different directions. + +The Lady of War passed through Spain, finding none there worthy of her. +She crossed the mountains, and presently she fell in love with a little +artillery officer, and raised him to dignity and power; and together +they ran through the lands, wasting and burning, making women widows and +children orphans, ruthless, unsparing, caring for naught but the +voluptuousness of blood. But she sickened of the man at last and left +him; then the blood he had spilt rose up against him, and he was cast +down and died an exile on a lonely isle. And now they say she dwells in +the palaces of a youth with a withered hand; together they rule a +mighty empire, and their people cry out at the oppression, but the ruler +heeds nothing but the burning kisses of his love. + +The Lady of Riches, too, passed out of Spain. But she was not content +with one love, nor with a hundred. She gave her favours to the first +comer, and everyone was welcome; she wandered carelessly through the +world, but chiefly she loved an island in the north; and in its capital +she has her palace, and the inhabitants of the isle have given +themselves over, body and soul, to her domination; they pander and lie +and cheat, and forswear themselves; to gain her smile they will shrink +from no base deed, no meanness; and she, too, makes women widows and +children orphans.... But her subjects care not; they are fat and +well-content; the goddess smiles on them, and they are the richest in +the world. + +The Lady of Art has not found an emperor nor a mighty people to be her +lovers. She wanders lonely through the world; now and then a youthful +dreamer sees her in his sleep and devotes his life to her pursuit; but +the way is hard, very hard; so he turns aside to worship at the throne +of her sister of Riches, and she repays him for the neglect he has +suffered; she showers gold upon him and makes him one of her knights. +But sometimes the youth remains faithful, and goes through his life in +the endless search; and at last, when his end has come, she comes down +to the garret in which he lies cold and dead, and stooping down, kisses +him gently--and lo! he is immortal. + +But as for Amyntas, when the sisters had retired, he again took his +bride in his arms, and covered her lips with kisses; and she, putting +her arms round his neck, said with a smile,-- + +'I have waited for you so long, my love, so long!' + +And here it is fit that we should follow the example of the three +sisters, and retire also. + +The moral of this story is, that if your godfathers and godmothers at +your baptism give you a pretty name, you will probably marry the most +beautiful woman in the world and live happily ever afterwards.... And +the platitudinous philosopher may marvel at the tremendous effects of +the most insignificant causes, for if Amyntas had been called Peter or +John, as his mother wished, William II. might be eating sauerkraut as +peacefully as his ancestors, the Lord Mayor of London might not drive +about in a gilded carriage, and possibly even--Mr Alfred Austin might +not be Poet Laureate.... + + + + +DAISY + + +I + +It was Sunday morning--a damp, warm November morning, with the sky +overhead grey and low. Miss Reed stopped a little to take breath before +climbing the hill, at the top of which, in the middle of the churchyard, +was Blackstable Church. Miss Reed panted, and the sultriness made her +loosen her jacket. She stood at the junction of the two roads which led +to the church, one from the harbour end of the town and the other from +the station. Behind her lay the houses of Blackstable, the wind-beaten +houses with slate roofs of the old fishing village and the red brick +villas of the seaside resort which Blackstable was fast becoming; in the +harbour were the masts of the ships, colliers that brought coal from the +north; and beyond, the grey sea, very motionless, mingling in the +distance with the sky.... The peal of the church bells ceased, and was +replaced by a single bell, ringing a little hurriedly, querulously, +which denoted that there were only ten minutes before the beginning of +the service. Miss Reed walked on; she looked curiously at the people who +passed her, wondering.... + +'Good-morning, Mr Golding!' she said to a fisherman who pounded by her, +ungainly in his Sunday clothes. + +'Good-morning, Miss Reed!' he replied. 'Warm this morning.' + +She wondered whether he knew anything of the subject which made her +heart beat with excitement whenever she thought of it, and for thinking +of it she hadn't slept a wink all night. + +'Have you seen Mr Griffith this morning?' she asked, watching his face. + +'No; I saw Mrs Griffith and George as I was walking up.' + +'Oh! they are coming to church, then!' Miss Reed cried with the utmost +surprise. + +Mr Golding looked at her stupidly, not understanding her agitation. But +they had reached the church. Miss Reed stopped in the porch to wipe her +boots and pass an arranging hand over her hair. Then, gathering herself +together, she walked down the aisle to her pew. + +She arranged the hassock and knelt down, clasping her hands and closing +her eyes; she said the Lord's Prayer; and being a religious woman, she +did not immediately rise, but remained a certain time in the same +position of worship to cultivate a proper frame of mind, her long, +sallow face upraised, her mouth firmly closed, and her eyelids quivering +a little from the devotional force with which she kept her eyes shut; +her thin bust, very erect, was encased in a black jacket as in a coat of +steel. But when Miss Reed considered that a due period had elapsed, she +opened her eyes, and, as she rose from her knees, bent over to a lady +sitting just in front of her. + +'Have you heard about the Griffiths, Mrs Howlett?' + +'No!... What is it?' answered Mrs Howlett, half turning round, intensely +curious. + +Miss Reed waited a moment to heighten the effect of her statement. + +'Daisy Griffith has eloped--with an officer from the depot at +Tercanbury.' + +Mrs Howlett gave a little gasp. + +'You don't say so!' + +'It's all they could expect,' whispered Miss Reed. 'They ought to have +known something was the matter when she went into Tercanbury three or +four times a week.' + +Blackstable is six miles from Tercanbury, which is a cathedral city and +has a cavalry depot. + +'I've seen her hanging about the barracks with my own eyes,' said Mrs +Howlett, 'but I never suspected anything.' + +'Shocking! isn't it?' said Miss Reed, with suppressed delight. + +'But how did you find out?' asked Mrs Howlett. + +'Ssh!' whispered Miss Reed--the widow, in her excitement, had raised her +voice a little and Miss Reed could never suffer the least irreverence in +church.... 'She never came back last night, and George Browning saw them +get into the London train at Tercanbury.' + +'Well, I never!' exclaimed Mrs Howlett. + +'D'you think the Griffiths'll have the face to come to church?' + +'I shouldn't if I was them,' said Miss Reed. + +But at that moment the vestry door was opened and the organ began to +play the hymn. + +'I'll see you afterwards,' Miss Reed whispered hurriedly; and rising +from their seats, both ladies began to sing,-- + + _O Jesu, thou art standing_ + _Outside the fast closed door,_ + _In lowly patience waiting_ + _To pass the threshold o'er;_ + _We bear the name of Christians_.... + +Miss Reed held the book rather close to her face, being shortsighted; +but, without even lifting her eyes, she had become aware of the entrance +of Mrs Griffith and George. She glanced significantly at Mrs Howlett. Mr +Griffith hadn't come, although he was churchwarden, and Mrs Howlett gave +an answering look which meant that it was then evidently quite true. But +they both gathered themselves together for the last verse, taking +breath. + + _O Jesus, thou art pleading_ + _In accents meek and low_.... + +A--A--men! The congregation fell to its knees, and the curate, rolling +his eyes to see who was in