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diff --git a/old/5265-h.htm.2021-01-27 b/old/5265-h.htm.2021-01-27 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..691fac7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/5265-h.htm.2021-01-27 @@ -0,0 +1,10522 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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"> + <head> + <title> + The Ball and the Cross, By G.K. Chesterton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ball and The Cross, by G.K. Chesterton + +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: The Ball and The Cross + +Author: G.K. Chesterton + +Release Date: March 24, 2009 [EBook #5265] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BALL AND THE CROSS *** + + + + +Produced by Ben Crowder, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE BALL AND THE CROSS + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By G.K. Chesterton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a> A DISCUSSION SOMEWHAT + IN THE AIR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a> THE + RELIGION OF THE STIPENDIARY MAGISTRATE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a> SOME OLD CURIOSITIES <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. </a> A DISCUSSION AT DAWN <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. </a> THE PEACEMAKER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. </a> THE OTHER PHILOSOPHER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a> THE VILLAGE OF + GRASSLEY-IN-THE-HOLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a> AN + INTERLUDE OF ARGUMENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. </a> THE + STRANGE LADY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. </a> THE + SWORDS REJOINED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. </a> A + SCANDAL IN THE VILLAGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. </a> THE + DESERT ISLAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. </a> THE + GARDEN OF PEACE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. </a> A + MUSEUM OF SOULS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. </a> THE + DREAM OF MACIAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. </a> THE + DREAM OF TURNBULL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. </a> THE + IDIOT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII. </a> A + RIDDLE OF FACES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX. </a> THE + LAST PARLEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX. </a> DIES + IRAE <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. A DISCUSSION SOMEWHAT IN THE AIR + </h2> + <p> + The flying ship of Professor Lucifer sang through the skies like a silver + arrow; the bleak white steel of it, gleaming in the bleak blue emptiness + of the evening. That it was far above the earth was no expression for it; + to the two men in it, it seemed to be far above the stars. The professor + had himself invented the flying machine, and had also invented nearly + everything in it. Every sort of tool or apparatus had, in consequence, to + the full, that fantastic and distorted look which belongs to the miracles + of science. For the world of science and evolution is far more nameless + and elusive and like a dream than the world of poetry and religion; since + in the latter images and ideas remain themselves eternally, while it is + the whole idea of evolution that identities melt into each other as they + do in a nightmare. + </p> + <p> + All the tools of Professor Lucifer were the ancient human tools gone mad, + grown into unrecognizable shapes, forgetful of their origin, forgetful of + their names. That thing which looked like an enormous key with three + wheels was really a patent and very deadly revolver. That object which + seemed to be created by the entanglement of two corkscrews was really the + key. The thing which might have been mistaken for a tricycle turned + upside-down was the inexpressibly important instrument to which the + corkscrew was the key. All these things, as I say, the professor had + invented; he had invented everything in the flying ship, with the + exception, perhaps, of himself. This he had been born too late actually to + inaugurate, but he believed at least, that he had considerably improved + it. + </p> + <p> + There was, however, another man on board, so to speak, at the time. Him, + also, by a curious coincidence, the professor had not invented, and him he + had not even very greatly improved, though he had fished him up with a + lasso out of his own back garden, in Western Bulgaria, with the pure + object of improving him. He was an exceedingly holy man, almost entirely + covered with white hair. You could see nothing but his eyes, and he seemed + to talk with them. A monk of immense learning and acute intellect he had + made himself happy in a little stone hut and a little stony garden in the + Balkans, chiefly by writing the most crushing refutations of exposures of + certain heresies, the last professors of which had been burnt (generally + by each other) precisely 1,119 years previously. They were really very + plausible and thoughtful heresies, and it was really a creditable or even + glorious circumstance, that the old monk had been intellectual enough to + detect their fallacy; the only misfortune was that nobody in the modern + world was intellectual enough even to understand their argument. The old + monk, one of whose names was Michael, and the other a name quite + impossible to remember or repeat in our Western civilization, had, + however, as I have said, made himself quite happy while he was in a + mountain hermitage in the society of wild animals. And now that his luck + had lifted him above all the mountains in the society of a wild physicist, + he made himself happy still. + </p> + <p> + “I have no intention, my good Michael,” said Professor Lucifer, “of + endeavouring to convert you by argument. The imbecility of your traditions + can be quite finally exhibited to anybody with mere ordinary knowledge of + the world, the same kind of knowledge which teaches us not to sit in + draughts or not to encourage friendliness in impecunious people. It is + folly to talk of this or that demonstrating the rationalist philosophy. + Everything demonstrates it. Rubbing shoulders with men of all kinds——” + </p> + <p> + “You will forgive me,” said the monk, meekly from under loads of white + beard, “but I fear I do not understand; was it in order that I might rub + my shoulder against men of all kinds that you put me inside this thing?” + </p> + <p> + “An entertaining retort, in the narrow and deductive manner of the Middle + Ages,” replied the Professor, calmly, “but even upon your own basis I will + illustrate my point. We are up in the sky. In your religion and all the + religions, as far as I know (and I know everything), the sky is made the + symbol of everything that is sacred and merciful. Well, now you are in the + sky, you know better. Phrase it how you like, twist it how you like, you + know that you know better. You know what are a man's real feelings about + the heavens, when he finds himself alone in the heavens, surrounded by the + heavens. You know the truth, and the truth is this. The heavens are evil, + the sky is evil, the stars are evil. This mere space, this mere quantity, + terrifies a man more than tigers or the terrible plague. You know that + since our science has spoken, the bottom has fallen out of the Universe. + Now, heaven is the hopeless thing, more hopeless than any hell. Now, if + there be any comfort for all your miserable progeny of morbid apes, it + must be in the earth, underneath you, under the roots of the grass, in the + place where hell was of old. The fiery crypts, the lurid cellars of the + underworld, to which you once condemned the wicked, are hideous enough, + but at least they are more homely than the heaven in which we ride. And + the time will come when you will all hide in them, to escape the horror of + the stars.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will excuse my interrupting you,” said Michael, with a slight + cough, “but I have always noticed——” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, pray go on,” said Professor Lucifer, radiantly, “I really like to + draw out your simple ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the fact is,” said the other, “that much as I admire your rhetoric + and the rhetoric of your school, from a purely verbal point of view, such + little study of you and your school in human history as I have been + enabled to make has led me to—er—rather singular conclusion, + which I find great difficulty in expressing, especially in a foreign + language.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” said the Professor, encouragingly, “I'll help you out. How + did my view strike you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the truth is, I know I don't express it properly, but somehow it + seemed to me that you always convey ideas of that kind with most + eloquence, when—er—when——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! get on,” cried Lucifer, boisterously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in point of fact when your flying ship is just going to run into + something. I thought you wouldn't mind my mentioning it, but it's running + into something now.” + </p> + <p> + Lucifer exploded with an oath and leapt erect, leaning hard upon the + handle that acted as a helm to the vessel. For the last ten minutes they + had been shooting downwards into great cracks and caverns of cloud. Now, + through a sort of purple haze, could be seen comparatively near to them + what seemed to be the upper part of a huge, dark orb or sphere, islanded + in a sea of cloud. The Professor's eyes were blazing like a maniac's. + </p> + <p> + “It is a new world,” he cried, with a dreadful mirth. “It is a new planet + and it shall bear my name. This star and not that other vulgar one shall + be 'Lucifer, sun of the morning.' Here we will have no chartered lunacies, + here we will have no gods. Here man shall be as innocent as the daisies, + as innocent and as cruel—here the intellect——” + </p> + <p> + “There seems,” said Michael, timidly, “to be something sticking up in the + middle of it.” + </p> + <p> + “So there is,” said the Professor, leaning over the side of the ship, his + spectacles shining with intellectual excitement. “What can it be? It might + of course be merely a——” + </p> + <p> + Then a shriek indescribable broke out of him of a sudden, and he flung up + his arms like a lost spirit. The monk took the helm in a tired way; he did + not seem much astonished for he came from an ignorant part of the world in + which it is not uncommon for lost spirits to shriek when they see the + curious shape which the Professor had just seen on the top of the + mysterious ball, but he took the helm only just in time, and by driving it + hard to the left he prevented the flying ship from smashing into St. + Paul's Cathedral. + </p> + <p> + A plain of sad-coloured cloud lay along the level of the top of the + Cathedral dome, so that the ball and the cross looked like a buoy riding + on a leaden sea. As the flying ship swept towards it, this plain of cloud + looked as dry and definite and rocky as any grey desert. Hence it gave to + the mind and body a sharp and unearthly sensation when the ship cut and + sank into the cloud as into any common mist, a thing without resistance. + There was, as it were, a deadly shock in the fact that there was no shock. + It was as if they had cloven into ancient cliffs like so much butter. But + sensations awaited them which were much stranger than those of sinking + through the solid earth. For a moment their eyes and nostrils were stopped + with darkness and opaque cloud; then the darkness warmed into a kind of + brown fog. And far, far below them the brown fog fell until it warmed into + fire. Through the dense London atmosphere they could see below them the + flaming London lights; lights which lay beneath them in squares and + oblongs of fire. The fog and fire were mixed in a passionate vapour; you + might say that the fog was drowning the flames; or you might say that the + flames had set the fog on fire. Beside the ship and beneath it (for it + swung just under the ball), the immeasurable dome itself shot out and down + into the dark like a combination of voiceless cataracts. Or it was like + some cyclopean sea-beast sitting above London and letting down its + tentacles bewilderingly on every side, a monstrosity in that starless + heaven. For the clouds that belonged to London had closed over the heads + of the voyagers sealing up the entrance of the upper air. They had broken + through a roof and come into a temple of twilight. + </p> + <p> + They were so near to the ball that Lucifer leaned his hand against it, + holding the vessel away, as men push a boat off from a bank. Above it the + cross already draped in the dark mists of the borderland was shadowy and + more awful in shape and size. + </p> + <p> + Professor Lucifer slapped his hand twice upon the surface of the great orb + as if he were caressing some enormous animal. “This is the fellow,” he + said, “this is the one for my money.” + </p> + <p> + “May I with all respect inquire,” asked the old monk, “what on earth you + are talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “Why this,” cried Lucifer, smiting the ball again, “here is the only + symbol, my boy. So fat. So satisfied. Not like that scraggy individual, + stretching his arms in stark weariness.” And he pointed up to the cross, + his face dark with a grin. “I was telling you just now, Michael, that I + can prove the best part of the rationalist case and the Christian humbug + from any symbol you liked to give me, from any instance I came across. + Here is an instance with a vengeance. What could possibly express your + philosophy and my philosophy better than the shape of that cross and the + shape of this ball? This globe is reasonable; that cross is unreasonable. + It is a four-legged animal, with one leg longer than the others. The globe + is inevitable. The cross is arbitrary. Above all the globe is at unity + with itself; the cross is primarily and above all things at enmity with + itself. The cross is the conflict of two hostile lines, of irreconcilable + direction. That silent thing up there is essentially a collision, a crash, + a struggle in stone. Pah! that sacred symbol of yours has actually given + its name to a description of desperation and muddle. When we speak of men + at once ignorant of each other and frustrated by each other, we say they + are at cross-purposes. Away with the thing! The very shape of it is a + contradiction in terms.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say is perfectly true,” said Michael, with serenity. “But we + like contradictions in terms. Man is a contradiction in terms; he is a + beast whose superiority to other beasts consists in having fallen. That + cross is, as you say, an eternal collision; so am I. That is a struggle in + stone. Every form of life is a struggle in flesh. The shape of the cross + is irrational, just as the shape of the human animal is irrational. You + say the cross is a quadruped with one limb longer than the rest. I say man + is a quadruped who only uses two of his legs.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor frowned thoughtfully for an instant, and said: “Of course + everything is relative, and I would not deny that the element of struggle + and self-contradiction, represented by that cross, has a necessary place + at a certain evolutionary stage. But surely the cross is the lower + development and the sphere the higher. After all it is easy enough to see + what is really wrong with Wren's architectural arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that, pray?” inquired Michael, meekly. + </p> + <p> + “The cross is on top of the ball,” said Professor Lucifer, simply. “That + is surely wrong. The ball should be on top of the cross. The cross is a + mere barbaric prop; the ball is perfection. The cross at its best is but + the bitter tree of man's history; the ball is the rounded, the ripe and + final fruit. And the fruit should be at the top of the tree, not at the + bottom of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the monk, a wrinkle coming into his forehead, “so you think + that in a rationalistic scheme of symbolism the ball should be on top of + the cross?” + </p> + <p> + “It sums up my whole allegory,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is really very interesting,” resumed Michael slowly, “because + I think in that case you would see a most singular effect, an effect that + has generally been achieved by all those able and powerful systems which + rationalism, or the religion of the ball, has produced to lead or teach + mankind. You would see, I think, that thing happen which is always the + ultimate embodiment and logical outcome of your logical scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you talking about?” asked Lucifer. “What would happen?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean it would fall down,” said the monk, looking wistfully into the + void. + </p> + <p> + Lucifer made an angry movement and opened his mouth to speak, but Michael, + with all his air of deliberation, was proceeding before he could bring out + a word. + </p> + <p> + “I once knew a man like you, Lucifer,” he said, with a maddening monotony + and slowness of articulation. “He took this——” + </p> + <p> + “There is no man like me,” cried Lucifer, with a violence that shook the + ship. + </p> + <p> + “As I was observing,” continued Michael, “this man also took the view that + the symbol of Christianity was a symbol of savagery and all unreason. His + history is rather amusing. It is also a perfect allegory of what happens + to rationalists like yourself. He began, of course, by refusing to allow a + crucifix in his house, or round his wife's neck, or even in a picture. He + said, as you say, that it was an arbitrary and fantastic shape, that it + was a monstrosity, loved because it was paradoxical. Then he began to grow + fiercer and more eccentric; he would batter the crosses by the roadside; + for he lived in a Roman Catholic country. Finally in a height of frenzy he + climbed the steeple of the Parish Church and tore down the cross, waving + it in the air, and uttering wild soliloquies up there under the stars. + Then one still summer evening as he was wending his way homewards, along a + lane, the devil of his madness came upon him with a violence and + transfiguration which changes the world. He was standing smoking, for a + moment, in the front of an interminable line of palings, when his eyes + were opened. Not a light shifted, not a leaf stirred, but he saw as if by + a sudden change in the eyesight that this paling was an army of + innumerable crosses linked together over hill and dale. And he whirled up + his heavy stick and went at it as if at an army. Mile after mile along his + homeward path he broke it down and tore it up. For he hated the cross and + every paling is a wall of crosses. When he returned to his house he was a + literal madman. He sat upon a chair and then started up from it for the + cross-bars of the carpentry repeated the intolerable image. He flung + himself upon a bed only to remember that this, too, like all workmanlike + things, was constructed on the accursed plan. He broke his furniture + because it was made of crosses. He burnt his house because it was made of + crosses. He was found in the river.” + </p> + <p> + Lucifer was looking at him with a bitten lip. + </p> + <p> + “Is that story really true?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Michael, airily. “It is a parable. It is a parable of you + and all your rationalists. You begin by breaking up the Cross; but you end + by breaking up the habitable world. We leave you saying that nobody ought + to join the Church against his will. When we meet you again you are saying + that no one has any will to join it with. We leave you saying that there + is no such place as Eden. We find you saying that there is no such place + as Ireland. You start by hating the irrational and you come to hate + everything, for everything is irrational and so——” + </p> + <p> + Lucifer leapt upon him with a cry like a wild beast's. “Ah,” he screamed, + “to every man his madness. You are mad on the cross. Let it save you.” + </p> + <p> + And with a herculean energy he forced the monk backwards out of the + reeling car on to the upper part of the stone ball. Michael, with as + abrupt an agility, caught one of the beams of the cross and saved himself + from falling. At the same instant Lucifer drove down a lever and the ship + shot up with him in it alone. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha!” he yelled, “what sort of a support do you find it, old fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “For practical purposes of support,” replied Michael grimly, “it is at any + rate a great deal better than the ball. May I ask if you are going to + leave me here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. I mount! I mount!” cried the professor in ungovernable + excitement. “<i>Altiora peto</i>. My path is upward.” + </p> + <p> + “How often have you told me, Professor, that there is really no up or down + in space?” said the monk. “I shall mount up as much as you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said Lucifer, leering over the side of the flying ship. “May I + ask what you are going to do?” + </p> + <p> + The monk pointed downward at Ludgate Hill. “I am going,” he said, “to + climb up into a star.” + </p> + <p> + Those who look at the matter most superficially regard paradox as + something which belongs to jesting and light journalism. Paradox of this + kind is to be found in the saying of the dandy, in the decadent comedy, + “Life is much too important to be taken seriously.” Those who look at the + matter a little more deeply or delicately see that paradox is a thing + which especially belongs to all religions. Paradox of this kind is to be + found in such a saying as “The meek shall inherit the earth.” But those + who see and feel the fundamental fact of the matter know that paradox is a + thing which belongs not to religion only, but to all vivid and violent + practical crises of human living. This kind of paradox may be clearly + perceived by anybody who happens to be hanging in mid-space, clinging to + one arm of the Cross of St. Paul's. + </p> + <p> + Father Michael in spite of his years, and in spite of his asceticism (or + because of it, for all I know), was a very healthy and happy old + gentleman. And as he swung on a bar above the sickening emptiness of air, + he realized, with that sort of dead detachment which belongs to the brains + of those in peril, the deathless and hopeless contradiction which is + involved in the mere idea of courage. He was a happy and healthy old + gentleman and therefore he was quite careless about it. And he felt as + every man feels in the taut moment of such terror that his chief danger + was terror itself; his only possible strength would be a coolness + amounting to carelessness, a carelessness amounting almost to a suicidal + swagger. His one wild chance of coming out safely would be in not too + desperately desiring to be safe. There might be footholds down that awful + facade, if only he could not care whether they were footholds or no. If he + were foolhardy he might escape; if he were wise he would stop where he was + till he dropped from the cross like a stone. And this antinomy kept on + repeating itself in his mind, a contradiction as large and staring as the + immense contradiction of the Cross; he remembered having often heard the + words, “Whosoever shall lose his life the same shall save it.” He + remembered with a sort of strange pity that this had always been made to + mean that whoever lost his physical life should save his spiritual life. + Now he knew the truth that is known to all fighters, and hunters, and + climbers of cliffs. He knew that even his animal life could only be saved + by a considerable readiness to lose it. + </p> + <p> + Some will think it improbable that a human soul swinging desperately in + mid-air should think about philosophical inconsistencies. But such extreme + states are dangerous things to dogmatize about. Frequently they produce a + certain useless and joyless activity of the mere intellect, thought not + only divorced from hope but even from desire. And if it is impossible to + dogmatize about such states, it is still more impossible to describe them. + To this spasm of sanity and clarity in Michael's mind succeeded a spasm of + the elemental terror; the terror of the animal in us which regards the + whole universe as its enemy; which, when it is victorious, has no pity, + and so, when it is defeated has no imaginable hope. Of that ten minutes of + terror it is not possible to speak in human words. But then again in that + damnable darkness there began to grow a strange dawn as of grey and pale + silver. And of this ultimate resignation or certainty it is even less + possible to write; it is something stranger than hell itself; it is + perhaps the last of the secrets of God. At the highest crisis of some + incurable anguish there will suddenly fall upon the man the stillness of + an insane contentment. It is not hope, for hope is broken and romantic and + concerned with the future; this is complete and of the present. It is not + faith, for faith by its very nature is fierce, and as it were at once + doubtful and defiant; but this is simply a satisfaction. It is not + knowledge, for the intellect seems to have no particular part in it. Nor + is it (as the modern idiots would certainly say it is) a mere numbness or + negative paralysis of the powers of grief. It is not negative in the + least; it is as positive as good news. In some sense, indeed, it is good + news. It seems almost as if there were some equality among things, some + balance in all possible contingencies which we are not permitted to know + lest we should learn indifference to good and evil, but which is sometimes + shown to us for an instant as a last aid in our last agony. + </p> + <p> + Michael certainly could not have given any sort of rational account of + this vast unmeaning satisfaction which soaked through him and filled him + to the brim. He felt with a sort of half-witted lucidity that the cross + was there, and the ball was there, and the dome was there, that he was + going to climb down from them, and that he did not mind in the least + whether he was killed or not. This mysterious mood lasted long enough to + start him on his dreadful descent and to force him to continue it. But six + times before he reached the highest of the outer galleries terror had + returned on him like a flying storm of darkness and thunder. By the time + he had reached that place of safety he almost felt (as in some impossible + fit of drunkenness) that he had two heads; one was calm, careless, and + efficient; the other saw the danger like a deadly map, was wise, careful, + and useless. He had fancied that he would have to let himself vertically + down the face of the whole building. When he dropped into the upper + gallery he still felt as far from the terrestrial globe as if he had only + dropped from the sun to the moon. He paused a little, panting in the + gallery under the ball, and idly kicked his heels, moving a few yards + along it. And as he did so a thunderbolt struck his soul. A man, a heavy, + ordinary man, with a composed indifferent face, and a prosaic sort of + uniform, with a row of buttons, blocked his way. Michael had no mind to + wonder whether this solid astonished man, with the brown moustache and the + nickel buttons, had also come on a flying ship. He merely let his mind + float in an endless felicity about the man. He thought how nice it would + be if he had to live up in that gallery with that one man for ever. He + thought how he would luxuriate in the nameless shades of this man's soul + and then hear with an endless excitement about the nameless shades of the + souls of all his aunts and uncles. A moment before he had been dying + alone. Now he was living in the same world with a man; an inexhaustible + ecstasy. In the gallery below the ball Father Michael had found that man + who is the noblest and most divine and most lovable of all men, better + than all the saints, greater than all the heroes—man Friday. + </p> + <p> + In the confused colour and music of his new paradise, Michael heard only + in a faint and distant fashion some remarks that this beautiful solid man + seemed to be making to him; remarks about something or other being after + hours and against orders. He also seemed to be asking how Michael “got up” + there. This beautiful man evidently felt as Michael did that the earth was + a star and was set in heaven. + </p> + <p> + At length Michael sated himself with the mere sensual music of the voice + of the man in buttons. He began to listen to what he said, and even to + make some attempt at answering a question which appeared to have been put + several times and was now put with some excess of emphasis. Michael + realized that the image of God in nickel buttons was asking him how he had + come there. He said that he had come in Lucifer's ship. On his giving this + answer the demeanour of the image of God underwent a remarkable change. + From addressing Michael gruffly, as if he were a malefactor, he began + suddenly to speak to him with a sort of eager and feverish amiability as + if he were a child. He seemed particularly anxious to coax him away from + the balustrade. He led him by the arm towards a door leading into the + building itself, soothing him all the time. He gave what even Michael + (slight as was his knowledge of the world) felt to be an improbable + account of the sumptuous pleasures and varied advantages awaiting him + downstairs. Michael followed him, however, if only out of politeness, down + an apparently interminable spiral of staircase. At one point a door + opened. Michael stepped through it, and the unaccountable man in buttons + leapt after him and pinioned him where he stood. But he only wished to + stand; to stand and stare. He had stepped as it were into another + infinity, out under the dome of another heaven. But this was a dome of + heaven made by man. The gold and green and crimson of its sunset were not + in the shapeless clouds but in shapes of cherubim and seraphim, awful + human shapes with a passionate plumage. Its stars were not above but far + below, like fallen stars still in unbroken constellations; the dome itself + was full of darkness. And far below, lower even than the lights, could be + seen creeping or motionless, great black masses of men. The tongue of a + terrible organ seemed to shake the very air in the whole void; and through + it there came up to Michael the sound of a tongue more terrible; the + dreadful everlasting voice of man, calling to his gods from the beginning + to the end of the world. Michael felt almost as if he were a god, and all + the voices were hurled at him. + </p> + <p> + “No, the pretty things aren't here,” said the demi-god in buttons, + caressingly. “The pretty things are downstairs. You come along with me. + There's something that will surprise you downstairs; something you want + very much to see.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently the man in buttons did not feel like a god, so Michael made no + attempt to explain his feelings to him, but followed him meekly enough + down the trail of the serpentine staircase. He had no notion where or at + what level he was. He was still full of the cold splendour of space, and + of what a French writer has brilliantly named the “vertigo of the + infinite,” when another door opened, and with a shock indescribable he + found himself on the familiar level, in a street full of faces, with the + houses and even the lamp-posts above his head. He felt suddenly happy and + suddenly indescribably small. He fancied he had been changed into a child + again; his eyes sought the pavement seriously as children's do, as if it + were a thing with which something satisfactory could be done. He felt the + full warmth of that pleasure from which the proud shut themselves out; the + pleasure which not only goes with humiliation, but which almost is + humiliation. Men who have escaped death by a hair have it, and men whose + love is returned by a woman unexpectedly, and men whose sins are forgiven + them. Everything his eye fell on it feasted on, not aesthetically, but + with a plain, jolly appetite as of a boy eating buns. He relished the + squareness of the houses; he liked their clean angles as if he had just + cut them with a knife. The lit squares of the shop windows excited him as + the young are excited by the lit stage of some promising pantomime. He + happened to see in one shop which projected with a bulging bravery on to + the pavement some square tins of potted meat, and it seemed like a hint of + a hundred hilarious high teas in a hundred streets of the world. He was, + perhaps, the happiest of all the children of men. For in that unendurable + instant when he hung, half slipping, to the ball of St. Paul's, the whole + universe had been destroyed and re-created. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly through all the din of the dark streets came a crash of glass. + With that mysterious suddenness of the Cockney mob, a rush was made in the + right direction, a dingy office, next to the shop of the potted meat. The + pane of glass was lying in splinters about the pavement. And the police + already had their hands on a very tall young man, with dark, lank hair and + dark, dazed eyes, with a grey plaid over his shoulder, who had just + smashed the shop window with a single blow of his stick. + </p> + <p> + “I'd do it again,” said the young man, with a furious white face. “Anybody + would have done it. Did you see what it said? I swear I'd do it again.” + Then his eyes encountered the monkish habit of Michael, and he pulled off + his grey tam-o'-shanter with the gesture of a Catholic. + </p> + <p> + “Father, did you see what they said?” he cried, trembling. “Did you see + what they dared to say? I didn't understand it at first. I read it half + through before I broke the window.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt he knew not how. The whole peace of the world was pent up + painfully in his heart. The new and childlike world which he had seen so + suddenly, men had not seen at all. Here they were still at their old + bewildering, pardonable, useless quarrels, with so much to be said on both + sides, and so little that need be said at all. A fierce inspiration fell + on him suddenly; he would strike them where they stood with the love of + God. They should not move till they saw their own sweet and startling + existence. They should not go from that place till they went home + embracing like brothers and shouting like men delivered. From the Cross + from which he had fallen fell the shadow of its fantastic mercy; and the + first three words he spoke in a voice like a silver trumpet, held men as + still as stones. Perhaps if he had spoken there for an hour in his + illumination he might have founded a religion on Ludgate Hill. But the + heavy hand of his guide fell suddenly on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “This poor fellow is dotty,” he said good-humouredly to the crowd. “I + found him wandering in the Cathedral. Says he came in a flying ship. Is + there a constable to spare to take care of him?” + </p> + <p> + There was a constable to spare. Two other constables attended to the tall + young man in grey; a fourth concerned himself with the owner of the shop, + who showed some tendency to be turbulent. They took the tall young man + away to a magistrate, whither we shall follow him in an ensuing chapter. + And they took the happiest man in the world away to an asylum. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE RELIGION OF THE STIPENDIARY MAGISTRATE + </h2> + <p> + The editorial office of <i>The Atheist</i> had for some years past become + less and less prominently interesting as a feature of Ludgate Hill. The + paper was unsuited to the atmosphere. It showed an interest in the Bible + unknown in the district, and a knowledge of that volume to which nobody + else on Ludgate Hill could make any conspicuous claim. It was in vain that + the editor of <i>The Atheist</i> filled his front window with fierce and + final demands as to what Noah in the Ark did with the neck of the giraffe. + It was in vain that he asked violently, as for the last time, how the + statement “God is Spirit” could be reconciled with the statement “The + earth is His footstool.” It was in vain that he cried with an accusing + energy that the Bishop of London was paid L12,000 a year for pretending to + believe that the whale swallowed Jonah. It was in vain that he hung in + conspicuous places the most thrilling scientific calculations about the + width of the throat of a whale. Was it nothing to them all they that + passed by? Did his sudden and splendid and truly sincere indignation never + stir any of the people pouring down Ludgate Hill? Never. The little man + who edited <i>The Atheist</i> would rush from his shop on starlit evenings + and shake his fist at St. Paul's in the passion of his holy war upon the + holy place. He might have spared his emotion. The cross at the top of St. + Paul's and <i>The Atheist</i> shop at the foot of it were alike remote + from the world. The shop and the Cross were equally uplifted and alone in + the empty heavens. + </p> + <p> + To the little man who edited <i>The Atheist</i>, a fiery little Scotchman, + with fiery, red hair and beard, going by the name of Turnbull, all this + decline in public importance seemed not so much sad or even mad, but + merely bewildering and unaccountable. He had said the worst thing that + could be said; and it seemed accepted and ignored like the ordinary second + best of the politicians. Every day his blasphemies looked more glaring, + and every day the dust lay thicker upon them. It made him feel as if he + were moving in a world of idiots. He seemed among a race of men who smiled + when told of their own death, or looked vacantly at the Day of Judgement. + Year after year went by, and year after year the death of God in a shop in + Ludgate became a less and less important occurrence. All the forward men + of his age discouraged Turnbull. The socialists said he was cursing + priests when he should be cursing capitalists. The artists said that the + soul was most spiritual, not when freed from religion, but when freed from + morality. Year after year went by, and at least a man came by who treated + Mr. Turnbull's secularist shop with a real respect and seriousness. He was + a young man in a grey plaid, and he smashed the window. + </p> + <p> + He was a young man, born in the Bay of Arisaig, opposite Rum and the Isle + of Skye. His high, hawklike features and snaky black hair bore the mark of + that unknown historic thing which is crudely called Celtic, but which is + probably far older than the Celts, whoever they were. He was in name and + stock a Highlander of the Macdonalds; but his family took, as was common + in such cases, the name of a subordinate sept as a surname, and for all + the purposes which could be answered in London, he called himself Evan + MacIan. He had been brought up in some loneliness and seclusion as a + strict Roman Catholic, in the midst of that little wedge of Roman + Catholics which is driven into the Western Highlands. And he had found his + way as far as Fleet Street, seeking some half-promised employment, without + having properly realized that there were in the world any people who were + not Roman Catholics. He had uncovered himself for a few moments before the + statue of Queen Anne, in front of St. Paul's Cathedral, under the firm + impression that it was a figure of the Virgin Mary. He was somewhat + surprised at the lack of deference shown to the figure by the people + bustling by. He did not understand that their one essential historical + principle, the one law truly graven on their hearts, was the great and + comforting statement that Queen Anne is dead. This faith was as + fundamental as his faith, that Our Lady was alive. Any persons he had + talked to since he had touched the fringe of our fashion or civilization + had been by a coincidence, sympathetic or hypocritical. Or if they had + spoken some established blasphemies, he had been unable to understand them + merely owing to the preoccupied satisfaction of his mind. + </p> + <p> + On that fantastic fringe of the Gaelic land where he walked as a boy, the + cliffs were as fantastic as the clouds. Heaven seemed to humble itself and + come closer to the earth. The common paths of his little village began to + climb quite suddenly and seemed resolved to go to heaven. The sky seemed + to fall down towards the hills; the hills took hold upon the sky. In the + sumptuous sunset of gold and purple and peacock green cloudlets and islets + were the same. Evan lived like a man walking on a borderland, the + borderland between this world and another. Like so many men and nations + who grow up with nature and the common things, he understood the + supernatural before he understood the natural. He had looked at dim angels + standing knee-deep in the grass before he had looked at the grass. He knew + that Our Lady's robes were blue before he knew the wild roses round her + feet were red. The deeper his memory plunged into the dark house of + childhood the nearer and nearer he came to the things that cannot be + named. All through his life he thought of the daylight world as a sort of + divine debris, the broken remainder of his first vision. The skies and + mountains were the splendid off-scourings of another place. The stars were + lost jewels of the Queen. Our Lady had gone and left the stars by + accident. + </p> + <p> + His private tradition was equally wild and unworldly. His + great-grandfather had been cut down at Culloden, certain in his last + instant that God would restore the King. His grandfather, then a boy of + ten, had taken the terrible claymore from the hand of the dead and hung it + up in his house, burnishing it and sharpening it for sixty years, to be + ready for the next rebellion. His father, the youngest son and the last + left alive, had refused to attend on Queen Victoria in Scotland. And Evan + himself had been of one piece with his progenitors; and was not dead with + them, but alive in the twentieth century. He was not in the least the + pathetic Jacobite of whom we read, left behind by a final advance of all + things. He was, in his own fancy, a conspirator, fierce and up to date. In + the long, dark afternoons of the Highland winter, he plotted and fumed in + the dark. He drew plans of the capture of London on the desolate sand of + Arisaig. + </p> + <p> + When he came up to capture London, it was not with an army of white + cockades, but with a stick and a satchel. London overawed him a little, + not because he thought it grand or even terrible, but because it + bewildered him; it was not the Golden City or even hell; it was Limbo. He + had one shock of sentiment, when he turned that wonderful corner of Fleet + Street and saw St. Paul's sitting in the sky. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, after a long pause, “that sort of thing was built under the + Stuarts!” Then with a sour grin he asked himself what was the + corresponding monument of the Brunswicks and the Protestant Constitution. + After some warning, he selected a sky-sign of some pill. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour afterwards his emotions left him with an emptied mind on the + same spot. And it was in a mood of mere idle investigation that he + happened to come to a standstill opposite the office of <i>The Atheist</i>. + He did not see the word “atheist”, or if he did, it is quite possible that + he did not know the meaning of the word. Even as it was, the document + would not have shocked even the innocent Highlander, but for the + troublesome and quite unforeseen fact that the innocent Highlander read it + stolidly to the end; a thing unknown among the most enthusiastic + subscribers to the paper, and calculated in any case to create a new + situation. + </p> + <p> + With a smart journalistic instinct characteristic of all his school, the + editor of <i>The Atheist</i> had put first in his paper and most + prominently in his window an article called “The Mesopotamian Mythology + and its Effects on Syriac Folk Lore.” Mr. Evan MacIan began to read this + quite idly, as he would have read a public statement beginning with a + young girl dying in Brighton and ending with Bile Beans. He received the + very considerable amount of information accumulated by the author with + that tired clearness of the mind which children have on heavy summer + afternoons—that tired clearness which leads them to go on asking + questions long after they have lost interest in the subject and are as + bored as their nurse. The streets were full of people and empty of + adventures. He might as well know about the gods of Mesopotamia as not; so + he flattened his long, lean face against the dim bleak pane of the window + and read all there was to read about Mesopotamian gods. He read how the + Mesopotamians had a god named Sho (sometimes pronounced Ji), and that he + was described as being very powerful, a striking similarity to some + expressions about Jahveh, who is also described as having power. Evan had + never heard of Jahveh in his life, and imagining him to be some other + Mesopotamian idol, read on with a dull curiosity. He learnt that the name + Sho, under its third form of Psa, occurs in an early legend which + describes how the deity, after the manner of Jupiter on so many occasions, + seduced a Virgin and begat a hero. This hero, whose name is not essential + to our existence, was, it was said, the chief hero and Saviour of the + Mesopotamian ethical scheme. Then followed a paragraph giving other + examples of such heroes and Saviours being born of some profligate + intercourse between God and mortal. Then followed a paragraph—but + Evan did not understand it. He read it again and then again. Then he did + understand it. The glass fell in ringing fragments on to the pavement, and + Evan sprang over the barrier into the shop, brandishing his stick. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” cried little Mr. Turnbull, starting up with hair aflame. + “How dare you break my window?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it was the quickest cut to you,” cried Evan, stamping. “Stand up + and fight, you crapulous coward. You dirty lunatic, stand up, will you? + Have you any weapons here?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad?” asked Turnbull, glaring. + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” cried Evan. “Can you be anything else when you plaster your own + house with that God-defying filth? Stand up and fight, I say.” + </p> + <p> + A great light like dawn came into Mr. Turnbull's face. Behind his red hair + and beard he turned deadly pale with pleasure. Here, after twenty lone + years of useless toil, he had his reward. Someone was angry with the + paper. He bounded to his feet like a boy; he saw a new youth opening + before him. And as not unfrequently happens to middle-aged gentlemen when + they see a new youth opening before them, he found himself in the presence + of the police. + </p> + <p> + The policemen, after some ponderous questionings, collared both the two + enthusiasts. They were more respectful, however, to the young man who had + smashed the window, than to the miscreant who had had his window smashed. + There was an air of refined mystery about Evan MacIan, which did not exist + in the irate little shopkeeper, an air of refined mystery which appealed + to the policemen, for policemen, like most other English types, are at + once snobs and poets. MacIan might possibly be a gentleman, they felt; the + editor manifestly was not. And the editor's fine rational republican + appeals to his respect for law, and his ardour to be tried by his fellow + citizens, seemed to the police quite as much gibberish as Evan's mysticism + could have done. The police were not used to hearing principles, even the + principles of their own existence. + </p> + <p> + The police magistrate, before whom they were hurried and tried, was a Mr. + Cumberland Vane, a cheerful, middle-aged gentleman, honourably celebrated + for the lightness of his sentences and the lightness of his conversation. + He occasionally worked himself up into a sort of theoretic rage about + certain particular offenders, such as the men who took pokers to their + wives, talked in a loose, sentimental way about the desirability of + flogging them, and was hopelessly bewildered by the fact that the wives + seemed even more angry with him than with their husbands. He was a tall, + spruce man, with a twist of black moustache and incomparable morning + dress. He looked like a gentleman, and yet, somehow, like a stage + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + He had often treated serious crimes against mere order or property with a + humane flippancy. Hence, about the mere breaking of an editor's window, he + was almost uproarious. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. MacIan, come,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “do you + generally enter you friends' houses by walking through the glass?” + (Laughter.) + </p> + <p> + “He is not my friend,” said Evan, with the stolidity of a dull child. + </p> + <p> + “Not your friend, eh?” said the magistrate, sparkling. “Is he your + brother-in-law?” (Loud and prolonged laughter.) + </p> + <p> + “He is my enemy,” said Evan, simply; “he is the enemy of God.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane shifted sharply in his seat, dropping the eye-glass out of his + eye in a momentary and not unmanly embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't talk like that here,” he said, roughly, and in a kind of + hurry, “that has nothing to do with us.” + </p> + <p> + Evan opened his great, blue eyes; “God,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet,” said the magistrate, angrily, “it is most undesirable that + things of that sort should be spoken about—a—in public, and in + an ordinary Court of Justice. Religion is—a—too personal a + matter to be mentioned in such a place.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” answered the Highlander, “then what did those policemen swear by + just now?” + </p> + <p> + “That is no parallel,” answered Vane, rather irritably; “of course there + is a form of oath—to be taken reverently—reverently, and + there's an end of it. But to talk in a public place about one's most + sacred and private sentiments—well, I call it bad taste. (Slight + applause.) I call it irreverent. I call it irreverent, and I'm not + specially orthodox either.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you are not,” said Evan, “but I am.” + </p> + <p> + “We are wondering from the point,” said the police magistrate, pulling + himself together. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask why you smashed this worthy citizen's window?” + </p> + <p> + Evan turned a little pale at the mere memory, but he answered with the + same cold and deadly literalism that he showed throughout. + </p> + <p> + “Because he blasphemed Our Lady.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you once and for all,” cried Mr. Cumberland Vane, rapping his + knuckles angrily on the table, “I tell you, once and for all, my man, that + I will not have you turning on any religious rant or cant here. Don't + imagine that it will impress me. The most religious people are not those + who talk about it. (Applause.) You answer the questions and do nothing + else.” + </p> + <p> + “I did nothing else,” said Evan, with a slight smile. + </p> + <p> + “Eh,” cried Vane, glaring through his eye-glass. + </p> + <p> + “You asked me why I broke his window,” said MacIan, with a face of wood. + “I answered, 'Because he blasphemed Our Lady.' I had no other reason. So I + have no other answer.” Vane continued to gaze at him with a sternness not + habitual to him. + </p> + <p> + “You are not going the right way to work, Sir,” he said, with severity. + “You are not going the right way to work to—a—have your case + treated with special consideration. If you had simply expressed regret for + what you had done, I should have been strongly inclined to dismiss the + matter as an outbreak of temper. Even now, if you say that you are sorry I + shall only——” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not in the least sorry,” said Evan, “I am very pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “I really believe you are insane,” said the stipendiary, indignantly, for + he had really been doing his best as a good-natured man, to compose the + dispute. “What conceivable right have you to break other people's windows + because their opinions do not agree with yours? This man only gave + expression to his sincere belief.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I,” said the Highlander. + </p> + <p> + “And who are you?” exploded Vane. “Are your views necessarily the right + ones? Are you necessarily in possession of the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + The magistrate broke into a contemptuous laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you want a nurse to look after you,” he said. “You must pay L10.” + </p> + <p> + Evan MacIan plunged his hands into his loose grey garment and drew out a + queer looking leather purse. It contained exactly twelve sovereigns. He + paid down the ten, coin by coin, in silence, and equally silently returned + the remaining two to the receptacle. Then he said, “May I say a word, your + worship?” + </p> + <p> + Cumberland Vane seemed half hypnotized with the silence and automatic + movements of the stranger; he made a movement with his head which might + have been either “yes” or “no”. “I only wished to say, your worship,” said + MacIan, putting back the purse in his trouser pocket, “that smashing that + shop window was, I confess, a useless and rather irregular business. It + may be excused, however, as a mere preliminary to further proceedings, a + sort of preface. Wherever and whenever I meet that man,” and he pointed to + the editor of <i>The Atheist</i>, “whether it be outside this door in ten + minutes from now, or twenty years hence in some distant country, wherever + and whenever I meet that man, I will fight him. Do not be afraid. I will + not rush at him like a bully, or bear him down with any brute superiority. + I will fight him like a gentleman; I will fight him as our fathers fought. + He shall choose how, sword or pistol, horse or foot. But if he refuses, I + will write his cowardice on every wall in the world. If he had said of my + mother what he said of the Mother of God, there is not a club of clean men + in Europe that would deny my right to call him out. If he had said it of + my wife, you English would yourselves have pardoned me for beating him + like a dog in the market place. Your worship, I have no mother; I have no + wife. I have only that which the poor have equally with the rich; which + the lonely have equally with the man of many friends. To me this whole + strange world is homely, because in the heart of it there is a home; to me + this cruel world is kindly, because higher than the heavens there is + something more human than humanity. If a man must not fight for this, may + he fight for anything? I would fight for my friend, but if I lost my + friend, I should still be there. I would fight for my country, but if I + lost my country, I should still exist. But if what that devil dreams were + true, I should not be—I should burst like a bubble and be gone. I + could not live in that imbecile universe. Shall I not fight for my own + existence?” + </p> + <p> + The magistrate recovered his voice and his presence of mind. The first + part of the speech, the bombastic and brutally practical challenge, + stunned him with surprise; but the rest of Evan's remarks, branching off + as they did into theoretic phrases, gave his vague and very English mind + (full of memories of the hedging and compromise in English public + speaking) an indistinct sensation of relief, as if the man, though mad, + were not so dangerous as he had thought. He went into a sort of weary + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven's sake, man,” he said, “don't talk so much. Let other people + have a chance (laughter). I trust all that you said about asking Mr. + Turnbull to fight, may be regarded as rubbish. In case of accidents, + however, I must bind you over to keep the peace.” + </p> + <p> + “To keep the peace,” repeated Evan, “with whom?” + </p> + <p> + “With Mr. Turnbull,” said Vane. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” answered MacIan. “What has he to do with peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say,” began the magistrate, “that you refuse to...” The + voice of Turnbull himself clove in for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Might I suggest,” he said, “That I, your worship, can settle to some + extent this absurd matter myself. This rather wild gentleman promises that + he will not attack me with any ordinary assault—and if he does, you + may be sure the police shall hear of it. But he says he will not. He says + he will challenge me to a duel; and I cannot say anything stronger about + his mental state than to say that I think that it is highly probable that + he will. (Laughter.) But it takes two to make a duel, your worship + (renewed laughter). I do not in the least mind being described on every + wall in the world as the coward who would not fight a man in Fleet Street, + about whether the Virgin Mary had a parallel in Mesopotamian mythology. + No, your worship. You need not trouble to bind him over to keep the peace. + I bind myself over to keep the peace, and you may rest quite satisfied + that there will be no duel with me in it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cumberland Vane rolled about, laughing in a sort of relief. + </p> + <p> + “You're like a breath of April, sir,” he cried. “You're ozone after that + fellow. You're perfectly right. Perhaps I have taken the thing too + seriously. I should love to see him sending you challenges and to see you + smiling. Well, well.” + </p> + <p> + Evan went out of the Court of Justice free, but strangely shaken, like a + sick man. Any punishment of suppression he would have felt as natural; but + the sudden juncture between the laughter of his judge and the laughter of + the man he had wronged, made him feel suddenly small, or at least, + defeated. It was really true that the whole modern world regarded his + world as a bubble. No cruelty could have shown it, but their kindness + showed it with a ghastly clearness. As he was brooding, he suddenly became + conscious of a small, stern figure, fronting him in silence. Its eyes were + grey and awful, and its beard red. It was Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the editor of <i>The Atheist</i>, “where is the fight to + be? Name the field, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Evan stood thunderstruck. He stammered out something, he knew not what; he + only guessed it by the answer of the other. + </p> + <p> + “Do I want to fight? Do I want to fight?” cried the furious Free-thinker. + “Why, you moonstruck scarecrow of superstition, do you think your dirty + saints are the only people who can die? Haven't you hung atheists, and + burned them, and boiled them, and did they ever deny their faith? Do you + think we don't want to fight? Night and day I have prayed—I have + longed—for an atheist revolution—I have longed to see your + blood and ours on the streets. Let it be yours or mine?” + </p> + <p> + “But you said...” began MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Turnbull scornfully. “And what did you say? You damned + fool, you said things that might have got us locked up for a year, and + shadowed by the coppers for half a decade. If you wanted to fight, why did + you tell that ass you wanted to? I got you out, to fight if you want to. + Now, fight if you dare.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear to you, then,” said MacIan, after a pause. “I swear to you that + nothing shall come between us. I swear to you that nothing shall be in my + heart or in my head till our swords clash together. I swear it by the God + you have denied, by the Blessed Lady you have blasphemed; I swear it by + the seven swords in her heart. I swear it by the Holy Island where my + fathers are, by the honour of my mother, by the secret of my people, and + by the chalice of the Blood of God.” + </p> + <p> + The atheist drew up his head. “And I,” he said, “give my word.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. SOME OLD CURIOSITIES + </h2> + <p> + The evening sky, a dome of solid gold, unflaked even by a single sunset + cloud, steeped the meanest sights of London in a strange and mellow light. + It made a little greasy street of St. Martin's Lane look as if it were + paved with gold. It made the pawnbroker's half-way down it shine as if it + were really that Mountain of Piety that the French poetic instinct has + named it; it made the mean pseudo-French bookshop, next but one to it, a + shop packed with dreary indecency, show for a moment a kind of Parisian + colour. And the shop that stood between the pawnshop and the shop of + dreary indecency, showed with quite a blaze of old world beauty, for it + was, by accident, a shop not unbeautiful in itself. The front window had a + glimmer of bronze and blue steel, lit, as by a few stars, by the sparks of + what were alleged to be jewels; for it was in brief, a shop of bric-a-brac + and old curiosities. A row of half-burnished seventeenth-century swords + ran like an ornate railing along the front of the window; behind was a + darker glimmer of old oak and old armour; and higher up hung the most + extraordinary looking South Sea tools or utensils, whether designed for + killing enemies or merely for cooking them, no mere white man could + possibly conjecture. But the romance of the eye, which really on this rich + evening, clung about the shop, had its main source in the accident of two + doors standing open, the front door that opened on the street and a back + door that opened on an odd green square of garden, that the sun turned to + a square of gold. There is nothing more beautiful than thus to look as it + were through the archway of a house; as if the open sky were an interior + chamber, and the sun a secret lamp of the place. + </p> + <p> + I have suggested that the sunset light made everything lovely. To say that + it made the keeper of the curiosity shop lovely would be a tribute to it + perhaps too extreme. It would easily have made him beautiful if he had + been merely squalid; if he had been a Jew of the Fagin type. But he was a + Jew of another and much less admirable type; a Jew with a very + well-sounding name. For though there are no hard tests for separating the + tares and the wheat of any people, one rude but efficient guide is that + the nice Jew is called Moses Solomon, and the nasty Jew is called Thornton + Percy. The keeper of the curiosity shop was of the Thornton Percy branch + of the chosen people; he belonged to those Lost Ten Tribes whose + industrious object is to lose themselves. He was a man still young, but + already corpulent, with sleek dark hair, heavy handsome clothes, and a + full, fat, permanent smile, which looked at the first glance kindly, and + at the second cowardly. The name over his shop was Henry Gordon, but two + Scotchmen who were in his shop that evening could come upon no trace of a + Scotch accent. + </p> + <p> + These two Scotchmen in this shop were careful purchasers, but free-handed + payers. One of them who seemed to be the principal and the authority + (whom, indeed, Mr. Henry Gordon fancied he had seen somewhere before), was + a small, sturdy fellow, with fine grey eyes, a square red tie and a square + red beard, that he carried aggressively forward as if he defied anyone to + pull it. The other kept so much in the background in comparison that he + looked almost ghostly in his grey cloak or plaid, a tall, sallow, silent + young man. + </p> + <p> + The two Scotchmen were interested in seventeenth-century swords. They were + fastidious about them. They had a whole armoury of these weapons brought + out and rolled clattering about the counter, until they found two of + precisely the same length. Presumably they desired the exact symmetry for + some decorative trophy. Even then they felt the points, poised the swords + for balance and bent them in a circle to see that they sprang straight + again; which, for decorative purposes, seems carrying realism rather far. + </p> + <p> + “These will do,” said the strange person with the red beard. “And perhaps + I had better pay for them at once. And as you are the challenger, Mr. + MacIan, perhaps you had better explain the situation.” + </p> + <p> + The tall Scotchman in grey took a step forward and spoke in a voice quite + clear and bold, and yet somehow lifeless, like a man going through an + ancient formality. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, Mr. Gordon, we have to place our honour in your hands. Words + have passed between Mr. Turnbull and myself on a grave and invaluable + matter, which can only be atoned for by fighting. Unfortunately, as the + police are in some sense pursuing us, we are hurried, and must fight now + and without seconds. But if you will be so kind as to take us into your + little garden and see far play, we shall feel how——” + </p> + <p> + The shopman recovered himself from a stunning surprise and burst out: + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, are you drunk? A duel! A duel in my garden. Go home, + gentlemen, go home. Why, what did you quarrel about?” + </p> + <p> + “We quarrelled,” said Evan, in the same dead voice, “about religion.” The + fat shopkeeper rolled about in his chair with enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is a funny game,” he said. “So you want to commit murder on + behalf of religion. Well, well my religion is a little respect for + humanity, and——” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” cut in Turnbull, suddenly and fiercely, pointing towards the + pawnbroker's next door. “Don't you own that shop?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—er—yes,” said Gordon. + </p> + <p> + “And don't you own that shop?” repeated the secularist, pointing backward + to the pornographic bookseller. + </p> + <p> + “What if I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then,” cried Turnbull, with grating contempt. “I will leave the + religion of humanity confidently in your hands; but I am sorry I troubled + you about such a thing as honour. Look here, my man. I do believe in + humanity. I do believe in liberty. My father died for it under the swords + of the Yeomanry. I am going to die for it, if need be, under that sword on + your counter. But if there is one sight that makes me doubt it it is your + foul fat face. It is hard to believe you were not meant to be ruled like a + dog or killed like a cockroach. Don't try your slave's philosophy on me. + We are going to fight, and we are going to fight in your garden, with your + swords. Be still! Raise your voice above a whisper, and I run you through + the body.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull put the bright point of the sword against the gay waistcoat of + the dealer, who stood choking with rage and fear, and an astonishment so + crushing as to be greater than either. + </p> + <p> + “MacIan,” said Turnbull, falling almost into the familiar tone of a + business partner, “MacIan, tie up this fellow and put a gag in his mouth. + Be still, I say, or I kill you where you stand.” + </p> + <p> + The man was too frightened to scream, but he struggled wildly, while Evan + MacIan, whose long, lean hands were unusually powerful, tightened some old + curtain cords round him, strapped a rope gag in his mouth and rolled him + on his back on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing very strong here,” said Evan, looking about him. “I'm + afraid he'll work through that gag in half an hour or so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Turnbull, “but one of us will be killed by that time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let's hope so,” said the Highlander, glancing doubtfully at the + squirming thing on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Turnbull, twirling his fiery moustache and fingering his + sword, “let us go into the garden. What an exquisite summer evening!” + </p> + <p> + MacIan said nothing, but lifting his sword from the counter went out into + the sun. + </p> + <p> + The brilliant light ran along the blades, filling the channels of them + with white fire; the combatants stuck their swords in the turf and took + off their hats, coats, waistcoats, and boots. Evan said a short Latin + prayer to himself, during which Turnbull made something of a parade of + lighting a cigarette which he flung away the instant after, when he saw + MacIan apparently standing ready. Yet MacIan was not exactly ready. He + stood staring like a man stricken with a trance. + </p> + <p> + “What are you staring at?” asked Turnbull. “Do you see the bobbies?” + </p> + <p> + “I see Jerusalem,” said Evan, “all covered with the shields and standards + of the Saracens.” + </p> + <p> + “Jerusalem!” said Turnbull, laughing. “Well, we've taken the only + inhabitant into captivity.” + </p> + <p> + And he picked up his sword and made it whistle like a boy's wand. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said MacIan, dryly. “Let us begin.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan made a military salute with his weapon, which Turnbull copied or + parodied with an impatient contempt; and in the stillness of the garden + the swords came together with a clear sound like a bell. The instant the + blades touched, each felt them tingle to their very points with a personal + vitality, as if they were two naked nerves of steel. Evan had worn + throughout an air of apathy, which might have been the stale apathy of one + who wants nothing. But it was indeed the more dreadful apathy of one who + wants something and will care for nothing else. And this was seen + suddenly; for the instant Evan engaged he disengaged and lunged with an + infernal violence. His opponent with a desperate promptitude parried and + riposted; the parry only just succeeded, the riposte failed. Something big + and unbearable seemed to have broken finally out of Evan in that first + murderous lunge, leaving him lighter and cooler and quicker upon his feet. + He fell to again, fiercely still, but now with a fierce caution. The next + moment Turnbull lunged; MacIan seemed to catch the point and throw it away + from him, and was thrusting back like a thunderbolt, when a sound + paralysed him; another sound beside their ringing weapons. Turnbull, + perhaps from an equal astonishment, perhaps from chivalry, stopped also + and forebore to send his sword through his exposed enemy. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” asked Evan, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + A heavy scraping sound, as of a trunk being dragged along a littered + floor, came from the dark shop behind them. + </p> + <p> + “The old Jew has broken one of his strings, and he's crawling about,” said + Turnbull. “Be quick! We must finish before he gets his gag out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, quick! On guard!” cried the Highlander. The blades crossed + again with the same sound like song, and the men went to work again with + the same white and watchful faces. Evan, in his impatience, went back a + little to his wildness. He made windmills, as the French duellists say, + and though he was probably a shade the better fencer of the two, he found + the other's point pass his face twice so close as almost to graze his + cheek. The second time he realized the actual possibility of defeat and + pulled himself together under a shock of the sanity of anger. He narrowed, + and, so to speak, tightened his operations: he fenced (as the swordsman's + boast goes), in a wedding ring; he turned Turnbull's thrusts with a + maddening and almost mechanical click, like that of a machine. Whenever + Turnbull's sword sought to go over that other mere white streak it seemed + to be caught in a complex network of steel. He turned one thrust, turned + another, turned another. Then suddenly he went forward at the lunge with + his whole living weight. Turnbull leaped back, but Evan lunged and lunged + and lunged again like a devilish piston rod or battering ram. And high + above all the sound of the struggle there broke into the silent evening a + bellowing human voice, nasal, raucous, at the highest pitch of pain. + “Help! Help! Police! Murder! Murder!” The gag was broken; and the tongue + of terror was loose. + </p> + <p> + “Keep on!” gasped Turnbull. “One may be killed before they come.” + </p> + <p> + The voice of the screaming shopkeeper was loud enough to drown not only + the noise of the swords but all other noises around it, but even through + its rending din there seemed to be some other stir or scurry. And Evan, in + the very act of thrusting at Turnbull, saw something in his eyes that made + him drop his sword. The atheist, with his grey eyes at their widest and + wildest, was staring straight over his shoulder at the little archway of + shop that opened on the street beyond. And he saw the archway blocked and + blackened with strange figures. + </p> + <p> + “We must bolt, MacIan,” he said abruptly. “And there isn't a damned second + to lose either. Do as I do.” + </p> + <p> + With a bound he was beside the little cluster of his clothes and boots + that lay on the lawn; he snatched them up, without waiting to put any of + them on; and tucking his sword under his other arm, went wildly at the + wall at the bottom of the garden and swung himself over it. Three seconds + after he had alighted in his socks on the other side, MacIan alighted + beside him, also in his socks and also carrying clothes and sword in a + desperate bundle. + </p> + <p> + They were in a by-street, very lean and lonely itself, but so close to a + crowded thoroughfare that they could see the vague masses of vehicles + going by, and could even see an individual hansom cab passing the corner + at the instant. Turnbull put his fingers to his mouth like a gutter-snipe + and whistled twice. Even as he did so he could hear the loud voices of the + neighbours and the police coming down the garden. + </p> + <p> + The hansom swung sharply and came tearing down the little lane at his + call. When the cabman saw his fares, however, two wild-haired men in their + shirts and socks with naked swords under their arms, he not unnaturally + brought his readiness to a rigid stop and stared suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “You talk to him a minute,” whispered Turnbull, and stepped back into the + shadow of the wall. + </p> + <p> + “We want you,” said MacIan to the cabman, with a superb Scotch drawl of + indifference and assurance, “to drive us to St. Pancras Station—verra + quick.” + </p> + <p> + “Very sorry, sir,” said the cabman, “but I'd like to know it was all + right. Might I arst where you come from, sir?” + </p> + <p> + A second after he spoke MacIan heard a heavy voice on the other side of + the wall, saying: “I suppose I'd better get over and look for them. Give + me a back.” + </p> + <p> + “Cabby,” said MacIan, again assuming the most deliberate and lingering + lowland Scotch intonation, “if ye're really verra anxious to ken whar a' + come fra', I'll tell ye as a verra great secret. A' come from Scotland. + And a'm gaein' to St. Pancras Station. Open the doors, cabby.” + </p> + <p> + The cabman stared, but laughed. The heavy voice behind the wall said: “Now + then, a better back this time, Mr. Price.” And from the shadow of the wall + Turnbull crept out. He had struggled wildly into his coat (leaving his + waistcoat on the pavement), and he was with a fierce pale face climbing up + the cab behind the cabman. MacIan had no glimmering notion of what he was + up to, but an instinct of discipline, inherited from a hundred men of war, + made him stick to his own part and trust the other man's. + </p> + <p> + “Open the doors, cabby,” he repeated, with something of the obstinate + solemnity of a drunkard, “open the doors. Did ye no hear me say St. + Pancras Station?” + </p> + <p> + The top of a policeman's helmet appeared above the garden wall. The cabman + did not see it, but he was still suspicious and began: + </p> + <p> + “Very sorry, sir, but...” and with that the catlike Turnbull tore him out + of his seat and hurled him into the street below, where he lay suddenly + stunned. + </p> + <p> + “Give me his hat,” said Turnbull in a silver voice, that the other obeyed + like a bugle. “And get inside with the swords.” + </p> + <p> + And just as the red and raging face of a policeman appeared above the + wall, Turnbull struck the horse with a terrible cut of the whip and the + two went whirling away like a boomerang. + </p> + <p> + They had spun through seven streets and three or four squares before + anything further happened. Then, in the neighbourhood of Maida Vale, the + driver opened the trap and talked through it in a manner not wholly common + in conversations through that aperture. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. MacIan,” he said shortly and civilly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Turnbull,” replied his motionless fare. + </p> + <p> + “Under circumstances such as those in which we were both recently placed + there was no time for anything but very abrupt action. I trust therefore + that you have no cause to complain of me if I have deferred until this + moment a consultation with you on our present position or future action. + Our present position, Mr. MacIan, I imagine that I am under no special + necessity of describing. We have broken the law and we are fleeing from + its officers. Our future action is a thing about which I myself entertain + sufficiently strong views; but I have no right to assume or to anticipate + yours, though I may have formed a decided conception of your character and + a decided notion of what they will probably be. Still, by every principle + of intellectual justice, I am bound to ask you now and seriously whether + you wish to continue our interrupted relations.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan leant his white and rather weary face back upon the cushions in + order to speak up through the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Turnbull,” he said, “I have nothing to add to what I have said + before. It is strongly borne in upon me that you and I, the sole occupants + of this runaway cab, are at this moment the two most important people in + London, possibly in Europe. I have been looking at all the streets as we + went past, I have been looking at all the shops as we went past, I have + been looking at all the churches as we went past. At first, I felt a + little dazed with the vastness of it all. I could not understand what it + all meant. But now I know exactly what it all means. It means us. This + whole civilization is only a dream. You and I are the realities.” + </p> + <p> + “Religious symbolism,” said Mr. Turnbull, through the trap, “does not, as + you are probably aware, appeal ordinarily to thinkers of the school to + which I belong. But in symbolism as you use it in this instance, I must, I + think, concede a certain truth. We <i>must</i> fight this thing out + somewhere; because, as you truly say, we have found each other's reality. + We <i>must</i> kill each other—or convert each other. I used to + think all Christians were hypocrites, and I felt quite mildly towards them + really. But I know you are sincere—and my soul is mad against you. + In the same way you used, I suppose, to think that all atheists thought + atheism would leave them free for immorality—and yet in your heart + you tolerated them entirely. Now you <i>know</i> that I am an honest man, + and you are mad against me, as I am against you. Yes, that's it. You can't + be angry with bad men. But a good man in the wrong—why one thirsts + for his blood. Yes, you open for me a vista of thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't run into anything,” said Evan, immovably. + </p> + <p> + “There's something in that view of yours, too,” said Turnbull, and shut + down the trap. + </p> + <p> + They sped on through shining streets that shot by them like arrows. Mr. + Turnbull had evidently a great deal of unused practical talent which was + unrolling itself in this ridiculous adventure. They had got away with such + stunning promptitude that the police chase had in all probability not even + properly begun. But in case it had, the amateur cabman chose his dizzy + course through London with a strange dexterity. He did not do what would + have first occurred to any ordinary outsider desiring to destroy his + tracks. He did not cut into by-ways or twist his way through mean streets. + His amateur common sense told him that it was precisely the poor street, + the side street, that would be likely to remember and report the passing + of a hansom cab, like the passing of a royal procession. He kept chiefly + to the great roads, so full of hansoms that a wilder pair than they might + easily have passed in the press. In one of the quieter streets Evan put on + his boots. + </p> + <p> + Towards the top of Albany Street the singular cabman again opened the + trap. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. MacIan,” he said, “I understand that we have now definitely settled + that in the conventional language honour is not satisfied. Our action must + at least go further than it has gone under recent interrupted conditions. + That, I believe, is understood.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” replied the other with his bootlace in his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Under those conditions,” continued Turnbull, his voice coming through the + hole with a slight note of trepidation very unusual with him, “I have a + suggestion to make, if that can be called a suggestion, which has probably + occurred to you as readily as to me. Until the actual event comes off we + are practically in the position if not of comrades, at least of business + partners. Until the event comes off, therefore I should suggest that + quarrelling would be inconvenient and rather inartistic; while the + ordinary exchange of politeness between man and man would be not only + elegant but uncommonly practical.” + </p> + <p> + “You are perfectly right,” answered MacIan, with his melancholy voice, “in + saying that all this has occurred to me. All duellists should behave like + gentlemen to each other. But we, by the queerness of our position, are + something much more than either duellists or gentlemen. We are, in the + oddest and most exact sense of the term, brothers—in arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. MacIan,” replied Turnbull, calmly, “no more need be said.” And he + closed the trap once more. + </p> + <p> + They had reached Finchley Road before he opened it again. + </p> + <p> + Then he said, “Mr. MacIan, may I offer you a cigar. It will be a touch of + realism.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” answered Evan. “You are very kind.” And he began to smoke in + the cab. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. A DISCUSSION AT DAWN + </h2> + <p> + The duellists had from their own point of view escaped or conquered the + chief powers of the modern world. They had satisfied the magistrate, they + had tied the tradesman neck and heels, and they had left the police + behind. As far as their own feelings went they had melted into a monstrous + sea; they were but the fare and driver of one of the million hansoms that + fill London streets. But they had forgotten something; they had forgotten + journalism. They had forgotten that there exists in the modern world, + perhaps for the first time in history, a class of people whose interest is + not that things should happen well or happen badly, should happen + successfully or happen unsuccessfully, should happen to the advantage of + this party or the advantage of that part, but whose interest simply is + that things should happen. + </p> + <p> + It is the one great weakness of journalism as a picture of our modern + existence, that it must be a picture made up entirely of exceptions. We + announce on flaring posters that a man has fallen off a scaffolding. We do + not announce on flaring posters that a man has not fallen off a + scaffolding. Yet this latter fact is fundamentally more exciting, as + indicating that that moving tower of terror and mystery, a man, is still + abroad upon the earth. That the man has not fallen off a scaffolding is + really more sensational; and it is also some thousand times more common. + But journalism cannot reasonably be expected thus to insist upon the + permanent miracles. Busy editors cannot be expected to put on their + posters, “Mr. Wilkinson Still Safe,” or “Mr. Jones, of Worthing, Not Dead + Yet.” They cannot announce the happiness of mankind at all. They cannot + describe all the forks that are not stolen, or all the marriages that are + not judiciously dissolved. Hence the complete picture they give of life is + of necessity fallacious; they can only represent what is unusual. However + democratic they may be, they are only concerned with the minority. + </p> + <p> + The incident of the religious fanatic who broke a window on Ludgate Hill + was alone enough to set them up in good copy for the night. But when the + same man was brought before a magistrate and defied his enemy to mortal + combat in the open court, then the columns would hardly hold the + excruciating information, and the headlines were so large that there was + hardly room for any of the text. The <i>Daily Telegraph</i> headed a + column, “A Duel on Divinity,” and there was a correspondence afterwards + which lasted for months, about whether police magistrates ought to mention + religion. The <i>Daily Mail</i> in its dull, sensible way, headed the + events, “Wanted to fight for the Virgin.” Mr. James Douglas, in <i>The + Star</i>, presuming on his knowledge of philosophical and theological + terms, described the Christian's outbreak under the title of “Dualist and + Duellist.” The <i>Daily News</i> inserted a colourless account of the + matter, but was pursued and eaten up for some weeks, with letters from + outlying ministers, headed “Murder and Mariolatry.” But the journalistic + temperature was steadily and consistently heated by all these influences; + the journalists had tasted blood, prospectively, and were in the mood for + more; everything in the matter prepared them for further outbursts of + moral indignation. And when a gasping reporter rushed in in the last hours + of the evening with the announcement that the two heroes of the Police + Court had literally been found fighting in a London back garden, with a + shopkeeper bound and gagged in the front of the house, the editors and + sub-editors were stricken still as men are by great beatitudes. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, five or six of the great London dailies burst out + simultaneously into great blossoms of eloquent leader-writing. Towards the + end all the leaders tended to be the same, but they all began differently. + The <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, for instance began, “There will be little + difference among our readers or among all truly English and law-abiding + men touching the, etc. etc.” The <i>Daily Mail</i> said, “People must + learn, in the modern world, to keep their theological differences to + themselves. The fracas, etc. etc.” The <i>Daily News</i> started, “Nothing + could be more inimical to the cause of true religion than, etc. etc.” The + <i>Times</i> began with something about Celtic disturbances of the + equilibrium of Empire, and the <i>Daily Express</i> distinguished itself + splendidly by omitting altogether so controversial a matter and + substituting a leader about goloshes. + </p> + <p> + And the morning after that, the editors and the newspapers were in such a + state, that, as the phrase is, there was no holding them. Whatever secret + and elvish thing it is that broods over editors and suddenly turns their + brains, that thing had seized on the story of the broken glass and the + duel in the garden. It became monstrous and omnipresent, as do in our time + the unimportant doings of the sect of the Agapemonites, or as did at an + earlier time the dreary dishonesties of the Rhodesian financiers. + Questions were asked about it, and even answered, in the House of Commons. + The Government was solemnly denounced in the papers for not having done + something, nobody knew what, to prevent the window being broken. An + enormous subscription was started to reimburse Mr. Gordon, the man who had + been gagged in the shop. Mr. MacIan, one of the combatants, became for + some mysterious reason, singly and hugely popular as a comic figure in the + comic papers and on the stage of the music hall. He was always represented + (in defiance of fact), with red whiskers, and a very red nose, and in full + Highland costume. And a song, consisting of an unimaginable number of + verses, in which his name was rhymed with flat iron, the British Lion, sly + 'un, dandelion, Spion (With Kop in the next line), was sung to crowded + houses every night. The papers developed a devouring thirst for the + capture of the fugitives; and when they had not been caught for + forty-eight hours, they suddenly turned the whole matter into a detective + mystery. Letters under the heading, “Where are They,” poured in to every + paper, with every conceivable kind of explanation, running them to earth + in the Monument, the Twopenny Tube, Epping Forest, Westminster Abbey, + rolled up in carpets at Shoolbreds, locked up in safes in Chancery Lane. + Yes, the papers were very interesting, and Mr. Turnbull unrolled a whole + bundle of them for the amusement of Mr. MacIan as they sat on a high + common to the north of London, in the coming of the white dawn. + </p> + <p> + The darkness in the east had been broken with a bar of grey; the bar of + grey was split with a sword of silver and morning lifted itself + laboriously over London. From the spot where Turnbull and MacIan were + sitting on one of the barren steeps behind Hampstead, they could see the + whole of London shaping itself vaguely and largely in the grey and growing + light, until the white sun stood over it and it lay at their feet, the + splendid monstrosity that it is. Its bewildering squares and + parallelograms were compact and perfect as a Chinese puzzle; an enormous + hieroglyphic which man must decipher or die. There fell upon both of them, + but upon Turnbull more than the other, because he know more what the scene + signified, that quite indescribable sense as of a sublime and passionate + and heart-moving futility, which is never evoked by deserts or dead men or + men neglected and barbarous, which can only be invoked by the sight of the + enormous genius of man applied to anything other than the best. Turnbull, + the old idealistic democrat, had so often reviled the democracy and + reviled them justly for their supineness, their snobbishness, their evil + reverence for idle things. He was right enough; for our democracy has only + one great fault; it is not democratic. And after denouncing so justly + average modern men for so many years as sophists and as slaves, he looked + down from an empty slope in Hampstead and saw what gods they are. Their + achievement seemed all the more heroic and divine, because it seemed + doubtful whether it was worth doing at all. There seemed to be something + greater than mere accuracy in making such a mistake as London. And what + was to be the end of it all? what was to be the ultimate transformation of + this common and incredible London man, this workman on a tram in + Battersea, his clerk on an omnibus in Cheapside? Turnbull, as he stared + drearily, murmured to himself the words of the old atheistic and + revolutionary Swinburne who had intoxicated his youth: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And still we ask if God or man + Can loosen thee Lazarus; + Bid thee rise up republican, + And save thyself and all of us. + But no disciple's tongue can say + If thou can'st take our sins away.” + </pre> + <p> + Turnbull shivered slightly as if behind the earthly morning he felt the + evening of the world, the sunset of so many hopes. Those words were from + “Songs before Sunrise”. But Turnbull's songs at their best were songs + after sunrise, and sunrise had been no such great thing after all. + Turnbull shivered again in the sharp morning air. MacIan was also gazing + with his face towards the city, but there was that about his blind and + mystical stare that told one, so to speak, that his eyes were turned + inwards. When Turnbull said something to him about London, they seemed to + move as at a summons and come out like two householders coming out into + their doorways. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, with a sort of stupidity. “It's a very big place.” + </p> + <p> + There was a somewhat unmeaning silence, and then MacIan said again: + </p> + <p> + “It's a very big place. When I first came into it I was frightened of it. + Frightened exactly as one would be frightened at the sight of a man forty + feet high. I am used to big things where I come from, big mountains that + seem to fill God's infinity, and the big sea that goes to the end of the + world. But then these things are all shapeless and confused things, not + made in any familiar form. But to see the plain, square, human things as + large as that, houses so large and streets so large, and the town itself + so large, was like having screwed some devil's magnifying glass into one's + eye. It was like seeing a porridge bowl as big as a house, or a mouse-trap + made to catch elephants.” + </p> + <p> + “Like the land of the Brobdingnagians,” said Turnbull, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Where is that?” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull said bitterly, “In a book,” and the silence fell suddenly between + them again. + </p> + <p> + They were sitting in a sort of litter on the hillside; all the things they + had hurriedly collected, in various places, for their flight, were strewn + indiscriminately round them. The two swords with which they had lately + sought each other's lives were flung down on the grass at random, like two + idle walking-sticks. Some provisions they had bought last night, at a low + public house, in case of undefined contingencies, were tossed about like + the materials of an ordinary picnic, here a basket of chocolate, and there + a bottle of wine. And to add to the disorder finally, there were strewn on + top of everything, the most disorderly of modern things, newspapers, and + more newspapers, and yet again newspapers, the ministers of the modern + anarchy. Turnbull picked up one of them drearily, and took out a pipe. + </p> + <p> + “There's a lot about us,” he said. “Do you mind if I light up?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I mind?” asked MacIan. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull eyed with a certain studious interest, the man who did not + understand any of the verbal courtesies; he lit his pipe and blew great + clouds out of it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he resumed. “The matter on which you and I are engaged is at this + moment really the best copy in England. I am a journalist, and I know. For + the first time, perhaps, for many generations, the English are really more + angry about a wrong thing done in England than they are about a wrong + thing done in France.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a wrong thing,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull laughed. “You seem unable to understand the ordinary use of the + human language. If I did not suspect that you were a genius, I should + certainly know you were a blockhead. I fancy we had better be getting + along and collecting our baggage.” + </p> + <p> + And he jumped up and began shoving the luggage into his pockets, or + strapping it on to his back. As he thrust a tin of canned meat, anyhow, + into his bursting side pocket, he said casually: + </p> + <p> + “I only meant that you and I are the most prominent people in the English + papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did you expect?” asked MacIan, opening his great grave blue + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The papers are full of us,” said Turnbull, stooping to pick up one of the + swords. + </p> + <p> + MacIan stooped and picked up the other. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, in his simple way. “I have read what they have to say. But + they don't seem to understand the point.” + </p> + <p> + “The point of what?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “The point of the sword,” said MacIan, violently, and planted the steel + point in the soil like a man planting a tree. + </p> + <p> + “That is a point,” said Turnbull, grimly, “that we will discuss later. + Come along.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull tied the last tin of biscuits desperately to himself with string; + and then spoke, like a diver girt for plunging, short and sharp. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. MacIan, you must listen to me. You must listen to me, not merely + because I know the country, which you might learn by looking at a map, but + because I know the people of the country, whom you could not know by + living here thirty years. That infernal city down there is awake; and it + is awake against us. All those endless rows of windows and windows are all + eyes staring at us. All those forests of chimneys are fingers pointing at + us, as we stand here on the hillside. This thing has caught on. For the + next six mortal months they will think of nothing but us, as for six + mortal months they thought of nothing but the Dreyfus case. Oh, I know + it's funny. They let starving children, who don't want to die, drop by the + score without looking round. But because two gentlemen, from private + feelings of delicacy, do want to die, they will mobilize the army and navy + to prevent them. For half a year or more, you and I, Mr. MacIan, will be + an obstacle to every reform in the British Empire. We shall prevent the + Chinese being sent out of the Transvaal and the blocks being stopped in + the Strand. We shall be the conversational substitute when anyone + recommends Home Rule, or complains of sky signs. Therefore, do not + imagine, in your innocence, that we have only to melt away among those + English hills as a Highland cateran might into your god-forsaken Highland + mountains. We must be eternally on our guard; we must live the hunted life + of two distinguished criminals. We must expect to be recognized as much as + if we were Napoleon escaping from Elba. We must be prepared for our + descriptions being sent to every tiny village, and for our faces being + recognized by every ambitious policeman. We must often sleep under the + stars as if we were in Africa. Last and most important we must not dream + of effecting our—our final settlement, which will be a thing as + famous as the Phoenix Park murders, unless we have made real and precise + arrangements for our isolation—I will not say our safety. We must + not, in short, fight until we have thrown them off our scent, if only for + a moment. For, take my word for it, Mr. MacIan, if the British Public once + catches us up, the British Public will prevent the duel, if it is only by + locking us both up in asylums for the rest of our days.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan was looking at the horizon with a rather misty look. + </p> + <p> + “I am not at all surprised,” he said, “at the world being against us. It + makes me feel I was right to——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “To smash your window,” said MacIan. “I have woken up the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said Turnbull, stolidly. “Let us look at a few final + facts. Beyond that hill there is comparatively clear country. Fortunately, + I know the part well, and if you will follow me exactly, and, when + necessary, on your stomach, we may be able to get ten miles out of London, + literally without meeting anyone at all, which will be the best possible + beginning, at any rate. We have provisions for at least two days and two + nights, three days if we do it carefully. We may be able to get fifty or + sixty miles away without even walking into an inn door. I have the + biscuits and the tinned meat, and the milk. You have the chocolate, I + think? And the brandy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said MacIan, like a soldier taking orders. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, come on. March. We turn under that third bush and so + down into the valley.” And he set off ahead at a swinging walk. + </p> + <p> + Then he stopped suddenly; for he realized that the other was not + following. Evan MacIan was leaning on his sword with a lowering face, like + a man suddenly smitten still with doubt. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is the matter?” asked Turnbull, staring in some anger. + </p> + <p> + Evan made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce is the matter with you?” demanded the leader, again, his + face slowly growing as red as his beard; then he said, suddenly, and in a + more human voice, “Are you in pain, MacIan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the Highlander, without lifting his face. + </p> + <p> + “Take some brandy,” cried Turnbull, walking forward hurriedly towards him. + “You've got it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not in the body,” said MacIan, in his dull, strange way. “The pain + has come into my mind. A very dreadful thing has just come into my + thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you talking about?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + MacIan broke out with a queer and living voice. + </p> + <p> + “We must fight now, Turnbull. We must fight now. A frightful thing has + come upon me, and I know it must be now and here. I must kill you here,” + he cried, with a sort of tearful rage impossible to describe. “Here, here, + upon this blessed grass.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you idiot,” began Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “The hour has come—the black hour God meant for it. Quick, it will + soon be gone. Quick!” + </p> + <p> + And he flung the scabbard from him furiously, and stood with the sunlight + sparkling along his sword. + </p> + <p> + “You confounded fool,” repeated Turnbull. “Put that thing up again, you + ass; people will come out of that house at the first clash of the steel.” + </p> + <p> + “One of us will be dead before they come,” said the other, hoarsely, “for + this is the hour God meant.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never thought much of God,” said the editor of <i>The Atheist</i>, + losing all patience. “And I think less now. Never mind what God meant. + Kindly enlighten my pagan darkness as to what the devil <i>you</i> mean.” + </p> + <p> + “The hour will soon be gone. In a moment it will be gone,” said the + madman. “It is now, now, now that I must nail your blaspheming body to the + earth—now, now that I must avenge Our Lady on her vile slanderer. + Now or never. For the dreadful thought is in my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “And what thought,” asked Turnbull, with frantic composure, “occupies what + you call your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I must kill you now,” said the fanatic, “because——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because,” said Turnbull, patiently. + </p> + <p> + “Because I have begun to like you.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's face had a sudden spasm in the sunlight, a change so + instantaneous that it left no trace behind it; and his features seemed + still carved into a cold stare. But when he spoke again he seemed like a + man who was placidly pretending to misunderstand something that he + understood perfectly well. + </p> + <p> + “Your affection expresses itself in an abrupt form,” he began, but MacIan + broke the brittle and frivolous speech to pieces with a violent voice. “Do + not trouble to talk like that,” he said. “You know what I mean as well as + I know it. Come on and fight, I say. Perhaps you are feeling just as I + do.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's face flinched again in the fierce sunlight, but his attitude + kept its contemptuous ease. + </p> + <p> + “Your Celtic mind really goes too fast for me,” he said; “let me be + permitted in my heavy Lowland way to understand this new development. My + dear Mr. MacIan, what do you really mean?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan still kept the shining sword-point towards the other's breast. + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean. You mean the same yourself. We must fight now or + else——” + </p> + <p> + “Or else?” repeated Turnbull, staring at him with an almost blinding + gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Or else we may not want to fight at all,” answered Evan, and the end of + his speech was like a despairing cry. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull took out his own sword suddenly as if to engage; then planting it + point downwards for a moment, he said, “Before we begin, may I ask you a + question?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan bowed patiently, but with burning eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You said, just now,” continued Turnbull, presently, “that if we did not + fight now, we might not want to fight at all. How would you feel about the + matter if we came not to want to fight at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I should feel,” answered the other, “just as I should feel if you had + drawn your sword, and I had run away from it. I should feel that because I + had been weak, justice had not been done.” + </p> + <p> + “Justice,” answered Turnbull, with a thoughtful smile, “but we are talking + about your feelings. And what do you mean by justice, apart from your + feelings?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan made a gesture of weary recognition! “Oh, Nominalism,” he said, + with a sort of sigh, “we had all that out in the twelfth century.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish we could have it out now,” replied the other, firmly. “Do you + really mean that if you came to think me right, you would be certainly + wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “If I had a blow on the back of my head, I might come to think you a green + elephant,” answered MacIan, “but have I not the right to say now, that if + I thought that I should think wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are quite certain that it would be wrong to like me?” asked + Turnbull, with a slight smile. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Evan, thoughtfully, “I do not say that. It may not be the + devil, it may be some part of God I am not meant to know. But I had a work + to do, and it is making the work difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose,” said the atheist, quite gently, “that you and I know all + about which part of God we ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan burst out like a man driven back and explaining everything. + </p> + <p> + “The Church is not a thing like the Athenaeum Club,” he cried. “If the + Athenaeum Club lost all its members, the Athenaeum Club would dissolve and + cease to exist. But when we belong to the Church we belong to something + which is outside all of us; which is outside everything you talk about, + outside the Cardinals and the Pope. They belong to it, but it does not + belong to them. If we all fell dead suddenly, the Church would still + somehow exist in God. Confound it all, don't you see that I am more sure + of its existence than I am of my own existence? And yet you ask me to + trust my temperament, my own temperament, which can be turned upside down + by two bottles of claret or an attack of the jaundice. You ask me to trust + that when it softens towards you and not to trust the thing which I + believe to be outside myself and more real than the blood in my body.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a moment,” said Turnbull, in the same easy tone, “Even in the very + act of saying that you believe this or that, you imply that there is a + part of yourself that you trust even if there are many parts which you + mistrust. If it is only you that like me, surely, also, it is only you + that believe in the Catholic Church.” + </p> + <p> + Evan remained in an unmoved and grave attitude. “There is a part of me + which is divine,” he answered, “a part that can be trusted, but there are + also affections which are entirely animal and idle.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are quite certain, I suppose,” continued Turnbull, “that if even + you esteem me the esteem would be wholly animal and idle?” For the first + time MacIan started as if he had not expected the thing that was said to + him. At last he said: + </p> + <p> + “Whatever in earth or heaven it is that has joined us two together, it + seems to be something which makes it impossible to lie. No, I do not think + that the movement in me towards you was...was that surface sort of thing. + It may have been something deeper...something strange. I cannot understand + the thing at all. But understand this and understand it thoroughly, if I + loved you my love might be divine. No, it is not some trifle that we are + fighting about. It is not some superstition or some symbol. When you wrote + those words about Our Lady, you were in that act a wicked man doing a + wicked thing. If I hate you it is because you have hated goodness. And if + I like you...it is because you are good.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's face wore an indecipherable expression. + </p> + <p> + “Well, shall we fight now?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said MacIan, with a sudden contraction of his black brows, “yes, it + must be now.” + </p> + <p> + The bright swords crossed, and the first touch of them, travelling down + blade and arm, told each combatant that the heart of the other was + awakened. It was not in that way that the swords rang together when they + had rushed on each other in the little garden behind the dealer's shop. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and then MacIan made a movement as if to thrust, and + almost at the same moment Turnbull suddenly and calmly dropped his sword. + Evan stared round in an unusual bewilderment, and then realized that a + large man in pale clothes and a Panama hat was strolling serenely towards + them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. THE PEACEMAKER + </h2> + <p> + When the combatants, with crossed swords, became suddenly conscious of a + third party, they each made the same movement. It was as quick as the snap + of a pistol, and they altered it instantaneously and recovered their + original pose, but they had both made it, they had both seen it, and they + both knew what it was. It was not a movement of anger at being + interrupted. Say or think what they would, it was a movement of relief. A + force within them, and yet quite beyond them, seemed slowly and pitilessly + washing away the adamant of their oath. As mistaken lovers might watch the + inevitable sunset of first love, these men watched the sunset of their + first hatred. + </p> + <p> + Their hearts were growing weaker and weaker against each other. When their + weapons rang and riposted in the little London garden, they could have + been very certain that if a third party had interrupted them something at + least would have happened. They would have killed each other or they would + have killed him. But now nothing could undo or deny that flash of fact, + that for a second they had been glad to be interrupted. Some new and + strange thing was rising higher and higher in their hearts like a high sea + at night. It was something that seemed all the more merciless, because it + might turn out an enormous mercy. Was there, perhaps, some such fatalism + in friendship as all lovers talk about in love? Did God make men love each + other against their will? + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you'll excuse my speaking to you,” said the stranger, in a voice + at once eager and deprecating. + </p> + <p> + The voice was too polite for good manners. It was incongruous with the + eccentric spectacle of the duellists which ought to have startled a sane + and free man. It was also incongruous with the full and healthy, though + rather loose physique of the man who spoke. At the first glance he looked + a fine animal, with curling gold beard and hair, and blue eyes, unusually + bright. It was only at the second glance that the mind felt a sudden and + perhaps unmeaning irritation at the way in which the gold beard retreated + backwards into the waistcoat, and the way in which the finely shaped nose + went forward as if smelling its way. And it was only, perhaps, at the + hundredth glance that the bright blue eyes, which normally before and + after the instant seemed brilliant with intelligence, seemed as it were to + be brilliant with idiocy. He was a heavy, healthy-looking man, who looked + all the larger because of the loose, light coloured clothes that he wore, + and that had in their extreme lightness and looseness, almost a touch of + the tropics. But a closer examination of his attire would have shown that + even in the tropics it would have been unique; but it was all woven + according to some hygienic texture which no human being had ever heard of + before, and which was absolutely necessary even for a day's health. He + wore a huge broad-brimmed hat, equally hygienic, very much at the back of + his head, and his voice coming out of so heavy and hearty a type of man + was, as I have said, startlingly shrill and deferential. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you'll excuse my speaking to you,” he said. “Now, I wonder if + you are in some little difficulty which, after all, we could settle very + comfortably together? Now, you don't mind my saying this, do you?” + </p> + <p> + The face of both combatants remained somewhat solid under this appeal. But + the stranger, probably taking their silence for a gathering shame, + continued with a kind of gaiety: + </p> + <p> + “So you are the young men I have read about in the papers. Well, of + course, when one is young, one is rather romantic. Do you know what I + always say to young people?” + </p> + <p> + A blank silence followed this gay inquiry. Then Turnbull said in a + colourless voice: + </p> + <p> + “As I was forty-seven last birthday, I probably came into the world too + soon for the experience.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, very good,” said the friendly person. “Dry Scotch humour. Dry + Scotch humour. Well now. I understand that you two people want to fight a + duel. I suppose you aren't much up in the modern world. We've quite + outgrown duelling, you know. In fact, Tolstoy tells us that we shall soon + outgrow war, which he says is simply a duel between nations. A duel + between nations. But there is no doubt about our having outgrown + duelling.” + </p> + <p> + Waiting for some effect upon his wooden auditors, the stranger stood + beaming for a moment and then resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Now, they tell me in the newspapers that you are really wanting to fight + about something connected with Roman Catholicism. Now, do you know what I + always say to Roman Catholics?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Turnbull, heavily. “Do <i>they</i>?” It seemed to be a + characteristic of the hearty, hygienic gentleman that he always forgot the + speech he had made the moment before. Without enlarging further on the + fixed form of his appeal to the Church of Rome, he laughed cordially at + Turnbull's answer; then his wandering blue eyes caught the sunlight on the + swords, and he assumed a good-humoured gravity. + </p> + <p> + “But you know this is a serious matter,” he said, eyeing Turnbull and + MacIan, as if they had just been keeping the table in a roar with their + frivolities. “I am sure that if I appealed to your higher natures...your + higher natures. Every man has a higher nature and a lower nature. Now, let + us put the matter very plainly, and without any romantic nonsense about + honour or anything of that sort. Is not bloodshed a great sin?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said MacIan, speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Well, really, really!” said the peacemaker. + </p> + <p> + “Murder is a sin,” said the immovable Highlander. “There is no sin of + bloodshed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we won't quarrel about a word,” said the other, pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth not?” said MacIan, with a sudden asperity. “Why shouldn't we + quarrel about a word? What is the good of words if they aren't important + enough to quarrel over? Why do we choose one word more than another if + there isn't any difference between them? If you called a woman a + chimpanzee instead of an angel, wouldn't there be a quarrel about a word? + If you're not going to argue about words, what are you going to argue + about? Are you going to convey your meaning to me by moving your ears? The + Church and the heresies always used to fight about words, because they are + the only things worth fighting about. I say that murder is a sin, and + bloodshed is not, and that there is as much difference between those words + as there is between the word 'yes' and the word 'no'; or rather more + difference, for 'yes' and 'no', at least, belong to the same category. + Murder is a spiritual incident. Bloodshed is a physical incident. A + surgeon commits bloodshed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you're a casuist!” said the large man, wagging his head. “Now, do you + know what I always say to casuists...?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan made a violent gesture; and Turnbull broke into open laughter. The + peacemaker did not seem to be in the least annoyed, but continued in + unabated enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” he said, “let us get back to the point. Now Tolstoy has + shown that force is no remedy; so you see the position in which I am + placed. I am doing my best to stop what I'm sure you won't mind my calling + this really useless violence, this really quite wrong violence of yours. + But it's against my principles to call in the police against you, because + the police are still on a lower moral plane, so to speak, because, in + short, the police undoubtedly sometimes employ force. Tolstoy has shown + that violence merely breeds violence in the person towards whom it is + used, whereas Love, on the other hand, breeds Love. So you see how I am + placed. I am reduced to use Love in order to stop you. I am obliged to use + Love.” + </p> + <p> + He gave to the word an indescribable sound of something hard and heavy, as + if he were saying “boots”. Turnbull suddenly gripped his sword and said, + shortly, “I see how you are placed quite well, sir. You will not call the + police. Mr. MacIan, shall we engage?” MacIan plucked his sword out of the + grass. + </p> + <p> + “I must and will stop this shocking crime,” cried the Tolstoian, crimson + in the face. “It is against all modern ideas. It is against the principle + of love. How you, sir, who pretend to be a Christian...” + </p> + <p> + MacIan turned upon him with a white face and bitter lip. “Sir,” he said, + “talk about the principle of love as much as you like. You seem to me + colder than a lump of stone; but I am willing to believe that you may at + some time have loved a cat, or a dog, or a child. When you were a baby, I + suppose you loved your mother. Talk about love, then, till the world is + sick of the word. But don't you talk about Christianity. Don't you dare to + say one word, white or black, about it. Christianity is, as far as you are + concerned, a horrible mystery. Keep clear of it, keep silent upon it, as + you would upon an abomination. It is a thing that has made men slay and + torture each other; and you will never know why. It is a thing that has + made men do evil that good might come; and you will never understand the + evil, let alone the good. Christianity is a thing that could only make you + vomit, till you are other than you are. I would not justify it to you even + if I could. Hate it, in God's name, as Turnbull does, who is a man. It is + a monstrous thing, for which men die. And if you will stand here and talk + about love for another ten minutes it is very probable that you will see a + man die for it.” + </p> + <p> + And he fell on guard. Turnbull was busy settling something loose in his + elaborate hilt, and the pause was broken by the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I call the police?” he said, with a heated face. + </p> + <p> + “And deny your most sacred dogma,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “Dogma!” cried the man, in a sort of dismay. “Oh, we have no <i>dogmas</i>, + you know!” + </p> + <p> + There was another silence, and he said again, airily: + </p> + <p> + “You know, I think, there's something in what Shaw teaches about no moral + principles being quite fixed. Have you ever read <i>The Quintessence of + Ibsenism</i>? Of course he went very wrong over the war.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull, with a bent, flushed face, was tying up the loose piece of the + pommel with string. With the string in his teeth, he said, “Oh, make up + your damned mind and clear out!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a serious thing,” said the philosopher, shaking his head. “I must be + alone and consider which is the higher point of view. I rather feel that + in a case so extreme as this...” and he went slowly away. As he + disappeared among the trees, they heard him murmuring in a sing-song + voice, “New occasions teach new duties,” out of a poem by James Russell + Lowell. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said MacIan, drawing a deep breath. “Don't you believe in prayer + now? I prayed for an angel.” + </p> + <p> + “An hour ago,” said the Highlander, in his heavy meditative voice, “I felt + the devil weakening my heart and my oath against you, and I prayed that + God would send an angel to my aid.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired the other, finishing his mending and wrapping the rest of + the string round his hand to get a firmer grip. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that man was an angel,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know they were as bad as that,” answered Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “We know that devils sometimes quote Scripture and counterfeit good,” + replied the mystic. “Why should not angels sometimes come to show us the + black abyss of evil on whose brink we stand. If that man had not tried to + stop us...I might...I might have stopped.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean,” said Turnbull, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “But then he came,” broke out MacIan, “and my soul said to me: 'Give up + fighting, and you will become like That. Give up vows and dogmas, and + fixed things, and you may grow like That. You may learn, also, that fog of + false philosophy. You may grow fond of that mire of crawling, cowardly + morals, and you may come to think a blow bad, because it hurts, and not + because it humiliates. You may come to think murder wrong, because it is + violent, and not because it is unjust. Oh, you blasphemer of the good, an + hour ago I almost loved you! But do not fear for me now. I have heard the + word Love pronounced in <i>his</i> intonation; and I know exactly what it + means. On guard!'” + </p> + <p> + The swords caught on each other with a dreadful clang and jar, full of the + old energy and hate; and at once plunged and replunged. Once more each + man's heart had become the magnet of a mad sword. Suddenly, furious as + they were, they were frozen for a moment motionless. + </p> + <p> + “What noise is that?” asked the Highlander, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “I think I know,” replied Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “What?... What?” cried the other. + </p> + <p> + “The student of Shaw and Tolstoy has made up his remarkable mind,” said + Turnbull, quietly. “The police are coming up the hill.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. THE OTHER PHILOSOPHER + </h2> + <p> + Between high hedges in Hertfordshire, hedges so high as to create a kind + of grove, two men were running. They did not run in a scampering or + feverish manner, but in the steady swing of the pendulum. Across the great + plains and uplands to the right and left of the lane, a long tide of + sunset light rolled like a sea of ruby, lighting up the long terraces of + the hills and picking out the few windows of the scattered hamlets in + startling blood-red sparks. But the lane was cut deep in the hill and + remained in an abrupt shadow. The two men running in it had an impression + not uncommonly experienced between those wild green English walls; a sense + of being led between the walls of a maze. + </p> + <p> + Though their pace was steady it was vigorous; their faces were heated and + their eyes fixed and bright. There was, indeed, something a little mad in + the contrast between the evening's stillness over the empty country-side, + and these two figures fleeing wildly from nothing. They had the look of + two lunatics, possibly they were. + </p> + <p> + “Are you all right?” said Turnbull, with civility. “Can you keep this up?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite easily, thank you,” replied MacIan. “I run very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a qualification in a family of warriors?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly. Rapid movement is essential,” answered MacIan, who never saw + a joke in his life. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull broke out into a short laugh, and silence fell between them, the + panting silence of runners. + </p> + <p> + Then MacIan said: “We run better than any of those policemen. They are too + fat. Why do you make your policemen so fat?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't do much towards making them fat myself,” replied Turnbull, + genially, “but I flatter myself that I am now doing something towards + making them thin. You'll see they will be as lean as rakes by the time + they catch us. They will look like your friend, Cardinal Manning.” + </p> + <p> + “But they won't catch us,” said MacIan, in his literal way. + </p> + <p> + “No, we beat them in the great military art of running away,” returned the + other. “They won't catch us unless——” + </p> + <p> + MacIan turned his long equine face inquiringly. “Unless what?” he said, + for Turnbull had gone silent suddenly, and seemed to be listening intently + as he ran as a horse does with his ears turned back. + </p> + <p> + “Unless what?” repeated the Highlander. + </p> + <p> + “Unless they do—what they have done. Listen.” MacIan slackened his + trot, and turned his head to the trail they had left behind them. Across + two or three billows of the up and down lane came along the ground the + unmistakable throbbing of horses' hoofs. + </p> + <p> + “They have put the mounted police on us,” said Turnbull, shortly. “Good + Lord, one would think we were a Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + “So we are,” said MacIan calmly. “What shall we do? Shall we turn on them + with our points?” + </p> + <p> + “It may come to that,” answered Turnbull, “though if it does, I reckon + that will be the last act. We must put it off if we can.” And he stared + and peered about him between the bushes. “If we could hide somewhere the + beasts might go by us,” he said. “The police have their faults, but thank + God they're inefficient. Why, here's the very thing. Be quick and quiet. + Follow me.” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly swung himself up the high bank on one side of the lane. It was + almost as high and smooth as a wall, and on the top of it the black hedge + stood out over them as an angle, almost like a thatched roof of the lane. + And the burning evening sky looked down at them through the tangle with + red eyes as of an army of goblins. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull hoisted himself up and broke the hedge with his body. As his head + and shoulders rose above it they turned to flame in the full glow as if + lit up by an immense firelight. His red hair and beard looked almost + scarlet, and his pale face as bright as a boy's. Something violent, + something that was at once love and hatred, surged in the strange heart of + the Gael below him. He had an unutterable sense of epic importance, as if + he were somehow lifting all humanity into a prouder and more passionate + region of the air. As he swung himself up also into the evening light he + felt as if he were rising on enormous wings. + </p> + <p> + Legends of the morning of the world which he had heard in childhood or + read in youth came back upon him in a cloudy splendour, purple tales of + wrath and friendship, like Roland and Oliver, or Balin and Balan, + reminding him of emotional entanglements. Men who had loved each other and + then fought each other; men who had fought each other and then loved each + other, together made a mixed but monstrous sense of momentousness. The + crimson seas of the sunset seemed to him like a bursting out of some + sacred blood, as if the heart of the world had broken. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was wholly unaffected by any written or spoken poetry; his was a + powerful and prosaic mind. But even upon him there came for the moment + something out of the earth and the passionate ends of the sky. The only + evidence was in his voice, which was still practical but a shade more + quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that summer-house-looking thing over there?” he asked shortly. + “That will do for us very well.” + </p> + <p> + Keeping himself free from the tangle of the hedge he strolled across a + triangle of obscure kitchen garden, and approached a dismal shed or lodge + a yard or two beyond it. It was a weather-stained hut of grey wood, which + with all its desolation retained a tag or two of trivial ornament, which + suggested that the thing had once been a sort of summer-house, and the + place probably a sort of garden. + </p> + <p> + “That is quite invisible from the road,” said Turnbull, as he entered it, + “and it will cover us up for the night.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan looked at him gravely for a few moments. “Sir,” he said, “I ought + to say something to you. I ought to say——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” said Turnbull, suddenly lifting his hand; “be still, man.” + </p> + <p> + In the sudden silence, the drumming of the distant horses grew louder and + louder with inconceivable rapidity, and the cavalcade of police rushed by + below them in the lane, almost with the roar and rattle of an express + train. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to tell you,” continued MacIan, still staring stolidly at the + other, “that you are a great chief, and it is good to go to war behind + you.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull said nothing, but turned and looked out of the foolish lattice of + the little windows, then he said, “We must have food and sleep first.” + </p> + <p> + When the last echo of their eluded pursuers had died in the distant + uplands, Turnbull began to unpack the provisions with the easy air of a + man at a picnic. He had just laid out the last items, put a bottle of wine + on the floor, and a tin of salmon on the window-ledge, when the bottomless + silence of that forgotten place was broken. And it was broken by three + heavy blows of a stick delivered upon the door. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull looked up in the act of opening a tin and stared silently at his + companion. MacIan's long, lean mouth had shut hard. + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil can that be?” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “God knows,” said the other. “It might be God.” + </p> + <p> + Again the sound of the wooden stick reverberated on the wooden door. It + was a curious sound and on consideration did not resemble the ordinary + effects of knocking on a door for admittance. It was rather as if the + point of a stick were plunged again and again at the panels in an absurd + attempt to make a hole in them. + </p> + <p> + A wild look sprang into MacIan's eyes and he got up half stupidly, with a + kind of stagger, put his hand out and caught one of the swords. “Let us + fight at once,” he cried, “it is the end of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “You're overdone, MacIan,” said Turnbull, putting him on one side. “It's + only someone playing the goat. Let me open the door.” + </p> + <p> + But he also picked up a sword as he stepped to open it. + </p> + <p> + He paused one moment with his hand on the handle and then flung the door + open. Almost as he did so the ferrule of an ordinary bamboo cane came at + his eyes, so that he had actually to parry it with the naked weapon in his + hands. As the two touched, the point of the stick was dropped very + abruptly, and the man with the stick stepped hurriedly back. + </p> + <p> + Against the heraldic background of sprawling crimson and gold offered him + by the expiring sunset, the figure of the man with the stick showed at + first merely black and fantastic. He was a small man with two wisps of + long hair that curled up on each side, and seen in silhouette, looked like + horns. He had a bow tie so big that the two ends showed on each side of + his neck like unnatural stunted wings. He had his long black cane still + tilted in his hand like a fencing foil and half presented at the open + door. His large straw hat had fallen behind him as he leapt backwards. + </p> + <p> + “With reference to your suggestion, MacIan,” said Turnbull, placidly, “I + think it looks more like the Devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Who on earth are you?” cried the stranger in a high shrill voice, + brandishing his cane defensively. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see,” said Turnbull, looking round to MacIan with the same + blandness. “Who are we?” + </p> + <p> + “Come out,” screamed the little man with the stick. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Turnbull, and went outside with the sword, MacIan + following. + </p> + <p> + Seen more fully, with the evening light on his face, the strange man + looked a little less like a goblin. He wore a square pale-grey jacket + suit, on which the grey butterfly tie was the only indisputable touch of + affectation. Against the great sunset his figure had looked merely small: + seen in a more equal light it looked tolerably compact and shapely. His + reddish-brown hair, combed into two great curls, looked like the long, + slow curling hair of the women in some pre-Raphaelite pictures. But within + this feminine frame of hair his face was unexpectedly impudent, like a + monkey's. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” he said, in a sharp small voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said MacIan, in his grave childish way, “what are <i>you</i> doing + here?” + </p> + <p> + “I,” said the man, indignantly, “I'm in my own garden.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said MacIan, simply, “I apologize.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was coolly curling his red moustache, and the stranger stared + from one to the other, temporarily stunned by their innocent assurance. + </p> + <p> + “But, may I ask,” he said at last, “what the devil you are doing in my + summer-house?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said MacIan. “We were just going to fight.” + </p> + <p> + “To fight!” repeated the man. + </p> + <p> + “We had better tell this gentleman the whole business,” broke in Turnbull. + Then turning to the stranger he said firmly, “I am sorry, sir, but we have + something to do that must be done. And I may as well tell you at the + beginning and to avoid waste of time or language, that we cannot admit any + interference.” + </p> + <p> + “We were just going to take some slight refreshment when you interrupted + us...” + </p> + <p> + The little man had a dawning expression of understanding and stooped and + picked up the unused bottle of wine, eyeing it curiously. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull continued: + </p> + <p> + “But that refreshment was preparatory to something which I fear you will + find less comprehensible, but on which our minds are entirely fixed, sir. + We are forced to fight a duel. We are forced by honour and an internal + intellectual need. Do not, for your own sake, attempt to stop us. I know + all the excellent and ethical things that you will want to say to us. I + know all about the essential requirements of civil order: I have written + leading articles about them all my life. I know all about the sacredness + of human life; I have bored all my friends with it. Try and understand our + position. This man and I are alone in the modern world in that we think + that God is essentially important. I think He does not exist; that is + where the importance comes in for me. But this man thinks that He does + exist, and thinking that very properly thinks Him more important than + anything else. Now we wish to make a great demonstration and assertion—something + that will set the world on fire like the first Christian persecutions. If + you like, we are attempting a mutual martyrdom. The papers have posted up + every town against us. Scotland Yard has fortified every police station + with our enemies; we are driven therefore to the edge of a lonely lane, + and indirectly to taking liberties with your summer-house in order to + arrange our...” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” roared the little man in the butterfly necktie. “Put me out of my + intellectual misery. Are you really the two tomfools I have read of in all + the papers? Are you the two people who wanted to spit each other in the + Police Court? Are you? Are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said MacIan, “it began in a Police Court.” + </p> + <p> + The little man slung the bottle of wine twenty yards away like a stone. + </p> + <p> + “Come up to my place,” he said. “I've got better stuff than that. I've got + the best Beaune within fifty miles of here. Come up. You're the very men I + wanted to see.” + </p> + <p> + Even Turnbull, with his typical invulnerability, was a little taken aback + by this boisterous and almost brutal hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “Why...sir...” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Come up! Come in!” howled the little man, dancing with delight. “I'll + give you a dinner. I'll give you a bed! I'll give you a green smooth lawn + and your choice of swords and pistols. Why, you fools, I adore fighting! + It's the only good thing in God's world! I've walked about these damned + fields and longed to see somebody cut up and killed and the blood running. + Ha! Ha!” + </p> + <p> + And he made sudden lunges with his stick at the trunk of a neighbouring + tree so that the ferrule made fierce prints and punctures in the bark. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” said MacIan suddenly with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child, + “excuse me, but...” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said the small fighter, brandishing his wooden weapon. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” repeated MacIan, “but was that what you were doing at the + door?” + </p> + <p> + The little man stared an instant and then said: “Yes,” and Turnbull broke + into a guffaw. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” cried the little man, tucking his stick under his arm and + taking quite suddenly to his heels. “Come on! Confound me, I'll see both + of you eat and then I'll see one of you die. Lord bless me, the gods must + exist after all—they have sent me one of my day-dreams! Lord! A + duel!” + </p> + <p> + He had gone flying along a winding path between the borders of the kitchen + garden, and in the increasing twilight he was as hard to follow as a + flying hare. But at length the path after many twists betrayed its purpose + and led abruptly up two or three steps to the door of a tiny but very + clean cottage. There was nothing about the outside to distinguish it from + other cottages, except indeed its ominous cleanliness and one thing that + was out of all the custom and tradition of all cottages under the sun. In + the middle of the little garden among the stocks and marigolds there + surged up in shapeless stone a South Sea Island idol. There was something + gross and even evil in that eyeless and alien god among the most innocent + of the English flowers. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” cried the creature again. “Come in! it's better inside!” + </p> + <p> + Whether or no it was better inside it was at least a surprise. The moment + the two duellists had pushed open the door of that inoffensive, + whitewashed cottage they found that its interior was lined with fiery + gold. It was like stepping into a chamber in the Arabian Nights. The door + that closed behind them shut out England and all the energies of the West. + The ornaments that shone and shimmered on every side of them were subtly + mixed from many periods and lands, but were all oriental. Cruel Assyrian + bas-reliefs ran along the sides of the passage; cruel Turkish swords and + daggers glinted above and below them; the two were separated by ages and + fallen civilizations. Yet they seemed to sympathize since they were both + harmonious and both merciless. The house seemed to consist of chamber + within chamber and created that impression as of a dream which belongs + also to the Arabian Nights themselves. The innermost room of all was like + the inside of a jewel. The little man who owned it all threw himself on a + heap of scarlet and golden cushions and struck his hands together. A negro + in a white robe and turban appeared suddenly and silently behind them. + </p> + <p> + “Selim,” said the host, “these two gentlemen are staying with me tonight. + Send up the very best wine and dinner at once. And Selim, one of these + gentlemen will probably die tomorrow. Make arrangements, please.” + </p> + <p> + The negro bowed and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Evan MacIan came out the next morning into the little garden to a fresh + silver day, his long face looking more austere than ever in that cold + light, his eyelids a little heavy. He carried one of the swords. Turnbull + was in the little house behind him, demolishing the end of an early + breakfast and humming a tune to himself, which could be heard through the + open window. A moment or two later he leapt to his feet and came out into + the sunlight, still munching toast, his own sword stuck under his arm like + a walking-stick. + </p> + <p> + Their eccentric host had vanished from sight, with a polite gesture, some + twenty minutes before. They imagined him to be occupied on some concerns + in the interior of the house, and they waited for his emergence, stamping + the garden in silence—the garden of tall, fresh country flowers, in + the midst of which the monstrous South Sea idol lifted itself as abruptly + as the prow of a ship riding on a sea of red and white and gold. + </p> + <p> + It was with a start, therefore, that they came upon the man himself + already in the garden. They were all the more startled because of the + still posture in which they found him. He was on his knees in front of the + stone idol, rigid and motionless, like a saint in a trance or ecstasy. Yet + when Turnbull's tread broke a twig, he was on his feet in a flash. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he said with an irradiation of smiles, but yet with a kind of + bewilderment. “So sorry...family prayers...old fashioned...mother's knee. + Let us go on to the lawn behind.” + </p> + <p> + And he ducked rapidly round the statue to an open space of grass on the + other side of it. + </p> + <p> + “This will do us best, Mr. MacIan,” said he. Then he made a gesture + towards the heavy stone figure on the pedestal which had now its blank and + shapeless back turned towards them. “Don't you be afraid,” he added, “he + can still see us.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan turned his blue, blinking eyes, which seemed still misty with sleep + (or sleeplessness) towards the idol, but his brows drew together. + </p> + <p> + The little man with the long hair also had his eyes on the back view of + the god. His eyes were at once liquid and burning, and he rubbed his hands + slowly against each other. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he said, “I think he can see us better this way. I often + think that this blank thing is his real face, watching, though it cannot + be watched. He! he! Yes, I think he looks nice from behind. He looks more + cruel from behind, don't you think?” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil is the thing?” asked Turnbull gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “It is the only Thing there is,” answered the other. “It is Force.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Turnbull shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my friends,” said the little man, with an animated countenance, + fluttering his fingers in the air, “it was no chance that led you to this + garden; surely it was the caprice of some old god, some happy, pitiless + god. Perhaps it was his will, for he loves blood; and on that stone in + front of him men have been butchered by hundreds in the fierce, feasting + islands of the South. In this cursed, craven place I have not been + permitted to kill men on his altar. Only rabbits and cats, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + In the stillness MacIan made a sudden movement, unmeaning apparently, and + then remained rigid. + </p> + <p> + “But today, today,” continued the small man in a shrill voice. “Today his + hour is come. Today his will is done on earth as it is in heaven. Men, + men, men will bleed before him today.” And he bit his forefinger in a kind + of fever. + </p> + <p> + Still, the two duellists stood with their swords as heavily as statues, + and the silence seemed to cool the eccentric and call him back to more + rational speech. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I express myself a little too lyrically,” he said with an + amicable abruptness. “My philosophy has its higher ecstasies, but perhaps + you are hardly worked up to them yet. Let us confine ourselves to the + unquestioned. You have found your way, gentlemen, by a beautiful accident, + to the house of the only man in England (probably) who will favour and + encourage your most reasonable project. From Cornwall to Cape Wrath this + county is one horrible, solid block of humanitarianism. You will find men + who will defend this or that war in a distant continent. They will defend + it on the contemptible ground of commerce or the more contemptible ground + of social good. But do not fancy that you will find one other person who + will comprehend a strong man taking the sword in his hand and wiping out + his enemy. My name is Wimpey, Morrice Wimpey. I had a Fellowship at + Magdalen. But I assure you I had to drop it, owing to my having said + something in a public lecture infringing the popular prejudice against + those great gentlemen, the assassins of the Italian Renaissance. They let + me say it at dinner and so on, and seemed to like it. But in a public + lecture...so inconsistent. Well, as I say, here is your only refuge and + temple of honour. Here you can fall back on that naked and awful + arbitration which is the only thing that balances the stars—a still, + continuous violence. <i>Vae Victis!</i> Down, down, down with the + defeated! Victory is the only ultimate fact. Carthage <i>was</i> + destroyed, the Red Indians are being exterminated: that is the single + certainty. In an hour from now that sun will still be shining and that + grass growing, and one of you will be conquered; one of you will be the + conqueror. When it has been done, nothing will alter it. Heroes, I give + you the hospitality fit for heroes. And I salute the survivor. Fall on!” + </p> + <p> + The two men took their swords. Then MacIan said steadily: “Mr. Turnbull, + lend me your sword a moment.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull, with a questioning glance, handed him the weapon. MacIan took + the second sword in his left hand and, with a violent gesture, hurled it + at the feet of little Mr. Wimpey. + </p> + <p> + “Fight!” he said in a loud, harsh voice. “Fight me now!” + </p> + <p> + Wimpey took a step backward, and bewildered words bubbled on his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Pick up that sword and fight me,” repeated MacIan, with brows as black as + thunder. + </p> + <p> + The little man turned to Turnbull with a gesture, demanding judgement or + protection. + </p> + <p> + “Really, sir,” he began, “this gentleman confuses...” + </p> + <p> + “You stinking little coward,” roared Turnbull, suddenly releasing his + wrath. “Fight, if you're so fond of fighting! Fight, if you're so fond of + all that filthy philosophy! If winning is everything, go in and win! If + the weak must go to the wall, go to the wall! Fight, you rat! Fight, or if + you won't fight—run!” + </p> + <p> + And he ran at Wimpey, with blazing eyes. + </p> + <p> + Wimpey staggered back a few paces like a man struggling with his own + limbs. Then he felt the furious Scotchman coming at him like an express + train, doubling his size every second, with eyes as big as windows and a + sword as bright as the sun. Something broke inside him, and he found + himself running away, tumbling over his own feet in terror, and crying out + as he ran. + </p> + <p> + “Chase him!” shouted Turnbull as MacIan snatched up the sword and joined + in the scamper. “Chase him over a county! Chase him into the sea! Shoo! + Shoo! Shoo!” + </p> + <p> + The little man plunged like a rabbit among the tall flowers, the two + duellists after him. Turnbull kept at his tail with savage ecstasy, still + shooing him like a cat. But MacIan, as he ran past the South Sea idol, + paused an instant to spring upon its pedestal. For five seconds he + strained against the inert mass. Then it stirred; and he sent it over with + a great crash among the flowers, that engulfed it altogether. Then he went + bounding after the runaway. + </p> + <p> + In the energy of his alarm the ex-Fellow of Magdalen managed to leap the + paling of his garden. The two pursuers went over it after him like flying + birds. He fled frantically down a long lane with his two terrors on his + trail till he came to a gap in the hedge and went across a steep meadow + like the wind. The two Scotchmen, as they ran, kept up a cheery bellowing + and waved their swords. Up three slanting meadows, down four slanting + meadows on the other side, across another road, across a heath of snapping + bracken, through a wood, across another road, and to the brink of a big + pool, they pursued the flying philosopher. But when he came to the pool + his pace was so precipitate that he could not stop it, and with a kind of + lurching stagger, he fell splash into the greasy water. Getting dripping + to his feet, with the water up to his knees, the worshipper of force and + victory waded disconsolately to the other side and drew himself on to the + bank. And Turnbull sat down on the grass and went off into reverberations + of laughter. A second afterwards the most extraordinary grimaces were seen + to distort the stiff face of MacIan, and unholy sounds came from within. + He had never practised laughing, and it hurt him very much. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. THE VILLAGE OF GRASSLEY-IN-THE-HOLE + </h2> + <p> + At about half past one, under a strong blue sky, Turnbull got up out of + the grass and fern in which he had been lying, and his still intermittent + laughter ended in a kind of yawn. + </p> + <p> + “I'm hungry,” he said shortly. “Are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not noticed,” answered MacIan. “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a village down the road, past the pool,” answered Turnbull. “I + can see it from here. I can see the whitewashed walls of some cottages and + a kind of corner of the church. How jolly it all looks. It looks so—I + don't know what the word is—so sensible. Don't fancy I'm under any + illusions about Arcadian virtue and the innocent villagers. Men make + beasts of themselves there with drink, but they don't deliberately make + devils of themselves with mere talking. They kill wild animals in the wild + woods, but they don't kill cats to the God of Victory. They don't——” + He broke off and suddenly spat on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he said; “it was ceremonial. One has to get the taste out of + one's mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “The taste of what?” asked MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know the exact name for it,” replied Turnbull. “Perhaps it is the + South Sea Islands, or it may be Magdalen College.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, and MacIan also lifted his large limbs off the + ground—his eyes particularly dreamy. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean, Turnbull,” he said, “but... I always thought you + people agreed with all that.” + </p> + <p> + “With all that about doing as one likes, and the individual, and Nature + loving the strongest, and all the things which that cockroach talked + about.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's big blue-grey eyes stood open with a grave astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean to say, MacIan,” he said, “that you fancied that we, + the Free-thinkers, that Bradlaugh, or Holyoake, or Ingersoll, believe all + that dirty, immoral mysticism about Nature? Damn Nature!” + </p> + <p> + “I supposed you did,” said MacIan calmly. “It seems to me your most + conclusive position.” + </p> + <p> + “And you mean to tell me,” rejoined the other, “that you broke my window, + and challenged me to mortal combat, and tied a tradesman up with ropes, + and chased an Oxford Fellow across five meadows—all under the + impression that I am such an illiterate idiot as to believe in Nature!” + </p> + <p> + “I supposed you did,” repeated MacIan with his usual mildness; “but I + admit that I know little of the details of your belief—or + disbelief.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull swung round quite suddenly, and set off towards the village. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” he cried. “Come down to the village. Come down to the + nearest decent inhabitable pub. This is a case for beer.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not quite follow you,” said the Highlander. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do,” answered Turnbull. “You follow me slap into the + inn-parlour. I repeat, this is a case for beer. We must have the whole of + this matter out thoroughly before we go a step farther. Do you know that + an idea has just struck me of great simplicity and of some cogency. Do not + by any means let us drop our intentions of settling our differences with + two steel swords. But do you not think that with two pewter pots we might + do what we really have never thought of doing yet—discover what our + difference is?” + </p> + <p> + “It never occurred to me before,” answered MacIan with tranquillity. “It + is a good suggestion.” + </p> + <p> + And they set out at an easy swing down the steep road to the village of + Grassley-in-the-Hole. + </p> + <p> + Grassley-in-the-Hole was a rude parallelogram of buildings, with two + thoroughfares which might have been called two high streets if it had been + possible to call them streets. One of these ways was higher on the slope + than the other, the whole parallelogram lying aslant, so to speak, on the + side of the hill. The upper of these two roads was decorated with a big + public house, a butcher's shop, a small public house, a sweetstuff shop, a + very small public house, and an illegible signpost. The lower of the two + roads boasted a horse-pond, a post office, a gentleman's garden with very + high hedges, a microscopically small public house, and two cottages. Where + all the people lived who supported all the public houses was in this, as + in many other English villages, a silent and smiling mystery. The church + lay a little above and beyond the village, with a square grey tower + dominating it decisively. + </p> + <p> + But even the church was scarcely so central and solemn an institution as + the large public house, the Valencourt Arms. It was named after some + splendid family that had long gone bankrupt, and whose seat was occupied + by a man who had invented a hygienic bootjack; but the unfathomable + sentimentalism of the English people insisted in regarding the Inn, the + seat and the sitter in it, as alike parts of a pure and marmoreal + antiquity. And in the Valencourt Arms festivity itself had some solemnity + and decorum; and beer was drunk with reverence, as it ought to be. Into + the principal parlour of this place entered two strangers, who found + themselves, as is always the case in such hostels, the object, not of + fluttered curiosity or pert inquiry, but of steady, ceaseless, devouring + ocular study. They had long coats down to their heels, and carried under + each coat something that looked like a stick. One was tall and dark, the + other short and red-haired. They ordered a pot of ale each. + </p> + <p> + “MacIan,” said Turnbull, lifting his tankard, “the fool who wanted us to + be friends made us want to go on fighting. It is only natural that the + fool who wanted us to fight should make us friendly. MacIan, your health!” + </p> + <p> + Dusk was already dropping, the rustics in the tavern were already lurching + and lumbering out of it by twos and threes, crying clamorous good nights + to a solitary old toper that remained, before MacIan and Turnbull had + reached the really important part of their discussion. + </p> + <p> + MacIan wore an expression of sad bewilderment not uncommon with him. “I am + to understand, then,” he said, “that you don't believe in nature.” + </p> + <p> + “You may say so in a very special and emphatic sense,” said Turnbull. “I + do not believe in nature, just as I do not believe in Odin. She is a myth. + It is not merely that I do not believe that nature can guide us. It is + that I do not believe that nature exists.” + </p> + <p> + “Exists?” said MacIan in his monotonous way, settling his pewter pot on + the table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in a real sense nature does not exist. I mean that nobody can + discover what the original nature of things would have been if things had + not interfered with it. The first blade of grass began to tear up the + earth and eat it; it was interfering with nature, if there is any nature. + The first wild ox began to tear up the grass and eat it; he was + interfering with nature, if there is any nature. In the same way,” + continued Turnbull, “the human when it asserts its dominance over nature + is just as natural as the thing which it destroys.” + </p> + <p> + “And in the same way,” said MacIan almost dreamily, “the superhuman, the + supernatural is just as natural as the nature which it destroys.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull took his head out of his pewter pot in some anger. + </p> + <p> + “The supernatural, of course,” he said, “is quite another thing; the case + of the supernatural is simple. The supernatural does not exist.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said MacIan in a rather dull voice; “you said the same about + the natural. If the natural does not exist the supernatural obviously + can't.” And he yawned a little over his ale. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull turned for some reason a little red and remarked quickly, “That + may be jolly clever, for all I know. But everyone does know that there is + a division between the things that as a matter of fact do commonly happen + and the things that don't. Things that break the evident laws of nature——” + </p> + <p> + “Which does not exist,” put in MacIan sleepily. Turnbull struck the table + with a sudden hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord in heaven!” he cried—— + </p> + <p> + “Who does not exist,” murmured MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord in heaven!” thundered Turnbull, without regarding the + interruption. “Do you really mean to sit there and say that you, like + anybody else, would not recognize the difference between a natural + occurrence and a supernatural one—if there could be such a thing? If + I flew up to the ceiling——” + </p> + <p> + “You would bump your head badly,” cried MacIan, suddenly starting up. “One + can't talk of this kind of thing under a ceiling at all. Come outside! + Come outside and ascend into heaven!” + </p> + <p> + He burst the door open on a blue abyss of evening and they stepped out + into it: it was suddenly and strangely cool. + </p> + <p> + “Turnbull,” said MacIan, “you have said some things so true and some so + false that I want to talk; and I will try to talk so that you understand. + For at present you do not understand at all. We don't seem to mean the + same things by the same words.” + </p> + <p> + He stood silent for a second or two and then resumed. + </p> + <p> + “A minute or two ago I caught you out in a real contradiction. At that + moment logically I was right. And at that moment I knew I was wrong. Yes, + there is a real difference between the natural and the supernatural: if + you flew up into that blue sky this instant, I should think that you were + moved by God—or the devil. But if you want to know what I really + think...I must explain.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped again, abstractedly boring the point of his sword into the + earth, and went on: + </p> + <p> + “I was born and bred and taught in a complete universe. The supernatural + was not natural, but it was perfectly reasonable. Nay, the supernatural to + me is more reasonable than the natural; for the supernatural is a direct + message from God, who is reason. I was taught that some things are natural + and some things divine. I mean that some things are mechanical and some + things divine. But there is the great difficulty, Turnbull. The great + difficulty is that, according to my teaching, you are divine.” + </p> + <p> + “Me! Divine?” said Turnbull truculently. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “That is just the difficulty,” continued MacIan thoughtfully. “I was told + that there was a difference between the grass and a man's will; and the + difference was that a man's will was special and divine. A man's free + will, I heard, was supernatural.” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish!” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said MacIan patiently, “then if a man's free will isn't + supernatural, why do your materialists deny that it exists?” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was silent for a moment. Then he began to speak, but MacIan + continued with the same steady voice and sad eyes: + </p> + <p> + “So what I feel is this: Here is the great divine creation I was taught to + believe in. I can understand your disbelieving in it, but why disbelieve + in a part of it? It was all one thing to me. God had authority because he + was God. Man had authority because he was man. You cannot prove that God + is better than a man; nor can you prove that a man is better than a horse. + Why permit any ordinary thing? Why do you let a horse be saddled?” + </p> + <p> + “Some modern thinkers disapprove of it,” said Turnbull a little + doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said MacIan grimly; “that man who talked about love, for + instance.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull made a humorous grimace; then he said: “We seem to be talking in + a kind of shorthand; but I won't pretend not to understand you. What you + mean is this: that you learnt about all your saints and angels at the same + time as you learnt about common morality, from the same people, in the + same way. And you mean to say that if one may be disputed, so may the + other. Well, let that pass for the moment. But let me ask you a question + in turn. Did not this system of yours, which you swallowed whole, contain + all sorts of things that were merely local, the respect for the chief of + your clan, or such things; the village ghost, the family feud, or what + not? Did you not take in those things, too, along with your theology?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan stared along the dim village road, down which the last straggler + from the inn was trailing his way. + </p> + <p> + “What you say is not unreasonable,” he said. “But it is not quite true. + The distinction between the chief and us did exist; but it was never anything + like the distinction between the human and the divine, or the human and + the animal. It was more like the distinction between one animal and + another. But——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + MacIan was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” repeated Turnbull; “what's the matter with you? What are you + staring at?” + </p> + <p> + “I am staring,” said MacIan at last, “at that which shall judge us both.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Turnbull in a tired way, “I suppose you mean God.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't,” said MacIan, shaking his head. “I mean him.” + </p> + <p> + And he pointed to the half-tipsy yokel who was ploughing down the road. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the atheist. + </p> + <p> + “I mean him,” repeated MacIan with emphasis. “He goes out in the early + dawn; he digs or he ploughs a field. Then he comes back and drinks ale, + and then he sings a song. All your philosophies and political systems are + young compared to him. All your hoary cathedrals, yes, even the Eternal + Church on earth is new compared to him. The most mouldering gods in the + British Museum are new facts beside him. It is he who in the end shall + judge us all.” + </p> + <p> + And MacIan rose to his feet with a vague excitement. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to ask him,” cried MacIan, “which of us is right.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull broke into a kind of laugh. “Ask that intoxicated turnip-eater——” + he began. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—which of us is right,” cried MacIan violently. “Oh, you have + long words and I have long words; and I talk of every man being the image + of God; and you talk of every man being a citizen and enlightened enough + to govern. But if every man typifies God, there is God. If every man is an + enlightened citizen, there is your enlightened citizen. The first man one + meets is always man. Let us catch him up.” + </p> + <p> + And in gigantic strides the long, lean Highlander whirled away into the + grey twilight, Turnbull following with a good-humoured oath. + </p> + <p> + The track of the rustic was easy to follow, even in the faltering dark; + for he was enlivening his wavering walk with song. It was an interminable + poem, beginning with some unspecified King William, who (it appeared) + lived in London town and who after the second rise vanished rather + abruptly from the train of thought. The rest was almost entirely about + beer and was thick with local topography of a quite unrecognizable kind. + The singer's step was neither very rapid, nor, indeed, exceptionally + secure; so the song grew louder and louder and the two soon overtook him. + </p> + <p> + He was a man elderly or rather of any age, with lean grey hair and a lean + red face, but with that remarkable rustic physiognomy in which it seems + that all the features stand out independently from the face; the rugged + red nose going out like a limb; the bleared blue eyes standing out like + signals. + </p> + <p> + He gave them greeting with the elaborate urbanity of the slightly + intoxicated. MacIan, who was vibrating with one of his silent, violent + decisions, opened the question without delay. He explained the philosophic + position in words as short and simple as possible. But the singular old + man with the lank red face seemed to think uncommonly little of the short + words. He fixed with a fierce affection upon one or two of the long ones. + </p> + <p> + “Atheists!” he repeated with luxurious scorn. “Atheists! I know their + sort, master. Atheists! Don't talk to me about 'un. Atheists!” + </p> + <p> + The grounds of his disdain seemed a little dark and confused; but they + were evidently sufficient. MacIan resumed in some encouragement: + </p> + <p> + “You think as I do, I hope; you think that a man should be connected with + the Church; with the common Christian——” + </p> + <p> + The old man extended a quivering stick in the direction of a distant hill. + </p> + <p> + “There's the church,” he said thickly. “Grassley old church that is. + Pulled down it was, in the old squire's time, and——” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” explained MacIan elaborately, “that you think that there should + be someone typifying religion, a priest——” + </p> + <p> + “Priests!” said the old man with sudden passion. “Priests! I know 'un. + What they want in England? That's what I say. What they want in England?” + </p> + <p> + “They want you,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Turnbull, “and me; but they won't get us. MacIan, your + attempt on the primitive innocence does not seem very successful. Let me + try. What you want, my friend, is your rights. You don't want any priests + or churches. A vote, a right to speak is what you——” + </p> + <p> + “Who says I a'n't got a right to speak?” said the old man, facing round in + an irrational frenzy. “I got a right to speak. I'm a man, I am. I don't + want no votin' nor priests. I say a man's a man; that's what I say. If a + man a'n't a man, what is he? That's what I say, if a man a'n't a man, what + is he? When I sees a man, I sez 'e's a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Turnbull, “a citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “I say he's a man,” said the rustic furiously, stopping and striking his + stick on the ground. “Not a city or owt else. He's a man.” + </p> + <p> + “You're perfectly right,” said the sudden voice of MacIan, falling like a + sword. “And you have kept close to something the whole world of today + tries to forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + And the old man went on wildly singing into the night. + </p> + <p> + “A jolly old creature,” said Turnbull; “he didn't seem able to get much + beyond that fact that a man is a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Has anybody got beyond it?” asked MacIan. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull looked at him curiously. “Are you turning an agnostic?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you do not understand!” cried out MacIan. “We Catholics are all + agnostics. We Catholics have only in that sense got as far as realizing + that man is a man. But your Ibsens and your Zolas and your Shaws and your + Tolstoys have not even got so far.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. AN INTERLUDE OF ARGUMENT + </h2> + <p> + Morning broke in bitter silver along the grey and level plain; and almost + as it did so Turnbull and MacIan came out of a low, scrubby wood on to the + empty and desolate flats. They had walked all night. + </p> + <p> + They had walked all night and talked all night also, and if the subject + had been capable of being exhausted they would have exhausted it. Their + long and changing argument had taken them through districts and landscapes + equally changing. They had discussed Haeckel upon hills so high and steep + that in spite of the coldness of the night it seemed as if the stars might + burn them. They had explained and re-explained the Massacre of St. + Bartholomew in little white lanes walled in with standing corn as with + walls of gold. They had talked about Mr. Kensit in dim and twinkling pine + woods, amid the bewildering monotony of the pines. And it was with the end + of a long speech from MacIan, passionately defending the practical + achievements and the solid prosperity of the Catholic tradition, that they + came out upon the open land. + </p> + <p> + MacIan had learnt much and thought more since he came out of the cloudy + hills of Arisaig. He had met many typical modern figures under + circumstances which were sharply symbolic; and, moreover, he had absorbed + the main modern atmosphere from the mere presence and chance phrases of + Turnbull, as such atmospheres can always be absorbed from the presence and + the phrases of any man of great mental vitality. He had at last begun + thoroughly to understand what are the grounds upon which the mass of the + modern world solidly disapprove of her creed; and he threw himself into + replying to them with a hot intellectual enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “I begin to understand one or two of your dogmas, Mr. Turnbull,” he had + said emphatically as they ploughed heavily up a wooded hill. “And every + one that I understand I deny. Take any one of them you like. You hold that + your heretics and sceptics have helped the world forward and handed on a + lamp of progress. I deny it. Nothing is plainer from real history than + that each of your heretics invented a complete cosmos of his own which the + next heretic smashed entirely to pieces. Who knows now exactly what + Nestorius taught? Who cares? There are only two things that we know for + certain about it. The first is that Nestorius, as a heretic, taught + something quite opposite to the teaching of Arius, the heretic who came + before him, and something quite useless to James Turnbull, the heretic who + comes after. I defy you to go back to the Free-thinkers of the past and + find any habitation for yourself at all. I defy you to read Godwin or + Shelley or the deists of the eighteenth century of the nature-worshipping + humanists of the Renaissance, without discovering that you differ from + them twice as much as you differ from the Pope. You are a + nineteenth-century sceptic, and you are always telling me that I ignore + the cruelty of nature. If you had been an eighteenth-century sceptic you + would have told me that I ignore the kindness and benevolence of nature. + You are an atheist, and you praise the deists of the eighteenth century. + Read them instead of praising them, and you will find that their whole + universe stands or falls with the deity. You are a materialist, and you + think Bruno a scientific hero. See what he said and you will think him an + insane mystic. No, the great Free-thinker, with his genuine ability and + honesty, does not in practice destroy Christianity. What he does destroy + is the Free-thinker who went before. Free-thought may be suggestive, it + may be inspiriting, it may have as much as you please of the merits that + come from vivacity and variety. But there is one thing Free-thought can + never be by any possibility—Free-thought can never be progressive. + It can never be progressive because it will accept nothing from the past; + it begins every time again from the beginning; and it goes every time in a + different direction. All the rational philosophers have gone along + different roads, so it is impossible to say which has gone farthest. Who + can discuss whether Emerson was a better optimist than Schopenhauer was + pessimist? It is like asking if this corn is as yellow as that hill is + steep. No; there are only two things that really progress; and they both + accept accumulations of authority. They may be progressing uphill and + down; they may be growing steadily better or steadily worse; but they have + steadily increased in certain definable matters; they have steadily + advanced in a certain definable direction; they are the only two things, + it seems, that ever <i>can</i> progress. The first is strictly physical + science. The second is the Catholic Church.” + </p> + <p> + “Physical science and the Catholic Church!” said Turnbull sarcastically; + “and no doubt the first owes a great deal to the second.” + </p> + <p> + “If you pressed that point I might reply that it was very probable,” + answered MacIan calmly. “I often fancy that your historical + generalizations rest frequently on random instances; I should not be + surprised if your vague notions of the Church as the persecutor of science + was a generalization from Galileo. I should not be at all surprised if, + when you counted the scientific investigations and discoveries since the + fall of Rome, you found that a great mass of them had been made by monks. + But the matter is irrelevant to my meaning. I say that if you want an + example of anything which has progressed in the moral world by the same + method as science in the material world, by continually adding to without + unsettling what was there before, then I say that there <i>is</i> only one + example of it. And that is Us.” + </p> + <p> + “With this enormous difference,” said Turnbull, “that however elaborate be + the calculations of physical science, their net result can be tested. + Granted that it took millions of books I never read and millions of men I + never heard of to discover the electric light. Still I can see the + electric light. But I cannot see the supreme virtue which is the result of + all your theologies and sacraments.” + </p> + <p> + “Catholic virtue is often invisible because it is the normal,” answered + MacIan. “Christianity is always out of fashion because it is always sane; + and all fashions are mild insanities. When Italy is mad on art the Church + seems too Puritanical; when England is mad on Puritanism the Church seems + too artistic. When you quarrel with us now you class us with kingship and + despotism; but when you quarrelled with us first it was because we would + not accept the divine despotism of Henry VIII. The Church always seems to + be behind the times, when it is really beyond the times; it is waiting + till the last fad shall have seen its last summer. It keeps the key of a + permanent virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have heard all that!” said Turnbull with genial contempt. “I have + heard that Christianity keeps the key of virtue, and that if you read Tom + Paine you will cut your throat at Monte Carlo. It is such rubbish that I + am not even angry at it. You say that Christianity is the prop of morals; + but what more do you do? When a doctor attends you and could poison you + with a pinch of salt, do you ask whether he is a Christian? You ask + whether he is a gentleman, whether he is an M.D.—anything but that. + When a soldier enlists to die for his country or disgrace it, do you ask + whether he is a Christian? You are more likely to ask whether he is Oxford + or Cambridge at the boat race. If you think your creed essential to morals + why do you not make it a test for these things?” + </p> + <p> + “We once did make it a test for these things,” said MacIan smiling, “and + then you told us that we were imposing by force a faith unsupported by + argument. It seems rather hard that having first been told that our creed + must be false because we did use tests, we should now be told that it must + be false because we don't. But I notice that most anti-Christian arguments + are in the same inconsistent style.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all very well as a debating-club answer,” replied Turnbull + good-humouredly, “but the question still remains: Why don't you confine + yourself more to Christians if Christians are the only really good men?” + </p> + <p> + “Who talked of such folly?” asked MacIan disdainfully. “Do you suppose + that the Catholic Church ever held that Christians were the only good men? + Why, the Catholics of the Catholic Middle Ages talked about the virtues of + all the virtuous Pagans until humanity was sick of the subject. No, if you + really want to know what we mean when we say that Christianity has a + special power of virtue, I will tell you. The Church is the only thing on + earth that can perpetuate a type of virtue and make it something more than + a fashion. The thing is so plain and historical that I hardly think you + will ever deny it. You cannot deny that it is perfectly possible that + tomorrow morning, in Ireland or in Italy, there might appear a man not + only as good but good in exactly the same way as St. Francis of Assisi. + Very well, now take the other types of human virtue; many of them + splendid. The English gentleman of Elizabeth was chivalrous and + idealistic. But can you stand still here in this meadow and <i>be</i> an + English gentleman of Elizabeth? The austere republican of the eighteenth + century, with his stern patriotism and his simple life, was a fine fellow. + But have you ever seen him? have you ever seen an austere republican? Only + a hundred years have passed and that volcano of revolutionary truth and + valour is as cold as the mountains of the moon. And so it is and so it + will be with the ethics which are buzzing down Fleet Street at this + instant as I speak. What phrase would inspire the London clerk or workman + just now? Perhaps that he is a son of the British Empire on which the sun + never sets; perhaps that he is a prop of his Trades Union, or a + class-conscious proletarian something or other; perhaps merely that he is + a gentleman when he obviously is not. Those names and notions are all + honourable; but how long will they last? Empires break; industrial + conditions change; the suburbs will not last for ever. What will remain? I + will tell you. The Catholic Saint will remain.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose I don't like him?” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “On my theory the question is rather whether he will like you: or more + probably whether he will ever have heard of you. But I grant the + reasonableness of your query. You have a right, if you speak as the + ordinary man, to ask if you will like the saint. But as the ordinary man + you do like him. You revel in him. If you dislike him it is not because + you are a nice ordinary man, but because you are (if you will excuse me) a + sophisticated prig of a Fleet Street editor. That is just the funny part + of it. The human race has always admired the Catholic virtues, however + little it can practise them; and oddly enough it has admired most those of + them that the modern world most sharply disputes. You complain of + Catholicism for setting up an ideal of virginity; it did nothing of the + kind. The whole human race set up an ideal of virginity; the Greeks in + Athene, the Romans in the Vestal fire, set up an ideal of virginity. What + then is your real quarrel with Catholicism? Your quarrel can only be, your + quarrel really only is, that Catholicism has <i>achieved</i> an ideal of + virginity; that it is no longer a mere piece of floating poetry. But if + you, and a few feverish men, in top hats, running about in a street in + London, choose to differ as to the ideal itself, not only from the Church, + but from the Parthenon whose name means virginity, from the Roman Empire + which went outwards from the virgin flame, from the whole legend and + tradition of Europe, from the lion who will not touch virgins, from the + unicorn who respects them, and who make up together the bearers of your + own national shield, from the most living and lawless of your own poets, + from Massinger, who wrote the <i>Virgin Martyr</i>, from Shakespeare, who + wrote <i>Measure for Measure</i>—if you in Fleet Street differ from + all this human experience, does it never strike you that it may be Fleet + Street that is wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Turnbull; “I trust that I am sufficiently fair-minded to + canvass and consider the idea; but having considered it, I think Fleet + Street is right, yes—even if the Parthenon is wrong. I think that as + the world goes on new psychological atmospheres are generated, and in + these atmospheres it is possible to find delicacies and combinations which + in other times would have to be represented by some ruder symbol. Every + man feels the need of some element of purity in sex; perhaps they can only + typify purity as the absence of sex. You will laugh if I suggest that we + may have made in Fleet Street an atmosphere in which a man can be so + passionate as Sir Lancelot and as pure as Sir Galahad. But, after all, we + have in the modern world erected many such atmospheres. We have, for + instance, a new and imaginative appreciation of children.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” replied MacIan with a singular smile. “It has been very well + put by one of the brightest of your young authors, who said: 'Unless you + become as little children ye shall in no wise enter the kingdom of + heaven.' But you are quite right; there is a modern worship of children. + And what, I ask you, is this modern worship of children? What, in the name + of all the angels and devils, is it except a worship of virginity? Why + should anyone worship a thing merely because it is small or immature? No; + you have tried to escape from this thing, and the very thing you point to + as the goal of your escape is only the thing again. Am I wrong in saying + that these things seem to be eternal?” + </p> + <p> + And it was with these words that they came in sight of the great plains. + They went a little way in silence, and then James Turnbull said suddenly, + “But I <i>cannot</i> believe in the thing.” MacIan answered nothing to the + speech; perhaps it is unanswerable. And indeed they scarcely spoke another + word to each other all that day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. THE STRANGE LADY + </h2> + <p> + Moonrise with a great and growing moon opened over all those flats, making + them seem flatter and larger than they were, turning them to a lake of + blue light. The two companions trudged across the moonlit plain for half + an hour in full silence. Then MacIan stopped suddenly and planted his + sword-point in the ground like one who plants his tent-pole for the night. + Leaving it standing there, he clutched his black-haired skull with his + great claws of hands, as was his custom when forcing the pace of his + brain. Then his hands dropped again and he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you're thinking the same as I am,” he said; “how long are we to + be on this damned seesaw?” + </p> + <p> + The other did not answer, but his silence seemed somehow solid as assent; + and MacIan went on conversationally. Neither noticed that both had + instinctively stood still before the sign of the fixed and standing sword. + </p> + <p> + “It is hard to guess what God means in this business. But he means + something—or the other thing, or both. Whenever we have tried to + fight each other something has stopped us. Whenever we have tried to be + reconciled to each other, something has stopped us again. By the run of + our luck we have never had time to be either friends or enemies. Something + always jumped out of the bushes.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull nodded gravely and glanced round at the huge and hedgeless meadow + which fell away towards the horizon into a glimmering high road. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing will jump out of bushes here anyhow,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I meant,” said MacIan, and stared steadily at the heavy hilt + of his standing sword, which in the slight wind swayed on its tempered + steel like some huge thistle on its stalk. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I meant; we are quite alone here. I have not heard a + horse-hoof or a footstep or the hoot of a train for miles. So I think we + might stop here and ask for a miracle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! might we?” said the atheistic editor with a sort of gusto of disgust. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said MacIan, meekly. “I forgot your prejudices.” He + eyed the wind-swung sword-hilt in sad meditation and resumed: “What I mean + is, we might find out in this quiet place whether there really is any fate + or any commandment against our enterprise. I will engage on my side, like + Elijah, to accept a test from heaven. Turnbull, let us draw swords here in + this moonlight and this monstrous solitude. And if here in this moonlight + and solitude there happens anything to interrupt us—if it be + lightning striking our sword-blades or a rabbit running under our legs—I + will take it as a sign from God and we will shake hands for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's mouth twitched in angry humour under his red moustache. He + said: “I will wait for signs from God until I have any signs of His + existence; but God—or Fate—forbid that a man of scientific + culture should refuse any kind of experiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said MacIan, shortly. “We are more quiet here than + anywhere else; let us engage.” And he plucked his sword-point out of the + turf. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull regarded him for a second and a half with a baffling visage + almost black against the moonrise; then his hand made a sharp movement to + his hip and his sword shone in the moon. + </p> + <p> + As old chess-players open every game with established gambits, they opened + with a thrust and parry, orthodox and even frankly ineffectual. But in + MacIan's soul more formless storms were gathering, and he made a lunge or + two so savage as first to surprise and then to enrage his opponent. + Turnbull ground his teeth, kept his temper, and waiting for the third + lunge, and the worst, had almost spitted the lunger when a shrill, small + cry came from behind him, a cry such as is not made by any of the beasts + that perish. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull must have been more superstitious than he knew, for he stopped in + the act of going forward. MacIan was brazenly superstitious, and he + dropped his sword. After all, he had challenged the universe to send an + interruption; and this was an interruption, whatever else it was. An + instant afterwards the sharp, weak cry was repeated. This time it was + certain that it was human and that it was female. + </p> + <p> + MacIan stood rolling those great blue Gaelic eyes that contrasted with his + dark hair. “It is the voice of God,” he said again and again. + </p> + <p> + “God hasn't got much of a voice,” said Turnbull, who snatched at every + chance of cheap profanity. “As a matter of fact, MacIan, it isn't the + voice of God, but it's something a jolly sight more important—it is + the voice of man—or rather of woman. So I think we'd better scoot in + its direction.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan snatched up his fallen weapon without a word, and the two raced + away towards that part of the distant road from which the cry was now + constantly renewed. + </p> + <p> + They had to run over a curve of country that looked smooth but was very + rough; a neglected field which they soon found to be full of the tallest + grasses and the deepest rabbit-holes. Moreover, that great curve of the + countryside which looked so slow and gentle when you glanced over it, + proved to be highly precipitous when you scampered over it; and Turnbull + was twice nearly flung on his face. MacIan, though much heavier, avoided + such an overthrow only by having the quick and incalculable feet of the + mountaineer; but both of them may be said to have leapt off a low cliff + when they leapt into the road. + </p> + <p> + The moonlight lay on the white road with a more naked and electric glare + than on the grey-green upland, and though the scene which it revealed was + complicated, it was not difficult to get its first features at a glance. + </p> + <p> + A small but very neat black-and-yellow motor-car was standing stolidly, + slightly to the left of the road. A somewhat larger light-green motor-car + was tipped half-way into a ditch on the same side, and four flushed and + staggering men in evening dress were tipped out of it. Three of them were + standing about the road, giving their opinions to the moon with vague but + echoing violence. The fourth, however, had already advanced on the + chauffeur of the black-and-yellow car, and was threatening him with a + stick. The chauffeur had risen to defend himself. By his side sat a young + lady. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting bolt upright, a slender and rigid figure gripping the + sides of her seat, and her first few cries had ceased. She was clad in + close-fitting dark costume, a mass of warm brown hair went out in two + wings or waves on each side of her forehead; and even at that distance it + could be seen that her profile was of the aquiline and eager sort, like a + young falcon hardly free of the nest. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull had concealed in him somewhere a fund of common sense and + knowledge of the world of which he himself and his best friends were + hardly aware. He was one of those who take in much of the shows of things + absent-mindedly, and in an irrelevant reverie. As he stood at the door of + his editorial shop on Ludgate Hill and meditated on the non-existence of + God, he silently absorbed a good deal of varied knowledge about the + existence of men. He had come to know types by instinct and dilemmas with + a glance; he saw the crux of the situation in the road, and what he saw + made him redouble his pace. + </p> + <p> + He knew that the men were rich; he knew that they were drunk; and he knew, + what was worst of all, that they were fundamentally frightened. And he + knew this also, that no common ruffian (such as attacks ladies in novels) + is ever so savage and ruthless as a coarse kind of gentleman when he is + really alarmed. The reason is not recondite; it is simply because the + police-court is not such a menacing novelty to the poor ruffian as it is + to the rich. When they came within hail and heard the voices, they + confirmed all Turnbull's anticipations. The man in the middle of the road + was shouting in a hoarse and groggy voice that the chauffeur had smashed + their car on purpose; that they must get to the Cri that evening, and that + he would jolly well have to take them there. The chauffeur had mildly + objected that he was driving a lady. “Oh! we'll take care of the lady,” + said the red-faced young man, and went off into gurgling and almost senile + laughter. + </p> + <p> + By the time the two champions came up, things had grown more serious. The + intoxication of the man talking to the chauffeur had taken one of its + perverse and catlike jumps into mere screaming spite and rage. He lifted + his stick and struck at the chauffeur, who caught hold of it, and the + drunkard fell backwards, dragging him out of his seat on the car. Another + of the rowdies rushed forward booing in idiot excitement, fell over the + chauffeur, and, either by accident or design, kicked him as he lay. The + drunkard got to his feet again; but the chauffeur did not. + </p> + <p> + The man who had kicked kept a kind of half-witted conscience or cowardice, + for he stood staring at the senseless body and murmuring words of + inconsequent self-justification, making gestures with his hands as if he + were arguing with somebody. But the other three, with a mere whoop and + howl of victory, were boarding the car on three sides at once. It was + exactly at this moment that Turnbull fell among them like one fallen from + the sky. He tore one of the climbers backward by the collar, and with a + hearty push sent him staggering over into the ditch upon his nose. One of + the remaining two, who was too far gone to notice anything, continued to + clamber ineffectually over the high back of the car, kicking and pouring + forth a rivulet of soliloquy. But the other dropped at the interruption, + turned upon Turnbull and began a battering bout of fisticuffs. At the same + moment the man crawled out of the ditch in a masquerade of mud and rushed + at his old enemy from behind. The whole had not taken a second; and an + instant after MacIan was in the midst of them. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull had tossed away his sheathed sword, greatly preferring his hands, + except in the avowed etiquette of the duel; for he had learnt to use his + hands in the old street-battles of Bradlaugh. But to MacIan the sword even + sheathed was a more natural weapon, and he laid about him on all sides + with it as with a stick. The man who had the walking-stick found his blows + parried with promptitude; and a second after, to his great astonishment, + found his own stick fly up in the air as by a conjuring trick, with a turn + of the swordsman's wrist. Another of the revellers picked the stick out of + the ditch and ran in upon MacIan, calling to his companion to assist him. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got a stick,” grumbled the disarmed man, and looked vaguely + about the ditch. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said MacIan, politely, “you would like this one.” With the word + the drunkard found his hand that had grasped the stick suddenly twisted + and empty; and the stick lay at the feet of his companion on the other + side of the road. MacIan felt a faint stir behind him; the girl had risen + to her feet and was leaning forward to stare at the fighters. Turnbull was + still engaged in countering and pommelling with the third young man. The + fourth young man was still engaged with himself, kicking his legs in + helpless rotation on the back of the car and talking with melodious + rationality. + </p> + <p> + At length Turnbull's opponent began to back before the battery of his + heavy hands, still fighting, for he was the soberest and boldest of the + four. If these are annals of military glory, it is due to him to say that + he need not have abandoned the conflict; only that as he backed to the + edge of the ditch his foot caught in a loop of grass and he went over in a + flat and comfortable position from which it took him a considerable time + to rise. By the time he had risen, Turnbull had come to the rescue of + MacIan, who was at bay but belabouring his two enemies handsomely. The + sight of the liberated reserve was to them like that of Blucher at + Waterloo; the two set off at a sullen trot down the road, leaving even the + walking-stick lying behind them in the moonlight. MacIan plucked the + struggling and aspiring idiot off the back of the car like a stray cat, + and left him swaying unsteadily in the moon. Then he approached the front + part of the car in a somewhat embarrassed manner and pulled off his cap. + </p> + <p> + For some solid seconds the lady and he merely looked at each other, and + MacIan had an irrational feeling of being in a picture hung on a wall. + That is, he was motionless, even lifeless, and yet staringly significant, + like a picture. The white moonlight on the road, when he was not looking + at it, gave him a vision of the road being white with snow. The motor-car, + when he was not looking at it, gave him a rude impression of a captured + coach in the old days of highwaymen. And he whose whole soul was with the + swords and stately manners of the eighteenth century, he who was a + Jacobite risen from the dead, had an overwhelming sense of being once more + in the picture, when he had so long been out of the picture. + </p> + <p> + In that short and strong silence he absorbed the lady from head to foot. + He had never really looked at a human being before in his life. He saw her + face and hair first, then that she had long suede gloves; then that there + was a fur cap at the back of her brown hair. He might, perhaps, be excused + for this hungry attention. He had prayed that some sign might come from + heaven; and after an almost savage scrutiny he came to the conclusion that + his one did. The lady's instantaneous arrest of speech might need more + explaining; but she may well have been stunned with the squalid attack and + the abrupt rescue. Yet it was she who remembered herself first and + suddenly called out with self-accusing horror: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that poor, poor man!” + </p> + <p> + They both swung round abruptly and saw that Turnbull, with his recovered + sword under his arm-pit, was already lifting the fallen chauffeur into the + car. He was only stunned and was slowly awakening, feebly waving his left + arm. + </p> + <p> + The lady in long gloves and the fur cap leapt out and ran rapidly towards + them, only to be reassured by Turnbull, who (unlike many of his school) + really knew a little science when he invoked it to redeem the world. “He's + all right,” said he; “he's quite safe. But I'm afraid he won't be able to + drive the car for half an hour or so.” + </p> + <p> + “I can drive the car,” said the young woman in the fur cap with stony + practicability. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in that case,” began MacIan, uneasily; and that paralysing shyness + which is a part of romance induced him to make a backward movement as if + leaving her to herself. But Turnbull was more rational than he, being more + indifferent. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you ought to drive home alone, ma'am,” he said, gruffly. + “There seem to be a lot of rowdy parties along this road, and the man will + be no use for an hour. If you will tell us where you are going, we will + see you safely there and say good night.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady exhibited all the abrupt disturbance of a person who is not + commonly disturbed. She said almost sharply and yet with evident + sincerity: “Of course I am awfully grateful to you for all you've done—and + there's plenty of room if you'll come in.