church, began gabbling the morning +prayers--'_Dearly beloved brethren._' ... + + +II + + +At the Sunday dinner, the vacant place of Daisy Griffith stared at them. +Her father sat at the head of the table, looking down at his plate, in +silence; every now and then, without raising his head, he glanced up at +the empty space, filled with a madness of grief.... He had gone into +Tercanbury in the morning, inquiring at the houses of all Daisy's +friends, imagining that she had spent the night with one of them. He +could not believe that George Browning's story was true, he could so +easily have been mistaken in the semi-darkness of the station. And even +he had gone to the barracks--his cheeks still burned with the +humiliation--asking if they knew a Daisy Griffith. + +He pushed his plate away with a groan. He wished passionately that it +were Monday, so that he could work. And the post would surely bring a +letter, explaining. + +'The vicar asked where you were,' said Mrs Griffith. + +Robert, the father, looked at her with his pained eyes, but her eyes +were hard and shining, her lips almost disappeared in the tight closing +of the mouth. She was willing to believe the worst. He looked at his +son; he was frowning; he looked as coldly angry as the mother. He, too, +was willing to believe everything, and they neither seemed very +sorry.... Perhaps they were even glad. + +'I was the only one who loved her,' he muttered to himself, and pushing +back his chair he got up and left the room. He almost tottered; he had +aged twenty years in the night. + +'Aren't you going to have any pudding?' asked his wife. + +He made no answer. + +He walked out into the courtyard quite aimlessly, but the force of habit +took him to the workshop, where, every Sunday afternoon, he was used to +going after dinner to see that everything was in order, and to-day also +he opened the window, put away a tool which the men had left about, +examined the Saturday's work.... + +Mrs Griffith and George, stiff and ill at ease in his clumsy Sunday +clothes, went on with their dinner. + +'D'you think the vicar knew?' he asked as soon as the father had closed +the door. + +'I don't think he'd have asked if he had. Mrs Gray might, but he's too +simple--unless she put him up to it.' + +'I thought I should never get round with the plate,' said George. Mr +Griffith, being a carpenter, which is respectable and well-to-do, which +is honourable, had been made churchwarden, and part of his duty was to +take round the offertory plate. This duty George performed in his +father's occasional absences, as when a coffin was very urgently +required. + +'I wasn't going to let them get anything out of me,' said Mrs Griffith, +defiantly. + +All through the service a number of eyes had been fixed on them, eager +to catch some sign of emotion, full of horrible curiosity to know what +the Griffiths felt and thought; but Mrs Griffith had been inscrutable. + + +III + +Next day the Griffiths lay in wait for the postman; George sat by the +parlour window, peeping through the muslin curtains. + +'Fanning's just coming up the street,' he said at last. Until the post +had come old Griffith could not work; in the courtyard at the back was +heard the sound of hammering. + +There was a rat-tat at the door, the sound of a letter falling on the +mat, and Fanning the postman passed on. George leaned back quickly so +that he might not see him. Mr Griffith fetched the letter, opened it +with trembling hands.... He gave a little gasp of relief. + +'She's got a situation in London.' + +'Is that all she says?' asked Mrs Griffith. 'Give me the letter,' and +she almost tore it from her husband's hand. + +She read it through and uttered a little ejaculation of contempt--almost +of triumph. 'You don't mean to say you believe that?' she cried. + +'Let's look, mother,' said George. He read the letter and he too gave a +snort of contempt. + +'She says she's got a situation,' repeated Mrs Griffith, with a sneer at +her husband, 'and we're not to be angry or anxious, and she's quite +happy--and we can write to Charing Cross Post Office. I know what sort +of a situation she's got.' + +Mr Griffith looked from his wife to his son. + +'Don't you think it's true?' he asked helplessly. At the first moment he +had put the fullest faith in Daisy's letter, he had been so anxious to +believe it; but the scorn of the others.... + +'There's Miss Reed coming down the street,' said George. 'She's looking +this way, and she's crossing over. I believe she's coming in.' + +'What does she want?' asked Mrs Griffith, angrily. + +There was another knock at the door, and through the curtains they saw +Miss Reed's eyes looking towards them, trying to pierce the muslin. Mrs +Griffith motioned the two men out of the room, and hurriedly put +antimacassars on the chairs. The knock was repeated, and Mrs Griffith, +catching hold of a duster, went to the door. + +'Oh, Miss Reed! Who'd have thought of seeing you?' she cried with +surprise. + +'I hope I'm not disturbing,' answered Miss Reed, with an acid smile. + +'Oh, dear no!' said Mrs Griffith. 'I was just doing the dusting in the +parlour. Come in, won't you? The place is all upside down, but you +won't mind that, will you?' + +Miss Reed sat on the edge of a chair. + +'I thought I'd just pop in to ask about dear Daisy. I met Fanning as I +was coming along and he told me you'd had a letter.' + +'Oh! Daisy?' Mrs Griffith had understood at once why Miss Reed came, but +she was rather at a loss for an answer.... 'Yes, we have had a letter +from her. She's up in London.' + +'Yes, I knew that,' said Miss Reed. 'George Browning saw them get into +the London train, you know.' + +Mrs Griffith saw it was no good fencing, but an idea occurred to her. + +'Yes, of course her father and I are very distressed about--her eloping +like that.' + +'I can quite understand that,' said Miss Reed. + +'But it was on account of his family. He didn't want anyone to know +about it till he was married.' + +'Oh!' said Miss Reed, raising her eyebrows very high. + +'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, 'that's what she said in her letter; they were +married on Saturday at a registry office.' + +'But, Mrs Griffith, I'm afraid she's been deceiving you. It's Captain +Hogan.... and he's a married man.' + +She could have laughed outright at the look of dismay on Mrs Griffith's +face. The blow was sudden, and notwithstanding all her power of +self-control, Mrs Griffith could not help herself. But at once she +recovered, an angry flush appeared on her cheek bones. + +'You don't mean it?' she cried. + +'I'm afraid it's quite true,' said Miss Reed, humbly. 'In fact I know it +is.' + +'Then she's a lying, deceitful hussy, and she's made a fool of all of +us. I give you my word of honour that she told us she was married; I'll +fetch you the letter.' Mrs Griffith rose from her chair, but Miss Reed +put out a hand to stop her. + +'Oh, don't trouble, Mrs Griffith; of course I believe you,' she said, +and Mrs Griffith immediately sat down again. + +But she burst into a storm of abuse of Daisy, for her deceitfulness and +wickedness. She vowed she should never forgive her. She assured Miss +Reed again and again that she had known nothing about it. Finally she +burst into a perfect torrent of tears. Miss Reed was mildly sympathetic; +but now she was anxious to get away to impart her news to the rest of +Blackstable. Mrs Griffith sobbed her visitor out of the front door, but, +when she had closed it, dried her tears. She went into the parlour and +flung open the door that led to the back room. Griffith was sitting with +his face hidden in his hands, and every now and then a sob shook his +great frame. George was very pale, biting his nails. + +'You heard what she said,' cried Mrs Griffith. 'He's married!' ... She +looked at her husband contemptuously. 'It's all very well for you to +carry on like that now. It was you who did it; it was all your fault. If +she'd been brought up as I wanted her to be, this wouldn't ever have +happened.' + +Again there was a knock, and George, going out, ushered in Mrs Gray, the +vicar's wife. She rushed in when she heard the sound of voices. + +'Oh, Mrs Griffith, it's dreadful! simply dreadful! Miss Reed has just +told me all about it. What is to be done? And what'll the dissenters +make of it? Oh, dear, it's simply dreadful!' + +'You've just come in time, Mrs Gray,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'It's +not my fault, I can tell you that. It's her father who's brought it +about. He would have her go into Tercanbury to be educated, and he would +have her take singing lessons and dancing lessons. The Church school was +good enough for George. It's been Daisy this and Daisy that all through. +Me and George have been always put by for Daisy. I didn't want her +brought up above her station, I can assure you. It's him who would have +her brought up as a lady; and see what's come of it! And he let her +spend any money she liked on her dress.... It wasn't me that let her go +into Tercanbury every day in the week if she wanted to. I knew she was +up to no good. There you see what you've brought her to; it's you who's +disgraced us all!' + +She hissed out the words with intense malignity, nearly screaming in the +bitterness she felt towards the beautiful daughter of better education +than herself, almost of different station. It was all but a triumph for +her that this had happened. It brought her daughter down; she turned the +tables, and now, from the superiority of her virtue, she looked down +upon her with utter contempt. + + +IV + + +On the following Sunday the people of Blackstable enjoyed an emotion; as +Miss Reed said,-- + +'It was worth going to church this morning, even for a dissenter.' + +The vicar was preaching, and the congregation paid a very languid +attention, but suddenly a curious little sound went through the +church--one of those scarcely perceptible noises which no comparison can +explain; it was a quick attraction of all eyes, an arousing of somnolent +intelligences, a slight, quick drawing-in of the breath. The listeners +had heeded very indifferently Mr Gray's admonitions to brotherly love +and charity as matters which did not concern them other than +abstractedly; but quite suddenly they had realised that he was bringing +his discourse round to the subject of Daisy Griffith, and they pricked +up both ears. They saw it coming directly along the highways of Vanity +and Luxuriousness; and everyone became intensely wide awake. + +'And we have in all our minds,' he said at last, 'the terrible fall +which has almost broken the hearts of sorrowing parents and brought +bitter grief--bitter grief and shame to all of us.'... + +He went on hinting at the scandal in the manner of the personal columns +in newspapers, and drawing a number of obvious morals. The Griffith +family were sitting in their pew well in view of the congregation; and +losing even the shadow of decency, the people turned round and stared at +them, ghoul-like.... Robert Griffith sat in the corner with his head +bent down, huddled up, his rough face speaking in all its lines the +terrible humiliation; his hair was all dishevelled. He was not more than +fifty, and he looked an old man. But Mrs Griffith sat next him, very +erect, not leaning against the back, with her head well up, her mouth +firmly closed, and she looked straight in front of her, her little eyes +sparkling, as if she had not an idea that a hundred people were staring +at her. In the other corner was George, very white, looking up at the +roof in simulation of indifference. Suddenly a sob came from the +Griffiths' pew, and people saw that the father had broken down; he +seemed to forget where he was, and he cried as if indeed his heart were +broken. The great tears ran down his cheeks in the sight of all--the +painful tears of men; he had not even the courage to hide his face in +his hands. Still Mrs Griffith made no motion, she never gave a sign that +she heard her husband's agony; but two little red spots appeared angrily +on her cheek bones, and perhaps she compressed her lips a little more +tightly.... + + +V + +Six months passed. One evening, when Mr Griffith was standing at the +door after work, smoking his pipe, the postman handed him a letter. He +changed colour and his hand shook when he recognised the handwriting. He +turned quickly into the house. + +'A letter from Daisy,' he said. They had not replied to her first +letter, and since then had heard nothing. + +'Give it me,' said his wife. + +He drew it quickly towards him, with an instinctive gesture of +retention. + +'It's addressed to me.' + +'Well, then, you'd better open it.' + +He looked up at his wife; he wanted to take the letter away and read it +alone, but her eyes were upon him, compelling him there and then to open +it. + +'She wants to come back,' he said in a broken voice. + +Mrs Griffith snatched the letter from him. + +'That means he's left her,' she said. + +The letter was all incoherent, nearly incomprehensible, covered with +blots, every other word scratched out. One could see that the girl was +quite distraught, and Mrs Griffith's keen eyes saw the trace of tears on +the paper.... It was a long, bitter cry of repentance. She begged them +to take her back, repeating again and again the cry of penitence, +piteously beseeching them to forgive her. + +'I'll go and write to her,' said Mr Griffith. + +'Write what?' + +'Why--that it's all right and she isn't to worry; and we want her back, +and that I'll go up and fetch her.' + +Mrs Griffith placed herself between him and the door. + +'What d'you mean?' she cried. 'She's not coming back into my house.' + +Mr Griffith started back. + +'You don't want to leave her where she is! She says she'll kill +herself.' + +'Yes, I believe that,' she replied scornfully; and then, gathering up +her anger, 'D'you mean to say you expect me to have her in the house +after what she's done? I tell you I won't. She's never coming in this +house again as long as I live; I'm an honest woman and she isn't. She's +a--' Mrs Griffith called her daughter the foulest name that can be +applied to her sex. + +Mr Griffith stood indecisively before his wife. + +'But think what a state she's in, mother. She was crying when she wrote +the letter.' + +'Let her cry; she'll have to cry a lot more before she's done. And it +serves her right; and it serves you right. She'll have to go through a +good deal more than that before God forgives her, I can tell you.' + +'Perhaps she's starving.' + +'Let her starve, for all I care. She's dead to us; I've told everyone in +Blackstable that I haven't got a daughter now, and if she came on her +bended knees before me I'd spit on her.' + +George had come in and listened to the conversation. + +'Think what people would say, father,' he said now; 'as it is, it's +jolly awkward, I can tell you. No one would speak to us if she was back +again. It's not as if people didn't know; everyone in Blackstable knows +what she's been up to.' + +'And what about George?' put in Mrs Griffith. 'D'you think the Polletts +would stand it?' George was engaged to Edith Pollett. + +'She'd be quite capable of breaking it off if Daisy came back,' said +George. 'She's said as much.' + +'Quite right too!' cried his mother. 'And I'm not going to be like Mrs +Jay with Lottie. Everyone knows about Lottie's goings-on, and you can +see how people treat them--her and her mother. When Mrs Gray passes them +in the street she always goes on the other side. No, I've always held my +head high, and I'm always going to. I've never done anything to be +ashamed of as far as I know, and I'm not going to begin now. Everyone +knows it was no fault of mine what Daisy did, and all through I've +behaved so that no one should think the worse of me.' + +Mr Griffith sank helplessly into a chair, the old habit of submission +asserted itself, and his weakness gave way as usual before his wife's +strong will. He had not the courage to oppose her. + +'What shall I answer, then?' he asked. + +'Answer? Nothing.' + +'I must write something. She'll be waiting for the letter, and waiting +and waiting.' + +'Let her wait.' + + +VI + +A few days later another letter came from Daisy, asking pitifully why +they didn't write, begging them again to forgive her and take her back. +The letter was addressed to Mr Griffith; the girl knew that it was only +from him she might expect mercy; but he was out when it arrived. Mrs +Griffith opened it, and passed it on to her son. They looked at one +another guiltily; the same thought had occurred to both, and each knew +it was in the other's mind. + +'I don't think we'd better let father see it,' Mrs Griffith said, a +little uncertainly; 'it'll do no good and it'll only distress him.' + +'And it's no good making a fuss, because we can't have her back.' + +'She'll never enter this door as long as I'm in the world.... I think +I'll lock it up.' + +'I'd burn it, if I was you, mother. It's safer.' + +Then every day Mrs Griffith made a point of going to the door herself +for the letters. Two more came from Daisy. + + _'I know it's not you; it's mother and George. They've always hated + me. Oh, don't be so cruel, father! You don't know what I've gone + through. I've cried and cried till I thought I should die. For + God's sake write to me! They might let you write just once. I'm + alone all day, day after day, and I think I shall go mad. You might + take me back; I'm sure I've suffered enough, and you wouldn't know + me now, I'm so changed. Tell mother that if she'll only forgive me + I'll be quite different. I'll do the housework and anything she + tells me. I'll be a servant to you, and you can send the girl + away. If you knew how I repent! Do forgive me and have me back. Oh, + I know that no one would speak to me; but I don't care about that, + if I can only be with you!'_ + +'She doesn't think about us,' said George--'what we should do if she was +back. No one would speak to us either.' + +But the next letter said that she couldn't bear the terrible silence; if +her father didn't write she'd come down to Blackstable. Mrs Griffith was +furious. + +'I'd shut the door in her face; I wonder how she can dare to come.' + +'It's jolly awkward,' said George. 'Supposing father found out we'd kept +back the letters?' + +'It was for his own good,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'I'm not ashamed +of what I've done, and I'll tell him so to his face if he says anything +to me.' + +'Well, it is awkward. You know what father is; if he saw her.'... + +Mrs Griffith paused a moment. + +'You must go up and see her, George!' + +'Me!' he cried in astonishment, a little in terror. + +'You must go as if you came from your father, to say we won't have +anything more to do with her and she's not to write.' + + +VII + +Next day George Griffith, on getting out of the station at Victoria, +jumped on a Fulham 'bus, taking his seat with the self-assertiveness of +the countryman who intends to show the Londoners that he's as good as +they are. He was in some trepidation and his best clothes. He didn't +know what to say to Daisy, and his hands sweated uncomfortably. When he +knocked at the door he wished she might be out--but that would only be +postponing the ordeal. + +'Does Mrs Hogan live here?' + +'Yes. Who shall I say?' + +'Say a gentleman wants to see her.' + +He followed quickly on the landlady's heels and passed through the door +the woman opened while she was giving the message. Daisy sprang to her +feet with a cry. + +'George!' + +She was very pale, her blue eyes dim and lifeless, with the lids heavy +and red; she was in a dressing gown, her beautiful hair dishevelled, +wound loosely into a knot at the back of her head. She had not half the +beauty of her old self.... George, to affirm the superiority of virtue +over vice, kept his hat on. + +She looked at him with frightened eyes, then her lips quivered, and +turning away her head she fell on a chair and burst into tears. George +looked at her sternly. His indignation was greater than ever now that he +saw her. His old jealousy made him exult at the change in her. + +'She's got nothing much to boast about now,' he said to himself, noting +how ill she looked. + +'Oh, George!'... she began, sobbing; but he interrupted her. + +'I've come from father,' he said, 'and we don't want to have anything +more to do with you, and you're not to write.' + +'Oh!' She looked at him now with her eyes suddenly quite dry. They +seemed to burn her in their sockets. 'Did he send you here to tell me +that?' + +'Yes; and you're not to come down.' + +She put her hand to her forehead, looking vacantly before her. + +'But what am I to do? I haven't got any money; I've pawned everything.' + +George looked at her silently; but he was horribly curious. + +'Why did he leave you?' he said. + +She made no answer; she looked before her as if she were going out of +her mind. + +'Has he left you any money?' asked George. + +Then she started up, her cheeks flaming red. + +'I wouldn't touch a halfpenny of his. I'd rather starve!' she screamed. + +George shrugged his shoulders. + +'Well, you understand?' he said. + +'Oh, how can you! It's all you and mother. You've always hated me. But +I'll pay you out, by God! I'll pay you out. I know what you are, all of +you--you and mother, and all the Blackstable people. You're a set of +damned hypocrites.' + +'Look here, Daisy! I'm not going to stand here and hear you talk like +that of me and mother,' he replied with dignity; 'and as for the +Blackstable people, you're not fit to--to associate with them. And I +can see where you learnt your language.' + +Daisy burst into hysterical laughter. George became more +angry--virtuously indignant. + +'Oh, you can laugh as much as you like! I know your repentance is a lot +of damned humbug. You've always been a conceited little beast. And +you've been stuck up and cocky because you thought yourself +nice-looking, and because you were educated in Tercanbury. And no one +was good enough for you in Blackstable. And I'm jolly glad that all this +has happened to you; it serves you jolly well right. And if you dare to +show yourself at Blackstable, we'll send for the police.' + +Daisy stepped up to him. + +'I'm a damned bad lot,' she said, 'but I swear I'm not half as bad as +you are.... You know what you're driving me to.' + +'You don't think I care what you do,' he answered, as he flung himself +out of the door. He slammed it behind him, and he also slammed the front +door to show that he was a man of high principles. And even George +Washington when he said, 'I cannot tell a lie; I did it with my little +hatchet,' did not feel so righteous as George Griffith at that moment. + +Daisy went to the window to see him go, and then, throwing up her arms, +she fell on her knees, weeping, weeping, and she cried,-- + +'My God, have pity on me!' + + +VIII + +'I wouldn't go through it again for a hundred pounds,' said George, when +he recounted his experience to his mother. 'And she wasn't a bit humble, +as you'd expect.' + +'Oh! that's Daisy all over. Whatever happens to her, she'll be as bold +as brass.' + +'And she didn't choose her language,' he said, with mingled grief and +horror. + + * * * * * + +They heard nothing more of Daisy for over a year, when George went up to +London for the choir treat. He did not come back till three o'clock in +the morning, but he went at once to his mother's room. + +He woke her very carefully, so as not to disturb his father. She started +up, about to speak, but he prevented her with his hand. + +'Come outside; I've got something to tell you.' + +Mrs Griffith was about to tell him rather crossly to wait till the +morrow, but he interrupted her,-- + +'I've seen Daisy.' + +She quickly got out of bed, and they went together into the parlour. + +'I couldn't keep it till the morning,' he said.... 'What d'you think +she's doing now? Well, after we came out of the Empire, I went down +Piccadilly, and--well, I saw Daisy standing there.... It did give me a +turn, I can tell you; I thought some of the chaps would see her. I +simply went cold all over. But they were on ahead and hadn't noticed +her.' + +'Thank God for that!' said Mrs Griffith, piously. + +'Well, what d'you think I did? I went straight up to her and looked her +full in the face. But d'you think she moved a muscle? She simply looked +at me as if she'd never set eyes on me before. Well, I was taken aback, +I can tell you. I thought she'd faint. Not a bit of it.' + +'No, I know Daisy,' said Mrs Griffith; 'you think she's this and that, +because she looks at you with those blue eyes of hers, as if she +couldn't say bo to a goose, but she's got the very devil inside her.... +Well, I shall tell her father that, just so as to let him see what she +has come to.'... + + * * * * * + +The existence of the Griffith household went on calmly. Husband and wife +and son led their life in the dull little fishing town, the seasons +passed insensibly into one another, one year slid gradually into the +next; and the five years that went by seemed like one long, long day. +Mrs Griffith did not alter an atom; she performed her housework, went to +church regularly, and behaved like a Christian woman in that state of +life in which a merciful Providence had been pleased to put her. George +got married, and on Sunday afternoons could be seen wheeling an infant +in a perambulator along the street. He was a good husband and an +excellent father. He never drank too much, he worked well, he was +careful of his earnings, and he also went to church regularly; his +ambition was to become churchwarden after his father. And even in Mr +Griffith there was not so very much change. He was more bowed, his hair +and beard were greyer. His face was set in an expression of passive +misery, and he was extremely silent. But as Mrs Griffith said,-- + +'Of course, he's getting old. One can't expect to remain young for +ever'--she was a woman who frequently said profound things--'and I've +known all along he wasn't the sort of man to make old bones. He's never +had the go in him that I have. Why, I'd make two of him.' + +The Griffiths were not so well-to-do as before. As Blackstable became a +more important health resort, a regular undertaker opened a shop there; +and his window, with two little model coffins and an arrangement of +black Prince of Wales's feathers surrounded by a white wreath, took the +fancy of the natives, so that Mr Griffith almost completely lost the +most remunerative part of his business. Other carpenters sprang into +existence and took away much of the trade. + +'I've no patience with him,' said Mrs Griffith, of her husband. 'He lets +these newcomers come along and just take the bread out of his hands. +Oh, if I was a man, I'd make things different, I can tell you! He +doesn't seem to care.'... + + * * * * * + +At last, one day George came to his mother in a state of tremendous +excitement. + +'I say, mother, you know the pantomime they've got at Tercanbury this +week?' + +'Yes.' + +'Well, the principal boy's Daisy.' + +Mrs Griffith sank into a chair, gasping. + +'Harry Ferne's been, and he recognised her at once. It's all over the +town.' + +Mrs Griffith, for the first time in her life, was completely at a loss +for words. + +'To-morrow's the last night,' added her son, after a little while, 'and +all the Blackstable people are going.' + +'To think that this should happen to me!' said Mrs Griffith, +distractedly. 'What have I done to deserve it? Why couldn't it happen to +Mrs Garman or Mrs Jay? If the Lord had seen fit to bring it upon +them--well, I shouldn't have wondered.' + +'Edith wants us to go,' said George--Edith was his wife. + +'You don't mean to say you're going, with all the Blackstable people +there?' + +'Well, Edith says we ought to go, just to show them we don't care.' + +'Well, I shall come too!' cried Mrs Griffith. + + +IX + +Next evening half Blackstable took the special train to Tercanbury, +which had been put on for the pantomime, and there was such a crowd at +the doors that the impresario half thought of extending his stay. The +Rev. Charles Gray and Mrs Gray were there, also James, their nephew. Mr +Gray had some scruples about going to a theatre, but his wife said a +pantomime was quite different; besides, curiosity may gently enter even +a clerical bosom. Miss Reed was there in black satin, with her friend +Mrs Howlett; Mrs Griffith sat in the middle of the stalls, flanked by +her dutiful son and her daughter-in-law; and George searched for female +beauty with his opera-glass, which is quite the proper thing to do on +such occasions.... + +The curtain went up, and the villagers of Dick Whittington's native +place sang a chorus. + +'Now she's coming,' whispered George. + +All those Blackstable hearts stood still. And Daisy, as Dick +Whittington, bounded on the stage--in flesh-coloured tights, with +particularly scanty trunks, and her bodice--rather low. The vicar's +nephew sniggered, and Mrs Gray gave him a reproachful glance; all the +other Blackstable people looked pained; Miss Reed blushed. But as Daisy +waved her hand and gave a kick, the audience broke out into prolonged +applause; Tercanbury people have no moral sense, although Tercanbury is +a cathedral city. + +Daisy began to sing,-- + + _I'm a jolly sort of boy, tol, lol,_ + _And I don't care a damn who knows it._ + _I'm fond of every joy, tol, lol,_ + _As you may very well suppose it._ + _Tol, lol, lol,_ + _Tol, lol, lol._ + +Then the audience, the audience of a cathedral city, as Mr Gray said, +took up the refrain,-- + + _Tol, lol, lol,_ + _Tol, lol, lol._ + +However, the piece went on to the bitter end, and Dick Whittington +appeared in many different costumes and sang many songs, and kicked many +kicks, till he was finally made Lord Mayor--in tights. + +Ah, it was an evening of bitter humiliation for Blackstable people. Some +of them, as Miss Reed said, behaved scandalously; they really appeared +to enjoy it. And even George laughed at some of the jokes the cat made, +though his wife and his mother sternly reproved him. + +'I'm ashamed of you, George, laughing at such a time!' they said. + +Afterwards the Grays and Miss Reed got into the same railway carriage +with the Griffiths. + +'Well, Mrs Griffith,' said the vicar's wife, 'what do you think of your +daughter now?' + +'Mrs Gray,' replied Mrs Griffith, solemnly, 'I haven't got a daughter.' + +'That's a very proper spirit in which to look at it,' answered the +lady.... 'She was simply covered with diamonds.' + +'They must be worth a fortune,' said Miss Reed. + +'Oh, I daresay they're not real,' said Mrs Gray; 'at that distance and +with the lime-light, you know, it's very difficult to tell.' + +'I'm sorry to say,' said Mrs Griffith, with some asperity, feeling the +doubt almost an affront to her--'I'm sorry to say that I _know_ they're +real.' + +The ladies coughed discreetly, scenting a little scandalous mystery +which they must get out of Mrs Griffith at another opportunity. + +'My nephew James says she earns at least thirty or forty pounds a week.' + +Miss Reed sighed at the thought of such depravity. + +'It's very sad,' she remarked, 'to think of such things happening to a +fellow-creature.'... + + * * * * * + +'But what I can't understand,' said Mrs Gray, next morning, at the +breakfast-table, 'is how she got into such a position. We all know that +at one time she was to be seen in--well, in a very questionable place, +at an hour which left no doubt about her--her means of livelihood. I +must say I thought she was quite lost.'... + +'Oh, well, I can tell you that easily enough,' replied her nephew. +'She's being kept by Sir Somebody Something, and he's running the show +for her.' + +'James, I wish you would be more careful about your language. It's not +necessary to call a spade a spade, and you can surely find a less +objectionable expression to explain the relationship between the +persons.... Don't you remember his name?' + +'No; I heard it, but I've really forgotten.' + +'I see in this week's _Tercanbury Times_ that there's a Sir Herbert +Ously-Farrowham staying at the "George" just now.' + +'That's it. Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham.' + +'How sad! I'll look him out in Burke.' + +She took down the reference book, which was kept beside the clergy list. + +'Dear me, he's only twenty-nine.... And he's got a house in Cavendish +Square and a house in the country. He must be very well-to-do; and he +belongs to the Junior Carlton and two other clubs.... And he's got a +sister who's married to Lord Edward Lake.' Mrs Gray closed the book and +held it with a finger to mark the place, like a Bible. 'It's very sad to +think of the dissipation of so many members of the aristocracy. It sets +such a bad example to the lower classes.' + + +X + + +They showed old Griffith a portrait of Daisy in her theatrical costume. + +'Has she come to that?' he said. + +He looked at it a moment, then savagely tore it in pieces and flung it +in the fire. + +'Oh, my God!' he groaned; he could not get out of his head the picture, +the shamelessness of the costume, the smile, the evident prosperity and +content. He felt now that he had lost his daughter indeed. All these +years he had kept his heart open to her, and his heart had bled when he +thought of her starving, ragged, perhaps dead. He had thought of her +begging her bread and working her beautiful hands to the bone in some +factory. He had always hoped that some day she could return to him, +purified by the fire of suffering.... But she was prosperous and happy +and rich. She was applauded, worshipped; the papers were full of her +praise. Old Griffith was filled with a feeling of horror, of immense +repulsion. She was flourishing in her sin, and he loathed her. He had +been so ready to forgive her when he thought her despairing and +unhappy; but now he was implacable. + + * * * * * + +Three months later Mrs Griffith came to her husband, trembling with +excitement, and handed him a cutting from a paper,-- + + '_We hear that Miss Daisy Griffith, who earned golden opinions in + the provinces last winter with her Dick Whittington, is about to be + married to Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham. Her friends, and their name + is legion, will join with us in the heartiest congratulations._' + +He returned the paper without answering. + +'Well?' asked his wife. + +'It is nothing to me. I don't know either of the parties mentioned.' + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Mrs Gray and Miss Reed +entered, having met on the doorstep. Mrs Griffith at once regained her +self-possession. + +'Have you heard the news, Mrs Griffith?' said Miss Reed. + +'D'you mean about the marriage of Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham?' She +mouthed the long name. + +'Yes,' replied the two ladies together. + +'It is nothing to me.... I have no daughter, Mrs Gray.' + +'I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mrs Griffith,' said Mrs Gray very +stiffly. 'I think you show a most unforgiving spirit.' + +'Yes,' said Miss Reed; 'I can't help thinking that if you'd treated poor +Daisy in a--well, in a more _Christian_ way, you might have saved her +from a great deal.' + +'Yes,' added Mrs Gray. 'I must say that all through I don't think you've +shown a nice spirit at all. I remember poor, dear Daisy quite well, and +she had a very sweet character. And I'm sure that if she'd been treated +a little more gently, nothing of all this would have happened.' + +Mrs Gray and Miss Reed looked at Mrs Griffith sternly and reproachfully; +they felt themselves like God Almighty judging a miserable sinner. Mrs +Griffith was extremely angry; she felt that she was being blamed most +unjustly, and, moreover, she was not used to being blamed. + +'I'm sure you're very kind, Mrs Gray and Miss Reed, but I must take the +liberty of saying that I know best what my daughter was.' + +'Mrs Griffith, all I say is this--you are not a good mother.' + +'Excuse me, madam.'... said Mrs Griffith, having grown red with anger; +but Mrs Gray interrupted. + +'I am truly sorry to have to say it to one of my parishioners, but you +are not a good Christian. And we all know that your husband's business +isn't going at all well, and I think it's a judgment of Providence.' + +'Very well, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffith, getting up. 'You're at liberty to +think what you please, but I shall not come to church again. Mr Friend, +the Baptist minister, has asked me to go to his chapel, and I'm sure he +won't treat me like that.' + +'I'm sure we don't want you to come to church in that spirit, Mrs +Griffith. That's not the spirit with which you can please God, Mrs +Griffith. I can quite imagine now why dear Daisy ran away. You're no +Christian.' + +'I'm sure I don't care what you think, Mrs Gray, but I'm as good as you +are.' + +'Will you open the door for me, Mrs Griffith?' said Mrs Gray, with +outraged dignity. + +'Oh, you can open it yourself, Mrs Gray!' replied Mrs Griffith. + + +XI + +Mrs Griffith went to see her daughter-in-law. + +'I've never been spoken to in that way before,' she said. 'Fancy me not +being a Christian! I'm a better Christian than Mrs Gray, any day. I like +Mrs Gray, with the airs she gives herself--as if she'd got anything to +boast about!... No, Edith, I've said it, and I'm not the woman to go +back on what I've said--I'll not go to church again. From this day I go +to chapel.' + + * * * * * + +But George came to see his mother a few days later. + +'Look here, mother, Edith says you'd better forgive Daisy now.' + +'George,' cried his mother, 'I've only done my duty all through, and if +you think it's my duty to forgive my daughter now she's going to enter +the bonds of holy matrimony, I will do so. No one can say that I'm not a +Christian, and I haven't said the Lord's Prayer night and morning ever +since I remember for nothing.' + +Mrs Griffith sat down to write, looking up to her son for inspiration. + +'Dearest Daisy!' he said. + +'No, George,' she replied, 'I'm not going to cringe to my daughter, +although she is going to be a lady; I shall simply say, "Daisy."' + +The letter was very dignified, gently reproachful, for Daisy had +undoubtedly committed certain peccadilloes, although she was going to be +a baronet's wife; but still it was completely forgiving, and Mrs +Griffith signed herself, '_Your loving and forgiving mother, whose heart +you nearly broke._' + +But the letter was not answered, and a couple of weeks later the same +Sunday paper contained an announcement of the date of the marriage and +the name of the church. Mrs Griffith wrote a second time. + + '_MY DARLING DAUGHTER,--I am much surprised at receiving no answer + to my long letter. All is forgiven. I should so much like to see + you again before I die, and to have you married from your father's + house. All is forgiven.--Your loving mother,_ + +'_MARY ANN GRIFFITH._' + +This time the letter was returned unopened. + +'George,' cried Mrs Griffith, 'she's got her back up.' + +'And the wedding's to-morrow,' he replied. + +'It's most awkward, George. I've told all the Blackstable people that +I've forgiven her and that Sir Herbert has written to say he wants to +make my acquaintance. And I've got a new dress on purpose to go to the +wedding. Oh! she's a cruel and exasperating thing, George; I never liked +her. You were always my favourite.' + +'Well, I do think she's not acting as she should,' replied George. 'And +I'm sure I don't know what's to be done.' + +But Mrs Griffith was a woman who made up her mind quickly. + +'I shall go up to town and see her myself, George; and you must come +too.' + +'I'll come up with you, mother, but you'd better go to her alone, +because I expect she's not forgotten the last time I saw her.' + +They caught a train immediately, and having arrived at Daisy's house, +Mrs Griffith went up the steps while George waited in a neighbouring +public-house. The door was opened by a smart maid--much smarter than +the Vicarage maid at Blackstable, as Mrs Griffith remarked with +satisfaction. On finding that Daisy was at home, she sent up a message +to ask if a lady could see her. + +The maid returned. + +'Would you give your name, madam? Miss Griffith cannot see you without.' + +Mrs Griffith had foreseen the eventuality, and, unwilling to give her +card, had written another little letter, using Edith as amanuensis, so +that Daisy should at least open it. She sent it up. In a few minutes the +maid came down again. + +'There's no answer,' and she opened the door for Mrs Griffith to go out. + +That lady turned very red. Her first impulse was to make a scene and +call the housemaid to witness how Daisy treated her own mother; but +immediately she thought how undignified she would appear in the maid's +eyes. So she went out like a lamb.... + +She told George all about it as they sat in the private bar of the +public-house, drinking a little Scotch whisky. + +'All I can say,' she remarked, 'is that I hope she'll never live to +repent it. Fancy treating her own mother like that! + +'But I shall go to the wedding; I don't care. I will see my own daughter +married.' + +That had been her great ambition, and she would have crawled before +Daisy to be asked to the ceremony.... But George dissuaded her from +going uninvited. There were sure to be one or two Blackstable people +present, and they would see that she was there as a stranger; the +humiliation would be too great. + +'I think she's an ungrateful girl,' said Mrs Griffith, as she gave way +and allowed George to take her back to Blackstable. + + +XII + +But the prestige of the Griffiths diminished. Everyone in Blackstable +came to the conclusion that the new Lady Ously-Farrowham had been very +badly treated by her relatives, and many young ladies said they would +have done just the same in her place. Also Mrs Gray induced her husband +to ask Griffith to resign his churchwardenship. + +'You know, Mr Griffith,' said the vicar, deprecatingly, 'now that your +wife goes to chapel I don't think we can have you as churchwarden any +longer; and besides, I don't think you've behaved to your daughter in a +Christian way.' + +It was in the carpenter's shop; the business had dwindled till Griffith +only kept one man and a boy; he put aside the saw he was using. + +'What I've done to my daughter, I'm willing to take the responsibility +for; I ask no one's advice and I want no one's opinion; and if you think +I'm not fit to be churchwarden you can find someone else better.' + +'Why don't you make it up with your daughter, Griffith?' + +'Mind your own business!' + +The carpenter had brooded and brooded over his sorrow till now his +daughter's name roused him to fury. He had even asserted a little +authority over his wife, and she dared not mention her daughter before +him. Daisy's marriage had seemed like the consummation of her shame; it +was vice riding triumphant in a golden chariot.... + +But the name of Lady Ously-Farrowham was hardly ever out of her mother's +lips; and she spent a good deal more money in her dress to keep up her +dignity. + +'Why, that's another new dress you've got on!' said a neighbour. + +'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, complacently, 'you see we're in quite a +different position now. I have to think of my daughter, Lady +Ously-Farrowham. I don't want her to be ashamed of her mother. I had +such a nice long letter from her the other day. She's so happy with Sir +Herbert. And Sir Herbert's so good to her.' ... + +'Oh, I didn't know you were.' ... + +'Oh, yes! Of course she was a little--well, a little wild when she was a +girl, but _I've_ forgiven that. It's her father won't forgive her. He +always was a hard man, and he never loved her as I did. She wants to +come and stay with me, but he won't let her. Isn't it cruel of him? I +should so like to have Lady Ously-Farrowham down here.' ... + + +XIII + +But at last the crash came. To pay for the new things which Mrs Griffith +felt needful to preserve her dignity, she had drawn on her husband's +savings in the bank; and he had been drawing on them himself for the +last four years without his wife's knowledge. For, as his business +declined, he had been afraid to give her less money than usual, and +every week had made up the sum by taking something out of the bank. +George only earned a pound a week--he had been made clerk to a coal +merchant by his mother, who thought that more genteel than +carpentering--and after his marriage he had constantly borrowed from his +parents. At last Mrs Griffith learnt to her dismay that their savings +had come to an end completely. She had a talk with her husband, and +found out that he was earning almost nothing. He talked of sending his +only remaining workman away and moving into a smaller place. If he kept +his one or two old customers, they might just manage to make both ends +meet. + +Mrs Griffith was burning with anger. She looked at her husband, sitting +in front of her with his helpless look. + +'You fool!' she said. + +She thought of herself coming down in the world, living in a pokey +little house away from the High Street, unable to buy new dresses, +unnoticed by the chief people of Blackstable--she who had always held up +her head with the best of them! + +George and Edith came in, and she told them, hurling contemptuous +sarcasms at her husband. He sat looking at them with his pained, unhappy +eyes, while they stared back at him as if he were some despicable, +noxious beast. + +'But why didn't you say how things were going before, father?' George +asked him. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +'I didn't like to,' he said hoarsely; those cold, angry eyes crushed +him; he felt the stupid, useless fool he saw they thought him. + +'I don't know what's to be done,' said George. + +His wife looked at old Griffith with her hard, grey eyes; the sharpness +of her features, the firm, clear complexion, with all softness blown out +of it by the east winds, expressed the coldest resolution. + +'Father must get Daisy to help; she's got lots of money. She may do it +for him.' + +Old Griffith broke suddenly out of his apathy. + +'I'd sooner go to the workhouse; I'll never touch a penny of hers!' + +'Now then, father,' said Mrs Griffith, quickly understanding, 'you drop +that, you'll have to.' + +George at the same time got pen and paper and put them before the old +man. They stood round him angrily. He stared at the paper; a look of +horror came over his face. + +'Go on! don't be a fool!' said his wife. She dipped the pen in the ink +and handed it to him. + +Edith's steel-grey eyes were fixed on him, coldly compelling. + +'Dear Daisy,' she began. + +'Father always used to call her Daisy darling,' said George; 'he'd +better put that so as to bring back old times.' + +They talked of him strangely, as if he were absent or had not ears to +hear. + +'Very well,' replied Edith, and she began again; the old man wrote +bewilderedly, as if he were asleep. 'DAISY DARLING,-- ... Forgive me!... +I have been hard and cruel towards you.... On my knees I beg your +forgiveness.... The business has gone wrong ... and I am ruined.... If +you don't help me ... we shall have the brokers in ... and have to go +to the workhouse.... For God's sake ... have mercy on me! You can't let +me starve.... I know I have sinned towards you.--Your broken-hearted ... +FATHER.' + +She read through the letter. 'I think that'll do; now the envelope,' and +she dictated the address. + +When it was finished, Griffith looked at them with loathing, absolute +loathing--but they paid no more attention to him. They arranged to send +a telegram first, in case she should not open the letter,-- + + '_Letter coming; for God's sake open! In great distress._--FATHER.' + +George went out immediately to send the wire and post the letter. + + +XIV + +The letter was sent on a Tuesday, and on Thursday morning a telegram +came from Daisy to say she was coming down. Mrs Griffith was highly +agitated. + +'I'll go and put on my silk dress,' she said. + +'No, mother, that is a silly thing; be as shabby as you can.' + +'How'll father be?' asked George. 'You'd better speak to him, Edith.' + +He was called, the stranger in his own house. + +'Look here, father, Daisy's coming this morning. Now, you'll be civil, +won't you?' + +'I'm afraid he'll go and spoil everything,' said Mrs Griffith, +anxiously. + +At that moment there was a knock at the door. 'It's her!' + +Griffith was pushed into the back room; Mrs Griffith hurriedly put on a +ragged apron and went to the door. + +'Daisy!' she cried, opening her arms. She embraced her daughter and +pressed her to her voluminous bosom. 'Oh, Daisy!' + +Daisy accepted passively the tokens of affection, with a little sad +smile. She tried not to be unsympathetic. Mrs Griffith led her daughter +into the sitting-room where George and Edith were sitting. George was +very white. + +'You don't mean to say you walked here!' said Mrs Griffith, as she shut +the front door. 'Fancy that, when you could have all the carriages in +Blackstable to drive you about!' + +'Welcome to your home again,' said George, with somewhat the air of a +dissenting minister. + +'Oh, George!' she said, with the same sad, half-ironical smile, allowing +herself to be kissed. + +'Don't you remember me?' said Edith, coming forward. 'I'm George's wife; +I used to be Edith Pollett.' + +'Oh, yes!' Daisy put out her hand. + +They all three looked at her, and the women noticed the elegance of her +simple dress. She was no longer the merry girl they had known, but a +tall, dignified woman, and her great blue eyes were very grave. They +were rather afraid of her; but Mrs Griffith made an effort to be cordial +and at the same time familiar. + +'Fancy you being a real lady!' she said. + +Daisy smiled again. + +'Where's father?' she asked. + +'In the next room.' They moved towards the door and entered. Old +Griffith rose as he saw his daughter, but he did not come towards her. +She looked at him a moment, then turned to the others. + +'Please leave me alone with father for a few minutes.' + +They did not want to, knowing that their presence would restrain him; +but Daisy looked at them so firmly that they were obliged to obey. She +closed the door behind them. + +'Father!' she said, turning towards him. + +'They made me write the letter,' he said hoarsely. + +'I thought so,' she said. 'Won't you kiss me?' + +He stepped back as if in replusion. She looked at him with her beautiful +eyes full of tears. + +'I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy. But I've been unhappy too--oh, you +don't know what I've gone through!... Won't you forgive me?' + +'I didn't write the letter,' he repeated hoarsely; 'they stood over me +and made me.' + +Her lips trembled, but with an effort she commanded herself. They looked +at one another steadily, it seemed for a very long time; in his eyes +was the look of a hunted beast.... At last she turned away without +saying anything more, and left him. + +In the next room the three were anxiously waiting. She contemplated them +a moment, and then, sitting down, asked about the affairs. They +explained how things were. + +'I talked to my husband about it,' she said; 'he's proposed to make you +an allowance so that you can retire from business.' + +'Oh, that's Sir Herbert all over,' said Mrs Griffith, greasily--she knew +nothing about him but his name! + +'How much do you think you could live on?' asked Daisy. + +Mrs Griffith looked at George and then at Edith. What should they ask? +Edith and George exchanged a glance; they were in agonies lest Mrs +Griffith should demand too little. + +'Well,' said that lady, at last, with a little cough of uncertainty, 'in +our best years we used to make four pounds a week out of the +business--didn't we, George?' + +'Quite that!' answered he and his wife, in a breath. + +'Then, shall I tell my husband that if he allows you five pounds a week +you will be able to live comfortably?' + +'Oh, that's very handsome!' said Mrs Griffith. + +'Very well,' said Daisy, getting up. + +'You're not going?' cried her mother. + +'Yes.' + +'Well, that is hard. After not seeing you all these years. But you know +best, of course!' + +'There's no train up to London for two hours yet,' said George. + +'No; I want to take a walk through Blackstable.' + +'Oh, you'd better drive, in your position.' + +'I prefer to walk.' + +'Shall George come with you?' + +'I prefer to walk alone.' + +Then Mrs Griffith again enveloped her daughter in her arms, and told her +she had always loved her and that she was her only daughter; after +which, Daisy allowed herself to be embraced by her brother and his wife. +Finally they shut the door on her and watched her from the window walk +slowly down the High Street. + +'If you'd asked it, I believe she'd have gone up to six quid a week,' +said George. + + +XV + +Daisy walked down the High Street slowly, looking at the houses she +remembered, and her lips quivered a little; at every step smells blew +across to her full of memories--the smell of a tannery, the blood smell +of a butcher's shop, the sea-odour from a shop of fishermen's +clothes.... At last she came on to the beach, and in the darkening +November day she looked at the booths she knew so well, the boats drawn +up for the winter, whose names she knew, whose owners she had known from +her childhood; she noticed the new villas built in her absence. And she +looked at the grey sea; a sob burst from her; but she was very strong, +and at once she recovered herself. She turned back and slowly walked up +the High Street again to the station. The lamps were lighted now, and +the street looked as it had looked in her memory through the years; +between the 'Green Dragon' and the 'Duke of Kent' were the same groups +of men--farmers, townsfolk, fishermen--talking in the glare of the rival +inns, and they stared at her curiously as she passed, a tall figure, +closely veiled. She looked at the well-remembered shops, the stationery +shop with its old-fashioned, fly-blown knick-knacks, the milliner's with +cheap, gaudy hats, the little tailor's with his antiquated fashion +plates. At last she came to the station, and sat in the waiting-room, +her heart full of infinite sadness--the terrible sadness of the past.... + +And she could not shake it off in the train; she could only just keep +back the tears. + +At Victoria she took a cab and finally reached home. The servants said +her husband was in his study. + +'Hulloa!' he said. 'I didn't expect you to-night.' + +'I couldn't stay; it was awful.' Then she went up to him and looked into +his eyes. 'You do love me, Herbert, don't you?' she said, her voice +suddenly breaking. 'I want your love so badly.' + +'I love you with all my heart!' he said, putting his arms round her. + +But she could restrain herself no longer; the strong arms seemed to +take away the rest of her strength, and she burst into tears. + +'I will try and be a good wife to you, Herbert,' she said, as he kissed +them away. + +THE END + +_Colston & Coy, Limited, Printers, Edinburgh_ + +******************************************* + +NOTES FOR TRANSCRIBER IN PROGRESS + +spendour splendour +apparently be changed to apparently been +the the third changed to the third +make both end meet changed to make both ends meet +that to than +ratings to rantings + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Orientations, by William Somerset Maugham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORIENTATIONS *** + +***** This file should be named 31308.txt or 31308.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/0/31308/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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