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull, with the complete innocence of an absolutely sound motive, + immediately jumped into the car; but the girl cast an eye at MacIan, who + stood in the road for an instant as if rooted like a tree. Then he also + tumbled his long legs into the tonneau, having that sense of degradedly + diving into heaven which so many have known in so many human houses when + they consented to stop to tea or were allowed to stop to supper. The + slowly reviving chauffeur was set in the back seat; Turnbull and MacIan + had fallen into the middle one; the lady with a steely coolness had taken + the driver's seat and all the handles of that headlong machine. A moment + afterwards the engine started, with a throb and leap unfamiliar to + Turnbull, who had only once been in a motor during a general election, and + utterly unknown to MacIan, who in his present mood thought it was the end + of the world. Almost at the same instant that the car plucked itself out + of the mud and whipped away up the road, the man who had been flung into + the ditch rose waveringly to his feet. When he saw the car escaping he ran + after it and shouted something which, owing to the increasing distance, + could not be heard. It is awful to reflect that, if his remark was + valuable, it is quite lost to the world. + </p> + <p> + The car shot on up and down the shining moonlit lanes, and there was no + sound in it except the occasional click or catch of its machinery; for + through some cause or other no soul inside it could think of a word to + say. The lady symbolized her feelings, whatever they were, by urging the + machine faster and faster until scattered woodlands went by them in one + black blotch and heavy hills and valleys seemed to ripple under the wheels + like mere waves. A little while afterwards this mood seemed to slacken and + she fell into a more ordinary pace; but still she did not speak. Turnbull, + who kept a more common and sensible view of the case than anyone else, + made some remark about the moonlight; but something indescribable made him + also relapse into silence. + </p> + <p> + All this time MacIan had been in a sort of monstrous delirium, like some + fabulous hero snatched up into the moon. The difference between this + experience and common experiences was analogous to that between waking + life and a dream. Yet he did not feel in the least as if he were dreaming; + rather the other way; as waking was more actual than dreaming, so this + seemed by another degree more actual than waking itself. But it was + another life altogether, like a cosmos with a new dimension. + </p> + <p> + He felt he had been hurled into some new incarnation: into the midst of + new relations, wrongs and rights, with towering responsibilities and + almost tragic joys which he had as yet had no time to examine. Heaven had + not merely sent him a message; Heaven itself had opened around him and + given him an hour of its own ancient and star-shattering energy. He had + never felt so much alive before; and yet he was like a man in a trance. + And if you had asked him on what his throbbing happiness hung, he could + only have told you that it hung on four or five visible facts, as a + curtain hangs on four of five fixed nails. The fact that the lady had a + little fur at her throat; the fact that the curve of her cheek was a low + and lean curve and that the moonlight caught the height of her cheek-bone; + the fact that her hands were small but heavily gloved as they gripped the + steering-wheel; the fact that a white witch light was on the road; the + fact that the brisk breeze of their passage stirred and fluttered a little + not only the brown hair of her head but the black fur on her cap. All + these facts were to him certain and incredible, like sacraments. + </p> + <p> + When they had driven half a mile farther, a big shadow was flung across + the path, followed by its bulky owner, who eyed the car critically but let + it pass. The silver moonlight picked out a piece or two of pewter ornament + on his blue uniform; and as they went by they knew it was a sergeant of + police. Three hundred yards farther on another policeman stepped out into + the road as if to stop them, then seemed to doubt his own authority and + stepped back again. The girl was a daughter of the rich; and this police + suspicion (under which all the poor live day and night) stung her for the + first time into speech. + </p> + <p> + “What can they mean?” she cried out in a kind of temper; “this car's going + like a snail.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, and then Turnbull said: “It is certainly very + odd, you are driving quietly enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You are driving nobly,” said MacIan, and his words (which had no meaning + whatever) sounded hoarse and ungainly even in his own ears. + </p> + <p> + They passed the next mile and a half swiftly and smoothly; yet among the + many things which they passed in the course of it was a clump of eager + policemen standing at a cross-road. As they passed, one of the policemen + shouted something to the others; but nothing else happened. Eight hundred + yards farther on, Turnbull stood up suddenly in the swaying car. + </p> + <p> + “My God, MacIan!” he called out, showing his first emotion of that night. + “I don't believe it's the pace; it couldn't be the pace. I believe it's + us.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan sat motionless for a few moments and then turned up at his + companion a face that was as white as the moon above it. + </p> + <p> + “You may be right,” he said at last; “if you are, I must tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell the lady if you like,” said Turnbull, with his unconquered + good temper. + </p> + <p> + “You!” said MacIan, with a sort of sincere and instinctive astonishment. + “Why should you—no, I must tell her, of course——” + </p> + <p> + And he leant forward and spoke to the lady in the fur cap. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, madam, that we may have got you into some trouble,” he said, + and even as he said it it sounded wrong, like everything he said to this + particular person in the long gloves. “The fact is,” he resumed, + desperately, “the fact is, we are being chased by the police.” Then the + last flattening hammer fell upon poor Evan's embarrassment; for the fluffy + brown head with the furry black cap did not turn by a section of the + compass. + </p> + <p> + “We are chased by the police,” repeated MacIan, vigorously; then he added, + as if beginning an explanation, “You see, I am a Catholic.” + </p> + <p> + The wind whipped back a curl of the brown hair so as to necessitate a new + theory of aesthetics touching the line of the cheek-bone; but the head did + not turn. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” began MacIan, again blunderingly, “this gentleman wrote in his + newspaper that Our Lady was a common woman, a bad woman, and so we agreed + to fight; and we were fighting quite a little time ago—but that was + before we saw you.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady driving her car had half turned her face to listen; and it + was not a reverent or a patient face that she showed him. Her Norman nose + was tilted a trifle too high upon the slim stalk of her neck and body. + </p> + <p> + When MacIan saw that arrogant and uplifted profile pencilled plainly + against the moonshine, he accepted an ultimate defeat. He had expected the + angels to despise him if he were wrong, but not to despise him so much as + this. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the stumbling spokesman, “I was angry with him when he + insulted the Mother of God, and I asked him to fight a duel with me; but + the police are all trying to stop it.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing seemed to waver or flicker in the fair young falcon profile; and + it only opened its lips to say, after a silence: “I thought people in our + time were supposed to respect each other's religion.” + </p> + <p> + Under the shadow of that arrogant face MacIan could only fall back on the + obvious answer: “But what about a man's irreligion?” The face only + answered: “Well, you ought to be more broadminded.” + </p> + <p> + If anyone else in the world had said the words, MacIan would have snorted + with his equine neigh of scorn. But in this case he seemed knocked down by + a superior simplicity, as if his eccentric attitude were rebuked by the + innocence of a child. He could not dissociate anything that this woman + said or did or wore from an idea of spiritual rarity and virtue. Like most + others under the same elemental passion, his soul was at present soaked in + ethics. He could have applied moral terms to the material objects of her + environment. If someone had spoken of “her generous ribbon” or “her + chivalrous gloves” or “her merciful shoe-buckle,” it would not have seemed + to him nonsense. + </p> + <p> + He was silent, and the girl went on in a lower key as if she were + momentarily softened and a little saddened also. “It won't do, you know,” + she said; “you can't find out the truth in that way. There are such heaps + of churches and people thinking different things nowadays, and they all + think they are right. My uncle was a Swedenborgian.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan sat with bowed head, listening hungrily to her voice but hardly to + her words, and seeing his great world drama grow smaller and smaller + before his eyes till it was no bigger than a child's toy theatre. + </p> + <p> + “The time's gone by for all that,” she went on; “you can't find out the + real thing like that—if there is really anything to find——” + and she sighed rather drearily; for, like many of the women of our wealthy + class, she was old and broken in thought, though young and clean enough in + her emotions. + </p> + <p> + “Our object,” said Turnbull, shortly, “is to make an effective + demonstration”; and after that word, MacIan looked at his vision again and + found it smaller than ever. + </p> + <p> + “It would be in the newspapers, of course,” said the girl. “People read + the newspapers, but they don't believe them, or anything else, I think.” + And she sighed again. + </p> + <p> + She drove in silence a third of a mile before she added, as if completing + the sentence: “Anyhow, the whole thing's quite absurd.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think,” began Turnbull, “that you quite realize——Hullo! + hullo—hullo—what's this?” + </p> + <p> + The amateur chauffeur had been forced to bring the car to a staggering + stoppage, for a file of fat, blue policemen made a wall across the way. A + sergeant came to the side and touched his peaked cap to the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Beg your pardon, miss,” he said with some embarrassment, for he knew her + for a daughter of a dominant house, “but we have reason to believe that + the gentlemen in your car are——” and he hesitated for a polite + phrase. + </p> + <p> + “I am Evan MacIan,” said that gentleman, and stood up in a sort of gloomy + pomp, not wholly without a touch of the sulks of a schoolboy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we will get out, sergeant,” said Turnbull, more easily; “my name is + James Turnbull. We must not incommode the lady.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you taking them up for?” asked the young woman, looking straight + in front of her along the road. + </p> + <p> + “It's under the new act,” said the sergeant, almost apologetically. + “Incurable disturbers of the peace.” + </p> + <p> + “What will happen to them?” she asked, with the same frigid clearness. + </p> + <p> + “Westgate Adult Reformatory,” he replied, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Until when?” + </p> + <p> + “Until they are cured,” said the official. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sergeant,” said the young lady, with a sort of tired common + sense. “I am sure I don't want to protect criminals or go against the law; + but I must tell you that these gentlemen have done me a considerable + service; you won't mind drawing your men a little farther off while I say + good night to them. Men like that always misunderstand.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant was profoundly disquieted from the beginning at the mere idea + of arresting anyone in the company of a great lady; to refuse one of her + minor requests was quite beyond his courage. The police fell back to a few + yards behind the car. Turnbull took up the two swords that were their only + luggage; the swords that, after so many half duels, they were now to + surrender at last. MacIan, the blood thundering in his brain at the + thought of that instant of farewell, bent over, fumbled at the handle and + flung open the door to get out. + </p> + <p> + But he did not get out. He did not get out, because it is dangerous to + jump out of a car when it is going at full speed. And the car was going at + full speed, because the young lady, without turning her head or so much as + saying a syllable, had driven down a handle that made the machine plunge + forward like a buffalo and then fly over the landscape like a greyhound. + The police made one rush to follow, and then dropped so grotesque and + hopeless a chase. Away in the vanishing distance they could see the + sergeant furiously making notes. + </p> + <p> + The open door, still left loose on its hinges, swung and banged quite + crazily as they went whizzing up one road and down another. Nor did MacIan + sit down; he stood up stunned and yet staring, as he would have stood up + at the trumpet of the Last Day. A black dot in the distance sprang up a + tall black forest, swallowed them and spat them out again at the other + end. A railway bridge grew larger and larger till it leapt upon their + backs bellowing, and was in its turn left behind. Avenues of poplars on + both sides of the road chased each other like the figures in a zoetrope. + Now and then with a shock and rattle they went through sleeping moonlit + villages, which must have stirred an instant in their sleep as at the + passing of a fugitive earthquake. Sometimes in an outlying house a light + in one erratic, unexpected window would give them a nameless hint of the + hundred human secrets which they left behind them with their dust. + Sometimes even a slouching rustic would be afoot on the road and would + look after them, as after a flying phantom. But still MacIan stood up + staring at earth and heaven; and still the door he had flung open flapped + loose like a flag. Turnbull, after a few minutes of dumb amazement, had + yielded to the healthiest element in his nature and gone off into + uncontrollable fits of laughter. The girl had not stirred an inch. + </p> + <p> + After another half mile that seemed a mere flash, Turnbull leant over and + locked the door. Evan staggered at last into his seat and hid his + throbbing head in his hands; and still the car flew on and its driver sat + inflexible and silent. The moon had already gone down, and the whole + darkness was faintly troubled with twilight and the first movement of + beasts and fowls. It was that mysterious moment when light is coming as if + it were something unknown whose nature one could not guess—a mere + alteration in everything. They looked at the sky and it seemed as dark as + ever; then they saw the black shape of a tower or tree against it and knew + that it was already grey. Save that they were driving southward and had + certainly passed the longitude of London, they knew nothing of their + direction; but Turnbull, who had spent a year on the Hampshire coast in + his youth, began to recognize the unmistakable but quite indescribable + villages of the English south. Then a white witch fire began to burn + between the black stems of the fir-trees; and, like so many things in + nature, though not in books on evolution, the daybreak, when it did come, + came much quicker than one would think. The gloomy heavens were ripped up + and rolled away like a scroll, revealing splendours, as the car went + roaring up the curve of a great hill; and above them and black against the + broadening light, there stood one of those crouching and fantastic trees + that are first signals of the sea. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. THE SWORDS REJOINED + </h2> + <p> + As they came over the hill and down on the other side of it, it is not too + much to say that the whole universe of God opened over them and under + them, like a thing unfolding to five times its size. Almost under their + feet opened the enormous sea, at the bottom of a steep valley which fell + down into a bay; and the sea under their feet blazed at them almost as + lustrous and almost as empty as the sky. The sunrise opened above them + like some cosmic explosion, shining and shattering and yet silent; as if + the world were blown to pieces without a sound. Round the rays of the + victorious sun swept a sort of rainbow of confused and conquered colours—brown + and blue and green and flaming rose-colour; as though gold were driving + before it all the colours of the world. The lines of the landscape down + which they sped, were the simple, strict, yet swerving, lines of a rushing + river; so that it was almost as if they were being sucked down in a huge + still whirlpool. Turnbull had some such feeling, for he spoke for the + first time for many hours. + </p> + <p> + “If we go down at this rate we shall be over the sea cliff,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How glorious!” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + When, however, they had come into the wide hollow at the bottom of that + landslide, the car took a calm and graceful curve along the side of the + sea, melted into the fringe of a few trees, and quietly, yet + astonishingly, stopped. A belated light was burning in the broad morning + in the window of a sort of lodge- or gate-keepers' cottage; and the girl + stood up in the car and turned her splendid face to the sun. + </p> + <p> + Evan seemed startled by the stillness, like one who had been born amid + sound and speed. He wavered on his long legs as he stood up; he pulled + himself together, and the only consequence was that he trembled from head + to foot. Turnbull had already opened the door on his side and jumped out. + </p> + <p> + The moment he had done so the strange young woman had one more mad + movement, and deliberately drove the car a few yards farther. Then she got + out with an almost cruel coolness and began pulling off her long gloves + and almost whistling. + </p> + <p> + “You can leave me here,” she said, quite casually, as if they had met five + minutes before. “That is the lodge of my father's place. Please come in, + if you like—but I understood that you had some business.” + </p> + <p> + Evan looked at that lifted face and found it merely lovely; he was far too + much of a fool to see that it was working with a final fatigue and that + its austerity was agony. He was even fool enough to ask it a question. + “Why did you save us?” he said, quite humbly. + </p> + <p> + The girl tore off one of her gloves, as if she were tearing off her hand. + “Oh, I don't know,” she said, bitterly. “Now I come to think of it, I + can't imagine.” + </p> + <p> + Evan's thoughts, that had been piled up to the morning star, abruptly let + him down with a crash into the very cellars of the emotional universe. He + remained in a stunned silence for a long time; and that, if he had only + known, was the wisest thing that he could possibly do at the moment. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the silence and the sunrise had their healing effect, for when the + extraordinary lady spoke again, her tone was more friendly and apologetic. + “I'm not really ungrateful,” she said; “it was very good of you to save me + from those men.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” repeated the obstinate and dazed MacIan, “why did you save us + from the other men? I mean the policemen?” + </p> + <p> + The girl's great brown eyes were lit up with a flash that was at once + final desperation and the loosening of some private and passionate + reserve. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God knows!” she cried. “God knows that if there is a God He has + turned His big back on everything. God knows I have had no pleasure in my + life, though I am pretty and young and father has plenty of money. And + then people come and tell me that I ought to do things and I do them and + it's all drivel. They want you to do work among the poor; which means + reading Ruskin and feeling self-righteous in the best room in a poor + tenement. Or to help some cause or other, which always means bundling + people out of crooked houses, in which they've always lived, into straight + houses, in which they often die. And all the time you have inside only the + horrid irony of your own empty head and empty heart. I am to give to the + unfortunate, when my whole misfortune is that I have nothing to give. I am + to teach, when I believe nothing at all that I was taught. I am to save + the children from death, and I am not even certain that I should not be + better dead. I suppose if I actually saw a child drowning I should save + it. But that would be from the same motive from which I have saved you, or + destroyed you, whichever it is that I have done.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the motive?” asked Evan, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “My motive is too big for my mind,” answered the girl. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a pause, as she stared with a rising colour at the glittering + sea, she said: “It can't be described, and yet I am trying to describe it. + It seems to me not only that I am unhappy, but that there is no way of + being happy. Father is not happy, though he is a Member of Parliament——” + She paused a moment and added with a ghost of a smile: “Nor Aunt Mabel, + though a man from India has told her the secret of all creeds. But I may + be wrong; there may be a way out. And for one stark, insane second, I felt + that, after all, you had got the way out and that was why the world hated + you. You see, if there were a way out, it would be sure to be something + that looked very queer.” + </p> + <p> + Evan put his hand to his forehead and began stumblingly: “Yes, I suppose + we do seem——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you look queer enough,” she said, with ringing sincerity. + “You'll be all the better for a wash and brush up.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget our business, madam,” said Evan, in a shaking voice; “we have + no concern but to kill each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shouldn't be killed looking like that if I were you,” she + replied, with inhuman honesty. + </p> + <p> + Evan stood and rolled his eyes in masculine bewilderment. Then came the + final change in this Proteus, and she put out both her hands for an + instant and said in a low tone on which he lived for days and nights: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you understand that I did not dare to stop you? What you are doing + is so mad that it may be quite true. Somehow one can never really manage + to be an atheist.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull stood staring at the sea; but his shoulders showed that he heard, + and after one minute he turned his head. But the girl had only brushed + Evan's hand with hers and had fled up the dark alley by the lodge gate. + </p> + <p> + Evan stood rooted upon the road, literally like some heavy statue hewn + there in the age of the Druids. It seemed impossible that he should ever + move. Turnbull grew restless with this rigidity, and at last, after + calling his companion twice or thrice, went up and clapped him impatiently + on one of his big shoulders. Evan winced and leapt away from him with a + repulsion which was not the hate of an unclean thing nor the dread of a + dangerous one, but was a spasm of awe and separation from something from + which he was now sundered as by the sword of God. He did not hate the + atheist; it is possible that he loved him. But Turnbull was now something + more dreadful than an enemy: he was a thing sealed and devoted—a + thing now hopelessly doomed to be either a corpse or an executioner. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” asked Turnbull, with his hearty hand still + in the air; and yet he knew more about it than his innocent action would + allow. + </p> + <p> + “James,” said Evan, speaking like one under strong bodily pain, “I asked + for God's answer and I have got it—got it in my vitals. He knows how + weak I am, and that I might forget the peril of the faith, forget the face + of Our Lady—yes, even with your blow upon her cheek. But the honour + of this earth has just this about it, that it can make a man's heart like + iron. I am from the Lords of the Isles and I dare not be a mere deserter. + Therefore, God has tied me by the chain of my worldly place and word, and + there is nothing but fighting now.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I understand you,” said Turnbull, “but you say everything tail + foremost.” + </p> + <p> + “She wants us to do it,” said Evan, in a voice crushed with passion. “She + has hurt herself so that we might do it. She has left her good name and + her good sleep and all her habits and dignity flung away on the other side + of England in the hope that she may hear of us and that we have broken + some hole into heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I knew what you mean,” said Turnbull, biting his beard; “it + does seem as if we ought to do something after all she has done this + night.” + </p> + <p> + “I never liked you so much before,” said MacIan, in bitter sorrow. + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, three solemn footmen came out of the lodge gate and assembled + to assist the chauffeur to his room. The mere sight of them made the two + wanderers flee as from a too frightful incongruity, and before they knew + where they were, they were well upon the grassy ledge of England that + overlooks the Channel. Evan said suddenly: “Will they let me see her in + heaven once in a thousand ages?” and addressed the remark to the editor of + <i>The Atheist</i>, as on which he would be likely or qualified to answer. + But no answer came; a silence sank between the two. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull strode sturdily to the edge of the cliff and looked out, his + companion following, somewhat more shaken by his recent agitation. + </p> + <p> + “If that's the view you take,” said Turnbull, “and I don't say you are + wrong, I think I know where we shall be best off for the business. As it + happens, I know this part of the south coast pretty well. And unless I am + mistaken there's a way down the cliff just here which will land us on a + stretch of firm sand where no one is likely to follow us.” + </p> + <p> + The Highlander made a gesture of assent and came also almost to the edge + of the precipice. The sunrise, which was broadening over sea and shore, + was one of those rare and splendid ones in which there seems to be no mist + or doubt, and nothing but a universal clarification more and more + complete. All the colours were transparent. It seemed like a triumphant + prophecy of some perfect world where everything being innocent will be + intelligible; a world where even our bodies, so to speak, may be as of + burning glass. Such a world is faintly though fiercely figured in the + coloured windows of Christian architecture. The sea that lay before them + was like a pavement of emerald, bright and almost brittle; the sky against + which its strict horizon hung was almost absolutely white, except that + close to the sky line, like scarlet braids on the hem of a garment, lay + strings of flaky cloud of so gleaming and gorgeous a red that they seemed + cut out of some strange blood-red celestial metal, of which the mere gold + of this earth is but a drab yellow imitation. + </p> + <p> + “The hand of Heaven is still pointing,” muttered the man of superstition + to himself. “And now it is a blood-red hand.” + </p> + <p> + The cool voice of his companion cut in upon his monologue, calling to him + from a little farther along the cliff, to tell him that he had found the + ladder of descent. It began as a steep and somewhat greasy path, which + then tumbled down twenty or thirty feet in the form of a fall of rough + stone steps. After that, there was a rather awkward drop on to a ledge of + stone and then the journey was undertaken easily and even elegantly by the + remains of an ornamental staircase, such as might have belonged to some + long-disused watering-place. All the time that the two travellers sank + from stage to stage of this downward journey, there closed over their + heads living bridges and caverns of the most varied foliage, all of which + grew greener, redder, or more golden, in the growing sunlight of the + morning. Life, too, of the more moving sort rose at the sun on every side + of them. Birds whirred and fluttered in the undergrowth, as if imprisoned + in green cages. Other birds were shaken up in great clouds from the + tree-tops, as if they were blossoms detached and scattered up to heaven. + Animals which Turnbull was too much of a Londoner and MacIan too much of a + Northerner to know, slipped by among the tangle or ran pattering up the + tree-trunks. Both the men, according to their several creeds, felt the + full thunder of the psalm of life as they had never heard it before; + MacIan felt God the Father, benignant in all His energies, and Turnbull + that ultimate anonymous energy, that <i>Natura Naturans</i>, which is the + whole theme of Lucretius. It was down this clamorous ladder of life that + they went down to die. + </p> + <p> + They broke out upon a brown semicircle of sand, so free from human imprint + as to justify Turnbull's profession. They strode out upon it, stuck their + swords in the sand, and had a pause too important for speech. Turnbull + eyed the coast curiously for a moment, like one awakening memories of + childhood; then he said abruptly, like a man remembering somebody's name: + “But, of course, we shall be better off still round the corner of Cragness + Point; nobody ever comes there at all.” And picking up his sword again, he + began striding towards a big bluff of the rocks which stood out upon their + left. MacIan followed him round the corner and found himself in what was + certainly an even finer fencing court, of flat, firm sand, enclosed on + three sides by white walls of rock, and on the fourth by the green wall of + the advancing sea. + </p> + <p> + “We are quite safe here,” said Turnbull, and, to the other's surprise, + flung himself down, sitting on the brown beach. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I was brought up near here,” he explained. “I was sent from + Scotland to stop with my aunt. It is highly probable that I may die here. + Do you mind if I light a pipe?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, do whatever you like,” said MacIan, with a choking voice, and + he went and walked alone by himself along the wet, glistening sands. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes afterwards he came back again, white with his own whirlwind of + emotions; Turnbull was quite cheerful and was knocking out the end of his + pipe. + </p> + <p> + “You see, we have to do it,” said MacIan. “She tied us to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, my dear fellow,” said the other, and leapt up as lightly as a + monkey. + </p> + <p> + They took their places gravely in the very centre of the great square of + sand, as if they had thousands of spectators. Before saluting, MacIan, + who, being a mystic, was one inch nearer to Nature, cast his eye round the + huge framework of their heroic folly. The three walls of rock all leant a + little outward, though at various angles; but this impression was + exaggerated in the direction of the incredible by the heavy load of living + trees and thickets which each wall wore on its top like a huge shock of + hair. On all that luxurious crest of life the risen and victorious sun was + beating, burnishing it all like gold, and every bird that rose with that + sunrise caught a light like a star upon it like the dove of the Holy + Spirit. Imaginative life had never so much crowded upon MacIan. He felt + that he could write whole books about the feelings of a single bird. He + felt that for two centuries he would not tire of being a rabbit. He was in + the Palace of Life, of which the very tapestries and curtains were alive. + Then he recovered himself, and remembered his affairs. Both men saluted, + and iron rang upon iron. It was exactly at the same moment that he + realized that his enemy's left ankle was encircled with a ring of salt + water that had crept up to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” said Turnbull, stopping an instant, for he had grown + used to every movement of his extraordinary fellow-traveller's face. + </p> + <p> + MacIan glanced again at that silver anklet of sea-water and then looked + beyond at the next promontory round which a deep sea was boiling and + leaping. Then he turned and looked back and saw heavy foam being shaken up + to heaven about the base of Cragness Point. + </p> + <p> + “The sea has cut us off,” he said, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “I have noticed it,” said Turnbull with equal sobriety. “What view do you + take of the development?” + </p> + <p> + Evan threw away his weapon, and, as his custom was, imprisoned his big + head in his hands. Then he let them fall and said: “Yes, I know what it + means; and I think it is the fairest thing. It is the finger of God—red + as blood—still pointing. But now it points to two graves.” + </p> + <p> + There was a space filled with the sound of the sea, and then MacIan spoke + again in a voice pathetically reasonable: “You see, we both saved her—and + she told us both to fight—and it would not be just that either + should fail and fall alone, while the other——” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said Turnbull, in a voice surprisingly soft and gentle, “that + there is something fine about fighting in a place where even the conqueror + must die?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you have got it right, you have got it right!” cried out Evan, in an + extraordinary childish ecstasy. “Oh, I'm sure that you really believe in + God!” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull answered not a word, but only took up his fallen sword. + </p> + <p> + For the third time Evan MacIan looked at those three sides of English + cliff hung with their noisy load of life. He had been at a loss to + understand the almost ironical magnificence of all those teeming creatures + and tropical colours and smells that smoked happily to heaven. But now he + knew that he was in the closed court of death and that all the gates were + sealed. + </p> + <p> + He drank in the last green and the last red and the last gold, those + unique and indescribable things of God, as a man drains good wine at the + bottom of his glass. Then he turned and saluted his enemy once more, and + the two stood up and fought till the foam flowed over their knees. + </p> + <p> + Then MacIan stepped backward suddenly with a splash and held up his hand. + “Turnbull!” he cried; “I can't help it—fair fighting is more even + than promises. And this is not fair fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce do you mean?” asked the other, staring. + </p> + <p> + “I've only just thought of it,” cried Evan, brokenly. “We're very well + matched—it may go on a good time—the tide is coming up fast—and + I'm a foot and a half taller. You'll be washed away like seaweed before + it's above my breeches. I'll not fight foul for all the girls and angels + in the universe.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you oblige me,” said Turnbull, with staring grey eyes and a voice of + distinct and violent politeness; “will you oblige me by jolly well minding + your own business? Just you stand up and fight, and we'll see who will be + washed away like seaweed. You wanted to finish this fight and you shall + finish it, or I'll denounce you as a coward to the whole of that assembled + company.” + </p> + <p> + Evan looked very doubtful and offered a somewhat wavering weapon; but he + was quickly brought back to his senses by his opponent's sword-point, + which shot past him, shaving his shoulder by a hair. By this time the + waves were well up Turnbull's thigh, and what was worse, they were + beginning to roll and break heavily around them. + </p> + <p> + MacIan parried this first lunge perfectly, the next less perfectly; the + third in all human probability he would not have parried at all; the + Christian champion would have been pinned like a butterfly, and the + atheistic champion left to drown like a rat, with such consolation as his + view of the cosmos afforded him. But just as Turnbull launched his + heaviest stroke, the sea, in which he stood up to his hips, launched a yet + heavier one. A wave breaking beyond the others smote him heavily like a + hammer of water. One leg gave way, he was swung round and sucked into the + retreating sea, still gripping his sword. + </p> + <p> + MacIan put his sword between his teeth and plunged after his disappearing + enemy. He had the sense of having the whole universe on top of him as + crest after crest struck him down. It seemed to him quite a cosmic + collapse, as if all the seven heavens were falling on him one after the + other. But he got hold of the atheist's left leg and he did not let it go. + </p> + <p> + After some ten minutes of foam and frenzy, in which all the senses at once + seemed blasted by the sea, Evan found himself laboriously swimming on a + low, green swell, with the sword still in his teeth and the editor of <i>The + Atheist</i> still under his arm. What he was going to do he had not even + the most glimmering idea; so he merely kept his grip and swam somehow with + one hand. + </p> + <p> + He ducked instinctively as there bulked above him a big, black wave, much + higher than any that he had seen. Then he saw that it was hardly the shape + of any possible wave. Then he saw that it was a fisherman's boat, and, + leaping upward, caught hold of the bow. The boat pitched forward with its + stern in the air for just as much time as was needed to see that there was + nobody in it. After a moment or two of desperate clambering, however, + there were two people in it, Mr. Evan MacIan, panting and sweating, and + Mr. James Turnbull, uncommonly close to being drowned. After ten minutes' + aimless tossing in the empty fishing-boat he recovered, however, stirred, + stretched himself, and looked round on the rolling waters. Then, while + taking no notice of the streams of salt water that were pouring from his + hair, beard, coat, boots, and trousers, he carefully wiped the wet off his + sword-blade to preserve it from the possibilities of rust. + </p> + <p> + MacIan found two oars in the bottom of the deserted boat and began + somewhat drearily to row. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * +</pre> + <p> + A rainy twilight was clearing to cold silver over the moaning sea, when + the battered boat that had rolled and drifted almost aimlessly all night, + came within sight of land, though of land which looked almost as lost and + savage as the waves. All night there had been but little lifting in the + leaden sea, only now and then the boat had been heaved up, as on a huge + shoulder which slipped from under it; such occasional sea-quakes came + probably from the swell of some steamer that had passed it in the dark; + otherwise the waves were harmless though restless. But it was piercingly + cold, and there was, from time to time, a splutter of rain like the + splutter of the spray, which seemed almost to freeze as it fell. MacIan, + more at home than his companion in this quite barbarous and elemental sort + of adventure, had rowed toilsomely with the heavy oars whenever he saw + anything that looked like land; but for the most part had trusted with + grim transcendentalism to wind and tide. Among the implements of their + first outfit the brandy alone had remained to him, and he gave it to his + freezing companion in quantities which greatly alarmed that temperate + Londoner; but MacIan came from the cold seas and mists where a man can + drink a tumbler of raw whisky in a boat without it making him wink. + </p> + <p> + When the Highlander began to pull really hard upon the oars, Turnbull + craned his dripping red head out of the boat to see the goal of his + exertions. It was a sufficiently uninviting one; nothing so far as could + be seen but a steep and shelving bank of shingle, made of loose little + pebbles such as children like, but slanting up higher than a house. On the + top of the mound, against the sky line, stood up the brown skeleton of + some broken fence or breakwater. With the grey and watery dawn crawling up + behind it, the fence really seemed to say to our philosophic adventurers + that they had come at last to the other end of nowhere. + </p> + <p> + Bent by necessity to his labour, MacIan managed the heavy boat with real + power and skill, and when at length he ran it up on a smoother part of the + slope it caught and held so that they could clamber out, not sinking + farther than their knees into the water and the shingle. A foot or two + farther up their feet found the beach firmer, and a few moments afterwards + they were leaning on the ragged breakwater and looking back at the sea + they had escaped. + </p> + <p> + They had a dreary walk across wastes of grey shingle in the grey dawn + before they began to come within hail of human fields or roads; nor had + they any notion of what fields or roads they would be. Their boots were + beginning to break up and the confusion of stones tried them severely, so + that they were glad to lean on their swords, as if they were the staves of + pilgrims. MacIan thought vaguely of a weird ballad of his own country + which describes the soul in Purgatory as walking on a plain full of sharp + stones, and only saved by its own charities upon earth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon + Every night and all, + Sit thee down and put them on, + And Christ receive thy soul. +</pre> + <p> + Turnbull had no such lyrical meditations, but he was in an even worse + temper. + </p> + <p> + At length they came to a pale ribbon of road, edged by a shelf of rough + and almost colourless turf; and a few feet up the slope there stood grey + and weather-stained, one of those big wayside crucifixes which are seldom + seen except in Catholic countries. + </p> + <p> + MacIan put his hand to his head and found that his bonnet was not there. + Turnbull gave one glance at the crucifix—a glance at once + sympathetic and bitter, in which was concentrated the whole of Swinburne's + poem on the same occasion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O hidden face of man, whereover + The years have woven a viewless veil, + If thou wert verily man's lover + What did thy love or blood avail? + Thy blood the priests mix poison of, + And in gold shekels coin thy love. +</pre> + <p> + Then, leaving MacIan in his attitude of prayer, Turnbull began to look + right and left very sharply, like one looking for something. Suddenly, + with a little cry, he saw it and ran forward. A few yards from them along + the road a lean and starved sort of hedge came pitifully to an end. Caught + upon its prickly angle, however, there was a very small and very dirty + scrap of paper that might have hung there for months, since it escaped + from someone tearing up a letter or making a spill out of a newspaper. + Turnbull snatched at it and found it was the corner of a printed page, + very coarsely printed, like a cheap novelette, and just large enough to + contain the words: “<i>et c'est elle qui</i>——” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” cried Turnbull, waving his fragment; “we are safe at last. We + are free at last. We are somewhere better than England or Eden or + Paradise. MacIan, we are in the Land of the Duel!” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you say?” said the other, looking at him heavily and with + knitted brows, like one almost dazed with the grey doubts of desolate + twilight and drifting sea. + </p> + <p> + “We are in France!” cried Turnbull, with a voice like a trumpet, “in the + land where things really happen—<i>Tout arrive en France</i>. We + arrive in France. Look at this little message,” and he held out the scrap + of paper. “There's an omen for you superstitious hill folk. <i>C'est elle + qui—Mais oui, mais oui, c'est elle qui sauvera encore le monde</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “France!” repeated MacIan, and his eyes awoke again in his head like large + lamps lighted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, France!” said Turnbull, and all the rhetorical part of him came to + the top, his face growing as red as his hair. “France, that has always + been in rebellion for liberty and reason. France, that has always assailed + superstition with the club of Rabelais or the rapier of Voltaire. France, + at whose first council table sits the sublime figure of Julian the + Apostate. France, where a man said only the other day those splendid + unanswerable words”—with a superb gesture—“'we have + extinguished in heaven those lights that men shall never light again.'” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said MacIan, in a voice that shook with a controlled passion. “But + France, which was taught by St. Bernard and led to war by Joan of Arc. + France that made the crusades. France that saved the Church and scattered + the heresies by the mouths of Bossuet and Massillon. France, which shows + today the conquering march of Catholicism, as brain after brain surrenders + to it, Brunetière, Coppée, Hauptmann, Barrès, Bourget, Lemaître.” + </p> + <p> + “France!” asserted Turnbull with a sort of rollicking self-exaggeration, + very unusual with him, “France, which is one torrent of splendid + scepticism from Abelard to Anatole France.” + </p> + <p> + “France,” said MacIan, “which is one cataract of clear faith from St. + Louis to Our Lady of Lourdes.” + </p> + <p> + “France at least,” cried Turnbull, throwing up his sword in schoolboy + triumph, “in which these things are thought about and fought about. + France, where reason and religion clash in one continual tournament. + France, above all, where men understand the pride and passion which have + plucked our blades from their scabbards. Here, at least, we shall not be + chased and spied on by sickly parsons and greasy policemen, because we + wish to put our lives on the game. Courage, my friend, we have come to the + country of honour.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan did not even notice the incongruous phrase “my friend”, but nodding + again and again, drew his sword and flung the scabbard far behind him in + the road. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he cried, in a voice of thunder, “we will fight here and <i>He</i> + shall look on at it.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull glanced at the crucifix with a sort of scowling good-humour and + then said: “He may look and see His cross defeated.” + </p> + <p> + “The cross cannot be defeated,” said MacIan, “for it is Defeat.” + </p> + <p> + A second afterwards the two bright, blood-thirsty weapons made the sign of + the cross in horrible parody upon each other. + </p> + <p> + They had not touched each other twice, however, when upon the hill, above + the crucifix, there appeared another horrible parody of its shape; the + figure of a man who appeared for an instant waving his outspread arms. He + had vanished in an instant; but MacIan, whose fighting face was set that + way, had seen the shape momentarily but quite photographically. And while + it was like a comic repetition of the cross, it was also, in that place + and hour, something more incredible. It had been only instantaneously on + the retina of his eye; but unless his eye and mind were going mad + together, the figure was that of an ordinary London policeman. + </p> + <p> + He tried to concentrate his senses on the sword-play; but one half of his + brain was wrestling with the puzzle; the apocalyptic and almost seraphic + apparition of a stout constable out of Clapham on top of a dreary and + deserted hill in France. He did not, however, have to puzzle long. Before + the duellists had exchanged half a dozen passes, the big, blue policeman + appeared once more on the top of the hill, a palpable monstrosity in the + eye of heaven. He was waving only one arm now and seemed to be shouting + directions. At the same moment a mass of blue blocked the corner of the + road behind the small, smart figure of Turnbull, and a small company of + policemen in the English uniform came up at a kind of half-military + double. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull saw the stare of consternation in his enemy's face and swung + round to share its cause. When he saw it, cool as he was, he staggered + back. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you doing here?” he called out in a high, shrill voice + of authority, like one who finds a tramp in his own larder. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the sergeant in command, with that sort of heavy + civility shown only to the evidently guilty, “seems to me we might ask + what are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “We are having an affair of honour,” said Turnbull, as if it were the most + rational thing in the world. “If the French police like to interfere, let + them interfere. But why the blue blazes should you interfere, you great + blue blundering sausages?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid, sir,” said the sergeant with restraint, “I'm afraid I don't + quite follow you.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, why don't the French police take this up if it's got to be taken + up? I always heard that they were spry enough in their own way.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the sergeant reflectively, “you see, sir, the French + police don't take this up—well, because you see, sir, this ain't + France. This is His Majesty's dominions, same as 'Ampstead 'eath.” + </p> + <p> + “Not France?” repeated Turnbull, with a sort of dull incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the sergeant; “though most of the people talk French. This + is the island called St. Loup, sir, an island in the Channel. We've been + sent down specially from London, as you were such specially distinguished + criminals, if you'll allow me to say so. Which reminds me to warn you that + anything you say may be used against you at your trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Turnbull, and lurched suddenly against the sergeant, so + as to tip him over the edge of the road with a crash into the shingle + below. Then leaving MacIan and the policemen equally and instantaneously + nailed to the road, he ran a little way along it, leapt off on to a part + of the beach, which he had found in his journey to be firmer, and went + across it with a clatter of pebbles. His sudden calculation was + successful; the police, unacquainted with the various levels of the loose + beach, tried to overtake him by the shorter cut and found themselves, + being heavy men, almost up to their knees in shoals of slippery shingle. + Two who had been slower with their bodies were quicker with their minds, + and seeing Turnbull's trick, ran along the edge of the road after him. + Then MacIan finally awoke, and leaving half his sleeve in the grip of the + only man who tried to hold him, took the two policemen in the small of + their backs with the impetus of a cannon-ball and, sending them also flat + among the stones, went tearing after his twin defier of the law. + </p> + <p> + As they were both good runners, the start they had gained was decisive. + They dropped over a high breakwater farther on upon the beach, turned + sharply, and scrambled up a line of ribbed rocks, crowned with a thicket, + crawled through it, scratching their hands and faces, and dropped into + another road; and there found that they could slacken their speed into a + steady trot. In all this desperate dart and scramble, they still kept hold + of their drawn swords, which now, indeed, in the vigorous phrase of + Bunyan, seemed almost to grow out of their hands. + </p> + <p> + They had run another half mile or so when it became apparent that they + were entering a sort of scattered village. One or two whitewashed cottages + and even a shop had appeared along the side of the road. Then, for the + first time, Turnbull twisted round his red bear to get a glimpse of his + companion, who was a foot or two behind, and remarked abruptly: “Mr. + MacIan, we've been going the wrong way to work all along. We're traced + everywhere, because everybody knows about us. It's as if one went about + with Kruger's beard on Mafeking Night.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” said MacIan, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Turnbull, with steady conviction, “that what we want is a + little diplomacy, and I am going to buy some in a shop.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. A SCANDAL IN THE VILLAGE + </h2> + <p> + In the little hamlet of Haroc, in the Isle of St. Loup, there lived a man + who—though living under the English flag—was absolutely + untypical of the French tradition. He was quite unnoticeable, but that was + exactly where he was quite himself. He was not even extraordinarily + French; but then it is against the French tradition to be extraordinarily + French. Ordinary Englishmen would only have thought him a little + old-fashioned; imperialistic Englishmen would really have mistaken him for + the old John Bull of the caricatures. He was stout; he was quite + undistinguished; and he had side-whiskers, worn just a little longer than + John Bull's. He was by name Pierre Durand; he was by trade a wine + merchant; he was by politics a conservative republican; he had been + brought up a Catholic, had always thought and acted as an agnostic, and + was very mildly returning to the Church in his later years. He had a + genius (if one can even use so wild a word in connexion with so tame a + person) a genius for saying the conventional thing on every conceivable + subject; or rather what we in England would call the conventional thing. + For it was not convention with him, but solid and manly conviction. + Convention implies cant or affectation, and he had not the faintest smell + of either. He was simply an ordinary citizen with ordinary views; and if + you had told him so he would have taken it as an ordinary compliment. If + you had asked him about women, he would have said that one must preserve + their domesticity and decorum; he would have used the stalest words, but + he would have in reserve the strongest arguments. If you had asked him + about government, he would have said that all citizens were free and + equal, but he would have meant what he said. If you had asked him about + education, he would have said that the young must be trained up in habits + of industry and of respect for their parents. Still he would have set them + the example of industry, and he would have been one of the parents whom + they could respect. A state of mind so hopelessly central is depressing to + the English instinct. But then in England a man announcing these + platitudes is generally a fool and a frightened fool, announcing them out + of mere social servility. But Durand was anything but a fool; he had read + all the eighteenth century, and could have defended his platitudes round + every angle of eighteenth-century argument. And certainly he was anything + but a coward: swollen and sedentary as he was, he could have hit any man + back who touched him with the instant violence of an automatic machine; + and dying in a uniform would have seemed to him only the sort of thing + that sometimes happens. I am afraid it is impossible to explain this + monster amid the exaggerative sects and the eccentric clubs of my country. + He was merely a man. + </p> + <p> + He lived in a little villa which was furnished well with comfortable + chairs and tables and highly uncomfortable classical pictures and + medallions. The art in his home contained nothing between the two extremes + of hard, meagre designs of Greek heads and Roman togas, and on the other + side a few very vulgar Catholic images in the crudest colours; these were + mostly in his daughter's room. He had recently lost his wife, whom he had + loved heartily and rather heavily in complete silence, and upon whose + grave he was constantly in the habit of placing hideous little wreaths, + made out of a sort of black-and-white beads. To his only daughter he was + equally devoted, though he restricted her a good deal under a sort of + theoretic alarm about her innocence; an alarm which was peculiarly + unnecessary, first, because she was an exceptionally reticent and + religious girl, and secondly, because there was hardly anybody else in the + place. + </p> + <p> + Madeleine Durand was physically a sleepy young woman, and might easily + have been supposed to be morally a lazy one. It is, however, certain that + the work of her house was done somehow, and it is even more rapidly + ascertainable that nobody else did it. The logician is, therefore, driven + back upon the assumption that she did it; and that lends a sort of + mysterious interest to her personality at the beginning. She had very + broad, low, and level brows, which seemed even lower because her warm + yellow hair clustered down to her eyebrows; and she had a face just plump + enough not to look as powerful as it was. Anything that was heavy in all + this was abruptly lightened by two large, light china-blue eyes, lightened + all of a sudden as if it had been lifted into the air by two big blue + butterflies. The rest of her was less than middle-sized, and was of a + casual and comfortable sort; and she had this difference from such girls + as the girl in the motor-car, that one did not incline to take in her + figure at all, but only her broad and leonine and innocent head. + </p> + <p> + Both the father and the daughter were of the sort that would normally have + avoided all observation; that is, all observation in that extraordinary + modern world which calls out everything except strength. Both of them had + strength below the surface; they were like quiet peasants owning enormous + and unquarried mines. The father with his square face and grey side + whiskers, the daughter with her square face and golden fringe of hair, + were both stronger than they know; stronger than anyone knew. The father + believed in civilization, in the storied tower we have erected to affront + nature; that is, the father believed in Man. The daughter believed in God; + and was even stronger. They neither of them believed in themselves; for + that is a decadent weakness. + </p> + <p> + The daughter was called a devotee. She left upon ordinary people the + impression—the somewhat irritating impression—produced by such + a person; it can only be described as the sense of strong water being + perpetually poured into some abyss. She did her housework easily; she + achieved her social relations sweetly; she was never neglectful and never + unkind. This accounted for all that was soft in her, but not for all that + was hard. She trod firmly as if going somewhere; she flung her face back + as if defying something; she hardly spoke a cross word, yet there was + often battle in her eyes. The modern man asked doubtfully where all this + silent energy went to. He would have stared still more doubtfully if he + had been told that it all went into her prayers. + </p> + <p> + The conventions of the Isle of St. Loup were necessarily a compromise or + confusion between those of France and England; and it was vaguely possible + for a respectable young lady to have half-attached lovers, in a way that + would be impossible to the <i>bourgeoisie</i> of France. One man in + particular had made himself an unmistakable figure in the track of this + girl as she went to church. He was a short, prosperous-looking man, whose + long, bushy black beard and clumsy black umbrella made him seem both + shorter and older than he really was; but whose big, bold eyes, and step + that spurned the ground, gave him an instant character of youth. + </p> + <p> + His name was Camille Bert, and he was a commercial traveller who had only + been in the island an idle week before he began to hover in the tracks of + Madeleine Durand. Since everyone knows everyone in so small a place, + Madeleine certainly knew him to speak to; but it is not very evident that + she ever spoke. He haunted her, however; especially at church, which was, + indeed, one of the few certain places for finding her. In her home she had + a habit of being invisible, sometimes through insatiable domesticity, + sometimes through an equally insatiable solitude. M. Bert did not give the + impression of a pious man, though he did give, especially with his eyes, + the impression of an honest one. But he went to Mass with a simple + exactitude that could not be mistaken for a pose, or even for a vulgar + fascination. It was perhaps this religious regularity which eventually + drew Madeleine into recognition of him. At least it is certain that she + twice spoke to him with her square and open smile in the porch of the + church; and there was human nature enough in the hamlet to turn even that + into gossip. + </p> + <p> + But the real interest arose suddenly as a squall arises with the + extraordinary affair that occurred about five days after. There was about + a third of a mile beyond the village of Haroc a large but lonely hotel + upon the London or Paris model, but commonly almost entirely empty. Among + the accidental group of guests who had come to it at this season was a man + whose nationality no one could fix and who bore the non-committal name of + Count Gregory. He treated everybody with complete civility and almost in + complete silence. On the few occasions when he spoke, he spoke either + French, English, or once (to the priest) Latin; and the general opinion + was that he spoke them all wrong. He was a large, lean man, with the stoop + of an aged eagle, and even the eagle's nose to complete it; he had + old-fashioned military whiskers and moustache dyed with a garish and + highly incredible yellow. He had the dress of a showy gentleman and the + manners of a decayed gentleman; he seemed (as with a sort of simplicity) + to be trying to be a dandy when he was too old even to know that he was + old. Ye he was decidedly a handsome figure with his curled yellow hair and + lean fastidious face; and he wore a peculiar frock-coat of bright + turquoise blue, with an unknown order pinned to it, and he carried a huge + and heavy cane. Despite his silence and his dandified dress and whiskers, + the island might never have heard of him but for the extraordinary event + of which I have spoken, which fell about in the following way: + </p> + <p> + In such casual atmospheres only the enthusiastic go to Benediction; and as + the warm blue twilight closed over the little candle-lit church and + village, the line of worshippers who went home from the former to the + latter thinned out until it broke. On one such evening at least no one was + in church except the quiet, unconquerable Madeleine, four old women, one + fisherman, and, of course, the irrepressible M. Camille Bert. The others + seemed to melt away afterwards into the peacock colours of the dim green + grass and the dark blue sky. Even Durand was invisible instead of being + merely reverentially remote; and Madeleine set forth through the patch of + black forest alone. She was not in the least afraid of loneliness, because + she was not afraid of devils. I think they were afraid of her. + </p> + <p> + In a clearing of the wood, however, which was lit up with a last patch of + the perishing sunlight, there advanced upon her suddenly one who was more + startling than a devil. The incomprehensible Count Gregory, with his + yellow hair like flame and his face like the white ashes of the flame, was + advancing bareheaded towards her, flinging out his arms and his long + fingers with a frantic gesture. + </p> + <p> + “We are alone here,” he cried, “and you would be at my mercy, only that I + am at yours.” + </p> + <p> + Then his frantic hands fell by his sides and he looked up under his brows + with an expression that went well with his hard breathing. Madeleine + Durand had come to a halt at first in childish wonder, and now, with more + than masculine self-control, “I fancy I know your face, sir,” she said, as + if to gain time. + </p> + <p> + “I know I shall not forget yours,” said the other, and extended once more + his ungainly arms in an unnatural gesture. Then of a sudden there came out + of him a spout of wild and yet pompous phrases. “It is as well that you + should know the worst and the best. I am a man who knows no limit; I am + the most callous of criminals, the most unrepentant of sinners. There is + no man in my dominions so vile as I. But my dominions stretch from the + olives of Italy to the fir-woods of Denmark, and there is no nook of all + of them in which I have not done a sin. But when I bear you away I shall + be doing my first sacrilege, and also my first act of virtue.” He seized + her suddenly by the elbow; and she did not scream but only pulled and + tugged. Yet though she had not screamed, someone astray in the woods + seemed to have heard the struggle. A short but nimble figure came along + the woodland path like a humming bullet and had caught Count Gregory a + crack across the face before his own could be recognized. When it was + recognized it was that of Camille, with the black elderly beard and the + young ardent eyes. + </p> + <p> + Up to the moment when Camille had hit the Count, Madeleine had entertained + no doubt that the Count was merely a madman. Now she was startled with a + new sanity; for the tall man in the yellow whiskers and yellow moustache + first returned the blow of Bert, as if it were a sort of duty, and then + stepped back with a slight bow and an easy smile. + </p> + <p> + “This need go no further here, M. Bert,” he said. “I need not remind you + how far it should go elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, you need remind me of nothing,” answered Camille, stolidly. “I + am glad that you are just not too much of a scoundrel for a gentleman to + fight.” + </p> + <p> + “We are detaining the lady,” said Count Gregory, with politeness; and, + making a gesture suggesting that he would have taken off his hat if he had + had one, he strode away up the avenue of trees and eventually disappeared. + He was so complete an aristocrat that he could offer his back to them all + the way up that avenue; and his back never once looked uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “You must allow me to see you home,” said Bert to the girl, in a gruff and + almost stifled voice; “I think we have only a little way to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Only a little way,” she said, and smiled once more that night, in spite + of fatigue and fear and the world and the flesh and the devil. The glowing + and transparent blue of twilight had long been covered by the opaque and + slatelike blue of night, when he handed her into the lamp-lit interior of + her home. He went out himself into the darkness, walking sturdily, but + tearing at his black beard. + </p> + <p> + All the French or semi-French gentry of the district considered this a + case in which a duel was natural and inevitable, and neither party had any + difficulty in finding seconds, strangers as they were in the place. Two + small landowners, who were careful, practising Catholics, willingly + undertook to represent that strict church-goer Camille Burt; while the + profligate but apparently powerful Count Gregory found friends in an + energetic local doctor who was ready for social promotion and an + accidental Californian tourist who was ready for anything. As no + particular purpose could be served by delay, it was arranged that the + affair should fall out three days afterwards. And when this was settled + the whole community, as it were, turned over again in bed and thought no + more about the matter. At least there was only one member of it who seemed + to be restless, and that was she who was commonly most restful. On the + next night Madeleine Durand went to church as usual; and as usual the + stricken Camille was there also. What was not so usual was that when they + were a bow-shot from the church Madeleine turned round and walked back to + him. “Sir,” she began, “it is not wrong of me to speak to you,” and the + very words gave him a jar of unexpected truth; for in all the novels he + had ever read she would have begun: “It is wrong of me to speak to you.” + She went on with wide and serious eyes like an animal's: “It is not wrong + of me to speak to you, because your soul, or anybody's soul, matters so + much more than what the world says about anybody. I want to talk to you + about what you are going to do.” + </p> + <p> + Bert saw in front of him the inevitable heroine of the novels trying to + prevent bloodshed; and his pale firm face became implacable. + </p> + <p> + “I would do anything but that for you,” he said; “but no man can be called + less than a man.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him for a moment with a face openly puzzled, and then broke + into an odd and beautiful half-smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mean that,” she said; “I don't talk about what I don't + understand. No one has ever hit me; and if they had I should not feel as a + man may. I am sure it is not the best thing to fight. It would be better + to forgive—if one could really forgive. But when people dine with my + father and say that fighting a duel is mere murder—of course I can + see that is not just. It's all so different—having a reason—and + letting the other man know—and using the same guns and things—and + doing it in front of your friends. I'm awfully stupid, but I know that men + like you aren't murderers. But it wasn't that that I meant.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you mean?” asked the other, looking broodingly at the earth. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know,” she said, “there is only one more celebration? I thought + that as you always go to church—I thought you would communicate this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + Bert stepped backward with a sort of action she had never seen in him + before. It seemed to alter his whole body. + </p> + <p> + “You may be right or wrong to risk dying,” said the girl, simply; “the + poor women in our village risk it whenever they have a baby. You men are + the other half of the world. I know nothing about when you ought to die. + But surely if you are daring to try and find God beyond the grave and + appeal to Him—you ought to let Him find you when He comes and stands + there every morning in our little church.” + </p> + <p> + And placid as she was, she made a little gesture of argument, of which the + pathos wrung the heart. + </p> + <p> + M. Camille Bert was by no means placid. Before that incomplete gesture and + frankly pleading face he retreated as if from the jaws of a dragon. His + dark black hair and beard looked utterly unnatural against the startling + pallor of his face. When at last he said something it was: “O God! I can't + stand this!” He did not say it in French. Nor did he, strictly speaking, + say it in English. The truth (interesting only to anthropologists) is that + he said it in Scotch. + </p> + <p> + “There will be another mass in a matter of eight hours,” said Madeleine, + with a sort of business eagerness and energy, “and you can do it then + before the fighting. You must forgive me, but I was so frightened that you + would not do it at all.” + </p> + <p> + Bert seemed to crush his teeth together until they broke, and managed to + say between them: “And why should you suppose that I shouldn't do as you + say—I mean not to do it at all?” + </p> + <p> + “You always go to Mass,” answered the girl, opening her wide blue eyes, + “and the Mass is very long and tiresome unless one loves God.” + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Bert exploded with a brutality which might have come from + Count Gregory, his criminal opponent. He advanced upon Madeleine with + flaming eyes, and almost took her by the two shoulders. “I do not love + God,” he cried, speaking French with the broadest Scotch accent; “I do not + want to find Him; I do not think He is there to be found. I must burst up + the show; I must and will say everything. You are the happiest and + honestest thing I ever saw in this godless universe. And I am the dirtiest + and most dishonest.” + </p> + <p> + Madeleine looked at him doubtfully for an instant, and then said with a + sudden simplicity and cheerfulness: “Oh, but if you are really sorry it is + all right. If you are horribly sorry it is all the better. You have only + to go and tell the priest so and he will give you God out of his own + hands.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate your priest and I deny your God!” cried the man, “and I tell you + God is a lie and a fable and a mask. And for the first time in my life I + do not feel superior to God.” + </p> + <p> + “What can it all mean?” said Madeleine, in massive wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am a fable also and a mask,” said the man. He had been plucking + fiercely at his black beard and hair all the time; now he suddenly plucked + them off and flung them like moulted feathers in the mire. This + extraordinary spoliation left in the sunlight the same face, but a much + younger head—a head with close chestnut curls and a short chestnut + beard. + </p> + <p> + “Now you know the truth,” he answered, with hard eyes. “I am a cad who has + played a crooked trick on a quiet village and a decent woman for a private + reason of his own. I might have played it successfully on any other woman; + I have hit the one woman on whom it cannot be played. It's just like my + damned luck. The plain truth is,” and here when he came to the plain truth + he boggled and blundered as Evan had done in telling it to the girl in the + motor-car. + </p> + <p> + “The plain truth is,” he said at last, “that I am James Turnbull the + atheist. The police are after me; not for atheism but for being ready to + fight for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw something about you in a newspaper,” said the girl, with a + simplicity which even surprise could never throw off its balance. + </p> + <p> + “Evan MacIan said there was a God,” went on the other, stubbornly, “and I + say there isn't. And I have come to fight for the fact that there is no + God; it is for that that I have seen this cursed island and your blessed + face.” + </p> + <p> + “You want me really to believe,” said Madeleine, with parted lips, “that + you think——” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to hate me!” cried Turnbull, in agony. “I want you to be sick + when you think of my name. I am sure there is no God.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is,” said Madeleine, quite quietly, and rather with the air of + one telling children about an elephant. “Why, I touched His body only this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You touched a bit of bread,” said Turnbull, biting his knuckles. “Oh, I + will say anything that can madden you!” + </p> + <p> + “You think it is only a bit of bread,” said the girl, and her lips + tightened ever so little. + </p> + <p> + “I know it is only a bit of bread,” said Turnbull, with violence. + </p> + <p> + She flung back her open face and smiled. “Then why did you refuse to eat + it?” she said. + </p> + <p> + James Turnbull made a little step backward, and for the first time in his + life there seemed to break out and blaze in his head thoughts that were + not his own. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how silly of them,” cried out Madeleine, with quite a schoolgirl + gaiety, “why, how silly of them to call <i>you</i> a blasphemer! Why, you + have wrecked your whole business because you would not commit blasphemy.” + </p> + <p> + The man stood, a somewhat comic figure in his tragic bewilderment, with + the honest red head of James Turnbull sticking out of the rich and + fictitious garments of Camille Bert. But the startled pain of his face was + strong enough to obliterate the oddity. + </p> + <p> + “You come down here,” continued the lady, with that female emphasis which + is so pulverizing in conversation and so feeble at a public meeting, “you + and your MacIan come down here and put on false beards or noses in order + to fight. You pretend to be a Catholic commercial traveller from France. + Poor Mr. MacIan has to pretend to be a dissolute nobleman from nowhere. + Your scheme succeeds; you pick a quite convincing quarrel; you arrange a + quite respectable duel; the duel you have planned so long will come off + tomorrow with absolute certainty and safety. And then you throw off your + wig and throw up your scheme and throw over your colleague, because I ask + you to go into a building and eat a bit of bread. And <i>then</i> you dare + to tell me that you are sure there is nothing watching us. Then you say + you know there is nothing on the very altar you run away from. You know——” + </p> + <p> + “I only know,” said Turnbull, “that I must run away from you. This has got + beyond any talking.” And he plunged along into the village, leaving his + black wig and beard lying behind him on the road. + </p> + <p> + As the market-place opened before him he saw Count Gregory, that + distinguished foreigner, standing and smoking in elegant meditation at the + corner of the local café. He immediately made his way rapidly towards him, + considering that a consultation was urgent. But he had hardly crossed half + of that stony quadrangle when a window burst open above him and a head was + thrust out, shouting. The man was in his woollen undershirt, but Turnbull + knew the energetic, apologetic head of the sergeant of police. He pointed + furiously at Turnbull and shouted his name. A policeman ran excitedly from + under an archway and tried to collar him. Two men selling vegetables + dropped their baskets and joined in the chase. Turnbull dodged the + constable, upset one of the men into his own basket, and bounding towards + the distinguished foreign Count, called to him clamorously: “Come on, + MacIan, the hunt is up again.” + </p> + <p> + The prompt reply of Count Gregory was to pull off his large yellow + whiskers and scatter them on the breeze with an air of considerable + relief. Then he joined the flight of Turnbull, and even as he did so, with + one wrench of his powerful hands rent and split the strange, thick stick + that he carried. Inside it was a naked old-fashioned rapier. The two got a + good start up the road before the whole town was awakened behind them; and + half-way up it a similar transformation was seen to take place in Mr. + Turnbull's singular umbrella. + </p> + <p> + The two had a long race for the harbour; but the English police were heavy + and the French inhabitants were indifferent. In any case, they got used to + the notion of the road being clear; and just as they had come to the + cliffs MacIan banged into another gentleman with unmistakable surprise. + How he knew he was another gentleman merely by banging into him, must + remain a mystery. MacIan was a very poor and very sober Scotch gentleman. + The other was a very drunk and very wealthy English gentleman. But there + was something in the staggered and openly embarrassed apologies that made + them understand each other as readily and as quickly and as much as two + men talking French in the middle of China. The nearest expression of the + type is that it either hits or apologizes; and in this case both + apologized. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be in a hurry,” said the unknown Englishman, falling back a + step or two in order to laugh with an unnatural heartiness. “What's it all + about, eh?” Then before MacIan could get past his sprawling and staggering + figure he ran forward again and said with a sort of shouting and + ear-shattering whisper: “I say, my name is Wilkinson. <i>You</i> know—Wilkinson's + Entire was my grandfather. Can't drink beer myself. Liver.” And he shook + his head with extraordinary sagacity. + </p> + <p> + “We really are in a hurry, as you say,” said MacIan, summoning a + sufficiently pleasant smile, “so if you will let us pass——” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what, you fellows,” said the sprawling gentleman, + confidentially, while Evan's agonized ears heard behind him the first + paces of the pursuit, “if you really are, as you say, in a hurry, I know + what it is to be in a hurry—Lord, what a hurry I was in when we all + came out of Cartwright's rooms—if you really are in a hurry”—and + he seemed to steady his voice into a sort of solemnity—“if you are + in a hurry, there's nothing like a good yacht for a man in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you're right,” said MacIan, and dashed past him in despair. The + head of the pursuing host was just showing over the top of the hill behind + him. Turnbull had already ducked under the intoxicated gentleman's elbow + and fled far in front. + </p> + <p> + “No, but look here,” said Mr. Wilkinson, enthusiastically running after + MacIan and catching him by the sleeve of his coat. “If you want to hurry + you should take a yacht, and if”—he said, with a burst of + rationality, like one leaping to a further point in logic—“if you + want a yacht—you can have mine.” + </p> + <p> + Evan pulled up abruptly and looked back at him. “We are really in the + devil of a hurry,” he said, “and if you really have a yacht, the truth is + that we would give our ears for it.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find it in harbour,” said Wilkinson, struggling with his speech. + “Left side of harbour—called <i>Gibson Girl</i>—can't think + why, old fellow, I never lent it you before.” + </p> + <p> + With these words the benevolent Mr. Wilkinson fell flat on his face in the + road, but continued to laugh softly, and turned towards his flying + companion a face of peculiar peace and benignity. Evan's mind went through + a crisis of instantaneous casuistry, in which it may be that he decided + wrongly; but about how he decided his biographer can profess no doubt. Two + minutes afterwards he had overtaken Turnbull and told the tale; ten + minutes afterwards he and Turnbull had somehow tumbled into the yacht + called the <i>Gibson Girl</i> and had somehow pushed off from the Isle of + St. Loup. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. THE DESERT ISLAND + </h2> + <p> + Those who happen to hold the view (and Mr. Evan MacIan, now alive and + comfortable, is among the number) that something supernatural, some + eccentric kindness from god or fairy had guided our adventurers through + all their absurd perils, might have found his strongest argument perhaps + in their management or mismanagement of Mr. Wilkinson's yacht. Neither of + them had the smallest qualification for managing such a vessel; but MacIan + had a practical knowledge of the sea in much smaller and quite different + boats, while Turnbull had an abstract knowledge of science and some of its + applications to navigation, which was worse. The presence of the god or + fairy can only be deduced from the fact that they never definitely ran + into anything, either a boat, a rock, a quicksand, or a man-of-war. Apart + from this negative description, their voyage would be difficult to + describe. It took at least a fortnight, and MacIan, who was certainly the + shrewder sailor of the two, realized that they were sailing west into the + Atlantic and were probably by this time past the Scilly Isles. How much + farther they stood out into the western sea it was impossible to + conjecture. But they felt certain, at least, that they were far enough + into that awful gulf between us and America to make it unlikely that they + would soon see land again. It was therefore with legitimate excitement + that one rainy morning after daybreak they saw that distinct shape of a + solitary island standing up against the encircling strip of silver which + ran round the skyline and separated the grey and green of the billows from + the grey and mauve of the morning clouds. + </p> + <p> + “What can it be?” cried MacIan, in a dry-throated excitement. “I didn't + know there were any Atlantic islands so far beyond the Scillies—Good + Lord, it can't be Madeira, yet?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were fond of legends and lies and fables,” said Turnbull, + grimly. “Perhaps it's Atlantis.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, it might be,” answered the other, quite innocently and + gravely; “but I never thought the story about Atlantis was very solidly + established.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever it is, we are running on to it,” said Turnbull, equably, “and we + shall be shipwrecked twice, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + The naked-looking nose of land projecting from the unknown island was, + indeed, growing larger and larger, like the trunk of some terrible and + advancing elephant. There seemed to be nothing in particular, at least on + this side of the island, except shoals of shellfish lying so thick as + almost to make it look like one of those toy grottos that the children + make. In one place, however, the coast offered a soft, smooth bay of sand, + and even the rudimentary ingenuity of the two amateur mariners managed to + run up the little ship with her prow well on shore and her bowsprit + pointing upward, as in a sort of idiotic triumph. + </p> + <p> + They tumbled on shore and began to unload the vessel, setting the stores + out in rows upon the sand with something of the solemnity of boys playing + at pirates. There were Mr. Wilkinson's cigar-boxes and Mr. Wilkinson's + dozen of champagne and Mr. Wilkinson's tinned salmon and Mr. Wilkinson's + tinned tongue and Mr. Wilkinson's tinned sardines, and every sort of + preserved thing that could be seen at the Army and Navy stores. Then + MacIan stopped with a jar of pickles in his hand and said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why we're doing all this; I suppose we ought really to fall + to and get it over.” + </p> + <p> + Then he added more thoughtfully: “Of course this island seems rather bare + and the survivor——” + </p> + <p> + “The question is,” said Turnbull, with cheerful speculation, “whether the + survivor will be in a proper frame of mind for potted prawns.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan looked down at the rows of tins and bottles, and the cloud of doubt + still lowered upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “You will permit me two liberties, my dear sir,” said Turnbull at last: + “The first is to break open this box and light one of Mr. Wilkinson's + excellent cigars, which will, I am sure, assist my meditations; the second + is to offer a penny for your thoughts; or rather to convulse the already + complex finances of this island by betting a penny that I know them.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you talking about?” asked MacIan, listlessly, in the + manner of an inattentive child. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are really thinking, MacIan,” repeated Turnbull, + laughing. “I know what I am thinking, anyhow. And I rather fancy it's the + same.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking?” asked Evan. + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking and you are thinking,” said Turnbull, “that it is damned + silly to waste all that champagne.” + </p> + <p> + Something like the spectre of a smile appeared on the unsmiling visage of + the Gael; and he made at least no movement of dissent. + </p> + <p> + “We could drink all the wine and smoke all the cigars easily in a week,” + said Turnbull; “and that would be to die feasting like heroes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and there is something else,” said MacIan, with slight hesitation. + “You see, we are on an almost unknown rock, lost in the Atlantic. The + police will never catch us; but then neither may the public ever hear of + us; and that was one of the things we wanted.” Then, after a pause, he + said, drawing in the sand with his sword-point: “She may never hear of it + at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired the other, puffing at his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said MacIan, “we might occupy a day or two in drawing up a + thorough and complete statement of what we did and why we did it, and all + about both our points of view. Then we could leave one copy on the island + whatever happens to us and put another in an empty bottle and send it out + to sea, as they do in the books.” + </p> + <p> + “A good idea,” said Turnbull, “and now let us finish unpacking.” + </p> + <p> + As MacIan, a tall, almost ghostly figure, paced along the edge of sand + that ran round the islet, the purple but cloudy poetry which was his + native element was piled up at its thickest upon his soul. The unique + island and the endless sea emphasized the thing solely as an epic. There + were no ladies or policemen here to give him a hint either of its farce or + its tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps when the morning stars were made,” he said to himself, “God built + this island up from the bottom of the world to be a tower and a theatre + for the fight between yea and nay.” + </p> + <p> + Then he wandered up to the highest level of the rock, where there was a + roof or plateau of level stone. Half an hour afterwards, Turnbull found + him clearing away the loose sand from this table-land and making it smooth + and even. + </p> + <p> + “We will fight up here, Turnbull,” said MacIan, “when the time comes. And + till the time comes this place shall be sacred.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought of having lunch up here,” said Turnbull, who had a bottle of + champagne in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, no—not up here,” said MacIan, and came down from the height + quite hastily. Before he descended, however, he fixed the two swords + upright, one at each end of the platform, as if they were human sentinels + to guard it under the stars. + </p> + <p> + Then they came down and lunched plentifully in a nest of loose rocks. In + the same place that night they supped more plentifully still. The smoke of + Mr. Wilkinson's cigars went up ceaseless and strong smelling, like a pagan + sacrifice; the golden glories of Mr. Wilkinson's champagne rose to their + heads and poured out of them in fancies and philosophies. And occasionally + they would look up at the starlight and the rock and see the space guarded + by the two cross-hilted swords, which looked like two black crosses at + either end of a grave. + </p> + <p> + In this primitive and Homeric truce the week passed by; it consisted + almost entirely of eating, drinking, smoking, talking, and occasionally + singing. They wrote their records and cast loose their bottle. They never + ascended to the ominous plateau; they had never stood there save for that + single embarrassed minute when they had had no time to take stock of the + seascape or the shape of the land. They did not even explore the island; + for MacIan was partly concerned in prayer and Turnbull entirely concerned + with tobacco; and both these forms of inspiration can be enjoyed by the + secluded and even the sedentary. It was on a golden afternoon, the sun + sinking over the sea, rayed like the very head of Apollo, when Turnbull + tossed off the last half-pint from the emptied Wilkinsonian bottle, hurled + the bottle into the sea with objectless energy, and went up to where his + sword stood waiting for him on the hill. MacIan was already standing + heavily by his with bent head and eyes reading the ground. He had not even + troubled to throw a glance round the island or the horizon. But Turnbull + being of a more active and birdlike type of mind did throw a glance round + the scene. The consequence of which was that he nearly fell off the rock. + </p> + <p> + On three sides of this shelly and sandy islet the sea stretched blue and + infinite without a speck of land or sail; the same as Turnbull had first + seen it, except that the tide being out it showed a few yards more of + slanting sand under the roots of the rocks. But on the fourth side the + island exhibited a more extraordinary feature. In fact, it exhibited the + extraordinary feature of not being an island at all. A long, curving neck + of sand, as smooth and wet as the neck of the sea serpent, ran out into + the sea and joined their rock to a line of low, billowing, and glistening + sand-hills, which the sinking sea had just bared to the sun. Whether they + were firm sand or quicksand it was difficult to guess; but there was at + least no doubt that they lay on the edge of some larger land; for + colourless hills appeared faintly behind them and no sea could be seen + beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Sakes alive!” cried Turnbull, with rolling eyes; “this ain't an island in + the Atlantic. We've butted the bally continent of America.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan turned his head, and his face, already pale, grew a shade paler. He + was by this time walking in a world of omens and hieroglyphics, and he + could not read anything but what was baffling or menacing in this brown + gigantic arm of the earth stretched out into the sea to seize him. + </p> + <p> + “MacIan,” said Turnbull, in his temperate way, “whatever our eternal + interrupted tete-a-tetes have taught us or not taught us, at least we need + not fear the charge of fear. If it is essential to your emotions, I will + cheerfully finish the fight here and now; but I must confess that if you + kill me here I shall die with my curiosity highly excited and unsatisfied + upon a minor point of geography.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not want to stop now,” said the other, in his elephantine + simplicity, “but we must stop for a moment, because it is a sign—perhaps + it is a miracle. We must see what is at the end of the road of sand; it + may be a bridge built across the gulf by God.” + </p> + <p> + “So long as you gratify my query,” said Turnbull, laughing and letting + back his blade into the sheath, “I do not care for what reason you choose + to stop.” + </p> + <p> + They clambered down the rocky peninsula and trudged along the sandy + isthmus with the plodding resolution of men who seemed almost to have made + up their minds to be wanderers on the face of the earth. Despite + Turnbull's air of scientific eagerness, he was really the less impatient + of the two; and the Highlander went on well ahead of him with passionate + strides. By the time they had walked for about half an hour in the ups and + downs of those dreary sands, the distance between the two had lengthened + and MacIan was only a tall figure silhouetted for an instant upon the + crest of some sand-dune and then disappearing behind it. This rather + increased the Robinson Crusoe feeling in Mr. Turnbull, and he looked about + almost disconsolately for some sign of life. What sort of life he expected + it to be if it appeared, he did not very clearly know. He has since + confessed that he thinks that in his subconsciousness he expected an + alligator. + </p> + <p> + The first sign of life that he did see, however, was something more + extraordinary than the largest alligator. It was nothing less than the + notorious Mr. Evan MacIan coming bounding back across the sand-heaps + breathless, without his cap and keeping the sword in his hand only by a + habit now quite hardened. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Turnbull,” he cried out from a good distance as he ran, “I've + seen a native.” + </p> + <p> + “A native?” repeated his companion, whose scenery had of late been chiefly + of shellfish, “what the deuce! Do you mean an oyster?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said MacIan, stopping and breathing hard, “I mean a savage. A black + man.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where did you see him?” asked the staring editor. + </p> + <p> + “Over there—behind that hill,” said the gasping MacIan. “He put up + his black head and grinned at me.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull thrust his hands through his red hair like one who gives up the + world as a bad riddle. “Lord love a duck,” said he, “can it be Jamaica?” + </p> + <p> + Then glancing at his companion with a small frown, as of one slightly + suspicious, he said: “I say, don't think me rude—but you're a + visionary kind of fellow—and then we drank a great deal. Do you mind + waiting here while I go and see for myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Shout if you get into trouble,” said the Celt, with composure; “you will + find it as I say.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull ran off ahead with a rapidity now far greater than his rival's, + and soon vanished over the disputed sand-hill. Then five minutes passed, + and then seven minutes; and MacIan bit his lip and swung his sword, and + the other did not reappear. Finally, with a Gaelic oath, Evan started + forward to the rescue, and almost at the same moment the small figure of + the missing man appeared on the ridge against the sky. + </p> + <p> + Even at that distance, however, there was something odd about his + attitude; so odd that MacIan continued to make his way in that direction. + It looked as if he were wounded; or, still more, as if he were ill. He + wavered as he came down the slope and seemed flinging himself into + peculiar postures. But it was only when he came within three feet of + MacIan's face, that that observer of mankind fully realized that Mr. James + Turnbull was roaring with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “You are quit right,” sobbed that wholly demoralized journalist. “He's + black, oh, there's no doubt the black's all right—as far as it + goes.” And he went off again into convulsions of his humorous ailment. + </p> + <p> + “What ever is the matter with you?” asked MacIan, with stern impatience. + “Did you see the nigger——” + </p> + <p> + “I saw the nigger,” gasped Turnbull. “I saw the splendid barbarian Chief. + I saw the Emperor of Ethiopia—oh, I saw him all right. The nigger's + hands and face are a lovely colour—and the nigger——” And + he was overtaken once more. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, well,” said Evan, stamping each monosyllable on the sand, + “what about the nigger?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the truth is,” said Turnbull, suddenly and startlingly, becoming + quite grave and precise, “the truth is, the nigger is a Margate nigger, + and we are now on the edge of the Isle of Thanet, a few miles from + Margate.” + </p> + <p> + Then he had a momentary return of his hysteria and said: “I say, old boy, + I should like to see a chart of our fortnight's cruise in Wilkinson's + yacht.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan had no smile in answer, but his eager lips opened as if parched for + the truth. “You mean to say,” he began—— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I mean to say,” said Turnbull, “and I mean to say something funnier + still. I have learnt everything I wanted to know from the partially black + musician over there, who has taken a run in his war-paint to meet a friend + in a quiet pub along the coast—the noble savage has told me all + about it. The bottle containing our declaration, doctrines, and dying + sentiments was washed up on Margate beach yesterday in the presence of one + alderman, two bathing-machine men, three policemen, seven doctors, and a + hundred and thirteen London clerks on a holiday, to all of whom, whether + directly or indirectly, our composition gave enormous literary pleasure. + Buck up, old man, this story of ours is a switchback. I have begun to + understand the pulse and the time of it; now we are up in a cathedral and + then we are down in a theatre, where they only play farces. Come, I am + quite reconciled—let us enjoy the farce.” + </p> + <p> + But MacIan said nothing, and an instant afterwards Turnbull himself called + out in an entirely changed voice: “Oh, this is damnable! This is not to be + borne!” + </p> + <p> + MacIan followed his eye along the sand-hills. He saw what looked like the + momentary and waving figure of the nigger minstrel, and then he saw a + heavy running policeman take the turn of the sand-hill with the smooth + solemnity of a railway train. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. THE GARDEN OF PEACE + </h2> + <p> + Up to this instant Evan MacIan had really understood nothing; but when he + saw the policeman he saw everything. He saw his enemies, all the powers + and princes of the earth. He suddenly altered from a staring statue to a + leaping man of the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “We must break away from him here,” he cried, briefly, and went like a + whirlwind over the sand ridge in a straight line and at a particular + angle. When the policeman had finished his admirable railway curve, he + found a wall of failing sand between him and the pursued. By the time he + had scaled it thrice, slid down twice, and crested it in the third effort, + the two flying figures were far in front. They found the sand harder + farther on; it began to be crusted with scraps of turf and in a few + moments they were flying easily over an open common of rank sea-grass. + They had no easy business, however; for the bottle which they had so + innocently sent into the chief gate of Thanet had called to life the + police of half a county on their trail. From every side across the + grey-green common figures could be seen running and closing in; and it was + only when MacIan with his big body broke down the tangled barrier of a + little wood, as men break down a door with the shoulder; it was only when + they vanished crashing into the underworld of the black wood, that their + hunters were even instantaneously thrown off the scent. + </p> + <p> + At the risk of struggling a little longer like flies in that black web of + twigs and trunks, Evan (who had an instinct of the hunter or the hunted) + took an incalculable course through the forest, which let them out at last + by a forest opening—quite forgotten by the leaders of the chase. + They ran a mile or two farther along the edge of the wood until they + reached another and somewhat similar opening. Then MacIan stood utterly + still and listened, as animals listen, for every sound in the universe. + Then he said: “We are quit of them.” And Turnbull said: “Where shall we go + now?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan looked at the silver sunset that was closing in, barred by plumy + lines of purple cloud; he looked at the high tree-tops that caught the + last light and at the birds going heavily homeward, just as if all these + things were bits of written advice that he could read. + </p> + <p> + Then he said: “The best place we can go to is to bed. If we can get some + sleep in this wood, now everyone has cleared out of it, it will be worth a + handicap of two hundred yards tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull, who was exceptionally lively and laughing in his demeanour, + kicked his legs about like a schoolboy and said he did not want to go to + sleep. He walked incessantly and talked very brilliantly. And when at last + he lay down on the hard earth, sleep struck him senseless like a hammer. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, he needed the strongest sleep he could get; for the earth was + still full of darkness and a kind of morning fog when his fellow-fugitive + shook him awake. + </p> + <p> + “No more sleep, I'm afraid,” said Evan, in a heavy, almost submissive, + voice of apology. “They've gone on past us right enough for a good thirty + miles; but now they've found out their mistake, and they're coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” said Turnbull, sitting up and rubbing his red eyebrows + with his hand. + </p> + <p> + The next moment, however, he had jumped up alive and leaping like a man + struck with a shock of cold water, and he was plunging after MacIan along + the woodland path. The shape of their old friend the constable had + appeared against the pearl and pink of the sunrise. Somehow, it always + looked a very funny shape when seen against the sunrise. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * +</pre> + <p> + A wash of weary daylight was breaking over the country-side, and the + fields and roads were full of white mist—the kind of white mist that + clings in corners like cotton wool. The empty road, along which the chase + had taken its turn, was overshadowed on one side by a very high + discoloured wall, stained, and streaked green, as with seaweed—evidently + the high-shouldered sentinel of some great gentleman's estate. A yard or + two from the wall ran parallel to it a linked and tangled line of + lime-trees, forming a kind of cloister along the side of the road. It was + under this branching colonnade that the two fugitives fled, almost + concealed from their pursuers by the twilight, the mist and the leaping + zoetrope of shadows. Their feet, though beating the ground furiously, made + but a faint noise; for they had kicked away their boots in the wood; their + long, antiquated weapons made no jingle or clatter, for they had strapped + them across their backs like guitars. They had all the advantages that + invisibility and silence can add to speed. + </p> + <p> + A hundred and fifty yards behind them down the centre of the empty road + the first of their pursuers came pounding and panting—a fat but + powerful policeman who had distanced all the rest. He came on at a + splendid pace for so portly a figure; but, like all heavy bodies in + motion, he gave the impression that it would be easier for him to increase + his pace than to slacken it suddenly. Nothing short of a brick wall could + have abruptly brought him up. Turnbull turned his head slightly and found + breath to say something to MacIan. MacIan nodded. + </p> + <p> + Pursuer and pursued were fixed in their distance as they fled, for some + quarter of a mile, when they came to a place where two or three of the + trees grew twistedly together, making a special obscurity. Past this place + the pursuing policeman went thundering without thought or hesitation. But + he was pursuing his shadow or the wind; for Turnbull had put one foot in a + crack of the tree and gone up it as quickly and softly as a cat. Somewhat + more laboriously but in equal silence the long legs of the Highlander had + followed; and crouching in crucial silence in the cloud of leaves, they + saw the whole posse of their pursuers go by and die into the dust and + mists of the distance. + </p> + <p> + The white vapour lay, as it often does, in lean and palpable layers; and + even the head of the tree was above it in the half-daylight, like a green + ship swinging on a sea of foam. But higher yet behind them, and readier to + catch the first coming of the sun, ran the rampart of the top of the wall, + which in their excitement of escape looked at once indispensable and + unattainable, like the wall of heaven. Here, however, it was MacIan's turn + to have the advantage; for, though less light-limbed and feline, he was + longer and stronger in the arms. In two seconds he had tugged up his chin + over the wall like a horizontal bar; the next he sat astride of it, like a + horse of stone. With his assistance Turnbull vaulted to the same perch, + and the two began cautiously to shift along the wall in the direction by + which they had come, doubling on their tracks to throw off the last + pursuit. MacIan could not rid himself of the fancy of bestriding a steed; + the long, grey coping of the wall shot out in front of him, like the long, + grey neck of some nightmare Rosinante. He had the quaint thought that he + and Turnbull were two knights on one steed on the old shield of the + Templars. + </p> + <p> + The nightmare of the stone horse was increased by the white fog, which + seemed thicker inside the wall than outside. They could make nothing of + the enclosure upon which they were partial trespassers, except that the + green and crooked branches of a big apple-tree came crawling at them out + of the mist, like the tentacles of some green cuttlefish. Anything would + serve, however, that was likely to confuse their trail, so they both + decided without need of words to use this tree also as a ladder—a + ladder of descent. When they dropped from the lowest branch to the ground + their stockinged feet felt hard gravel beneath them. + </p> + <p> + They had alighted in the middle of a very broad garden path, and the + clearing mist permitted them to see the edge of a well-clipped lawn. + Though the white vapour was still a veil, it was like the gauzy veil of a + transformation scene in a pantomime; for through it there glowed shapeless + masses of colour, masses which might be clouds of sunrise or mosaics of + gold and crimson, or ladies robed in ruby and emerald draperies. As it + thinned yet farther they saw that it was only flowers; but flowers in such + insolent mass and magnificence as can seldom be seen out of the tropics. + Purple and crimson rhododendrons rose arrogantly, like rampant heraldic + animals against their burning background of laburnum gold. The roses were + red hot; the clematis was, so to speak, blue hot. And yet the mere + whiteness of the syringa seemed the most violent colour of all. As the + golden sunlight gradually conquered the mists, it had really something of + the sensational sweetness of the slow opening of the gates of Eden. + MacIan, whose mind was always haunted with such seraphic or titanic + parallels, made some such remark to his companion. But Turnbull only + cursed and said that it was the back garden of some damnable rich man. + </p> + <p> + When the last haze had faded from the ordered paths, the open lawns, and + the flaming flower-beds, the two realized, not without an abrupt + re-examination of their position, that they were not alone in the garden. + </p> + <p> + Down the centre of the central garden path, preceded by a blue cloud from + a cigarette, was walking a gentleman who evidently understood all the + relish of a garden in the very early morning. He was a slim yet satisfied + figure, clad in a suit of pale-grey tweed, so subdued that the pattern was + imperceptible—a costume that was casual but not by any means + careless. His face, which was reflective and somewhat over-refined, was + the face of a quite elderly man, though his stringy hair and moustache + were still quite yellow. A double eye-glass, with a broad, black ribbon, + drooped from his aquiline nose, and he smiled, as he communed with + himself, with a self-content which was rare and almost irritating. The + straw panama on his head was many shades shabbier than his clothes, as if + he had caught it up by accident. + </p> + <p> + It needed the full shock of the huge shadow of MacIan, falling across his + sunlit path, to rouse him from his smiling reverie. When this had fallen + on him he lifted his head a little and blinked at the intruders with + short-sighted benevolence, but with far less surprise than might have been + expected. He was a gentleman; that is, he had social presence of mind, + whether for kindness or for insolence. + </p> + <p> + “Can I do anything for you?” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + MacIan bowed. “You can extend to us your pardon,” he said, for he also + came of a whole race of gentlemen—of gentlemen without shirts to + their backs. “I am afraid we are trespassing. We have just come over the + wall.” + </p> + <p> + “Over the wall?” repeated the smiling old gentleman, still without letting + his surprise come uppermost. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I am not wrong, sir,” continued MacIan, “in supposing that + these grounds inside the wall belong to you?” + </p> + <p> + The man in the panama looked at the ground and smoked thoughtfully for a + few moments, after which he said, with a sort of matured conviction: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly; the grounds inside the wall really belong to me, and the + grounds outside the wall, too.” + </p> + <p> + “A large proprietor, I imagine,” said Turnbull, with a truculent eye. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the old gentleman, looking at him with a steady smile. “A + large proprietor.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's eye grew even more offensive, and he began biting his red + beard; but MacIan seemed to recognize a type with which he could deal and + continued quite easily: + </p> + <p> + “I am sure that a man like you will not need to be told that one sees and + does a good many things that do not get into the newspapers. Things which, + on the whole, had better not get into the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + The smile of the large proprietor broadened for a moment under his loose, + light moustache, and the other continued with increased confidence: + </p> + <p> + “One sometimes wants to have it out with another man. The police won't + allow it in the streets—and then there's the County Council—and + in the fields even nothing's allowed but posters of pills. But in a + gentleman's garden, now——” + </p> + <p> + The strange gentleman smiled again and said, easily enough: “Do you want + to fight? What do you want to fight about?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan had understood his man pretty well up to that point; an instinct + common to all men with the aristocratic tradition of Europe had guided + him. He knew that the kind of man who in his own back garden wears good + clothes and spoils them with a bad hat is not the kind of man who has an + abstract horror of illegal actions of violence or the evasion of the + police. But a man may understand ragging and yet be very far from + understanding religious ragging. This seeming host of theirs might + comprehend a quarrel of husband and lover or a difficulty at cards or even + escape from a pursuing tailor; but it still remained doubtful whether he + would feel the earth fail under him in that earthquake instant when the + Virgin is compared to a goddess of Mesopotamia. Even MacIan, therefore + (whose tact was far from being his strong point), felt the necessity for + some compromise in the mode of approach. At last he said, and even then + with hesitation: + </p> + <p> + “We are fighting about God; there can be nothing so important as that.” + </p> + <p> + The tilted eye-glasses of the old gentleman fell abruptly from his nose, + and he thrust his aristocratic chin so far forward that his lean neck + seemed to shoot out longer like a telescope. + </p> + <p> + “About God?” he queried, in a key completely new. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” cried Turnbull, taking his turn roughly, “I'll tell you what + it's all about. I think that there's no God. I take it that it's nobody's + business but mine—or God's, if there is one. This young gentleman + from the Highlands happens to think that it's his business. In + consequence, he first takes a walking-stick and smashes my shop; then he + takes the same walking-stick and tries to smash me. To this I naturally + object. I suggest that if it comes to that we should both have sticks. He + improves on the suggestion and proposes that we should both have + steel-pointed sticks. The police (with characteristic unreasonableness) + will not accept either of our proposals; the result is that we run about + dodging the police and have jumped over our garden wall into your + magnificent garden to throw ourselves on your magnificent hospitality.” + </p> + <p> + The face of the old gentleman had grown redder and redder during this + address, but it was still smiling; and when he broke out it was with a + kind of guffaw. + </p> + <p> + “So you really want to fight with drawn swords in my garden,” he asked, + “about whether there is really a God?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said MacIan, with his simple monstrosity of speech; “all man's + worship began when the Garden of Eden was founded.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by——!” said Turnbull, with an oath, “and ended when the + Zoological Gardens were founded.” + </p> + <p> + “In this garden! In my presence!” cried the stranger, stamping up and down + the gravel and choking with laughter, “whether there is a God!” And he + went stamping up and down the garden, making it echo with his + unintelligible laughter. Then he came back to them more composed and + wiping his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how small the world is!” he cried at last. “I can settle the whole + matter. Why, I am God!” + </p> + <p> + And he suddenly began to kick and wave his well-clad legs about the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “You are what?” repeated Turnbull, in a tone which is beyond description. + </p> + <p> + “Why, God, of course!” answered the other, thoroughly amused. “How funny + it is to think that you have tumbled over a garden wall and fallen exactly + on the right person! You might have gone floundering about in all sorts of + churches and chapels and colleges and schools of philosophy looking for + some evidence of the existence of God. Why, there is no evidence, except + seeing him. And now you've seen him. You've seen him dance!” + </p> + <p> + And the obliging old gentleman instantly stood on one leg without relaxing + at all the grave and cultured benignity of his expression. + </p> + <p> + “I understood that this garden——” began the bewildered MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so! Quite so!” said the man on one leg, nodding gravely. “I said + this garden belonged to me and the land outside it. So they do. So does + the country beyond that and the sea beyond that and all the rest of the + earth. So does the moon. So do the sun and stars.” And he added, with a + smile of apology: “You see, I'm God.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull and MacIan looked at him for one moment with a sort of notion + that perhaps he was not too old to be merely playing the fool. But after + staring steadily for an instant Turnbull saw the hard and horrible + earnestness in the man's eyes behind all his empty animation. Then + Turnbull looked very gravely at the strict gravel walls and the gay + flower-beds and the long rectangular red-brick building, which the mist + had left evident beyond them. Then he looked at MacIan. + </p> + <p> + Almost at the same moment another man came walking quickly round the regal + clump of rhododendrons. He had the look of a prosperous banker, wore a + good tall silk hat, was almost stout enough to burst the buttons of a fine + frock-coat; but he was talking to himself, and one of his elbows had a + singular outward jerk as he went by. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. A MUSEUM OF SOULS + </h2> + <p> + The man with the good hat and the jumping elbow went by very quickly; yet + the man with the bad hat, who thought he was God, overtook him. He ran + after him and jumped over a bed of geraniums to catch him. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your Majesty's pardon,” he said, with mock humility, “but here is a + quarrel which you ought really to judge.” + </p> + <p> + Then as he led the heavy, silk-hatted man back towards the group, he + caught MacIan's ear in order to whisper: “This poor gentleman is mad; he + thinks he is Edward VII.” At this the self-appointed Creator slightly + winked. “Of course you won't trust him much; come to me for everything. + But in my position one has to meet so many people. One has to be + broadminded.” + </p> + <p> + The big banker in the black frock-coat and hat was standing quite grave + and dignified on the lawn, save for his slight twitch of one limb, and he + did not seem by any means unworthy of the part which the other promptly + forced upon him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said the man in the straw hat, “these two gentlemen are + going to fight a duel of the utmost importance. Your own royal position + and my much humbler one surely indicate us as the proper seconds. Seconds—yes, + seconds——” and here the speaker was once more shaken with his + old malady of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you and I are both seconds—and these two gentlemen can + obviously fight in front of us. You, he-he, are the king. I am God; + really, they could hardly have better supporters. They have come to the + right place.” + </p> + <p> + Then Turnbull, who had been staring with a frown at the fresh turf, burst + out with a rather bitter laugh and cried, throwing his red head in the + air: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by God, MacIan, I think we have come to the right place!” And MacIan + answered, with an adamantine stupidity: + </p> + <p> + “Any place is the right place where they will let us do it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long stillness, and their eyes involuntarily took in the + landscape, as they had taken in all the landscapes of their everlasting + combat; the bright, square garden behind the shop; the whole lift and + leaning of the side of Hampstead Heath; the little garden of the decadent + choked with flowers; the square of sand beside the sea at sunrise. They + both felt at the same moment all the breadth and blossoming beauty of that + paradise, the coloured trees, the natural and restful nooks and also the + great wall of stone—more awful than the wall of China—from + which no flesh could flee. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was moodily balancing his sword in his hand as the other spoke; + then he started, for a mouth whispered quite close to his ear. With a + softness incredible in any cat, the huge, heavy man in the black hat and + frock-coat had crept across the lawn from his own side and was saying in + his ear: “Don't trust that second of yours. He's mad and not so mad, + either; for he frightfully cunning and sharp. Don't believe the story he + tells you about why I hate him. I know the story he'll tell; I overheard + it when the housekeeper was talking to the postman. It's too long to talk + about now, and I expect we're watched, but——” + </p> + <p> + Something in Turnbull made him want suddenly to be sick on the grass; the + mere healthy and heathen horror of the unclean; the mere inhumane hatred + of the inhuman state of madness. He seemed to hear all round him the + hateful whispers of that place, innumerable as leaves whispering in the + wind, and each of them telling eagerly some evil that had not happened or + some terrific secret which was not true. All the rationalist and plain man + revolted within him against bowing down for a moment in that forest of + deception and egotistical darkness. He wanted to blow up that palace of + delusions with dynamite; and in some wild way, which I will not defend, he + tried to do it. + </p> + <p> + He looked across at MacIan and said: “Oh, I can't stand this!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't stand what?” asked his opponent, eyeing him doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we say the atmosphere?” replied Turnbull; “one can't use uncivil + expressions even to a—deity. The fact is, I don't like having God + for my second.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” said that being in a state of great offence, “in my position I am + not used to having my favours refused. Do you know who I am?” + </p> + <p> + The editor of <i>The Atheist</i> turned upon him like one who has lost all + patience, and exploded: “Yes, you are God, aren't you?” he said, abruptly, + “why do we have two sets of teeth?” + </p> + <p> + “Teeth?” spluttered the genteel lunatic; “teeth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried Turnbull, advancing on him swiftly and with animated + gestures, “why does teething hurt? Why do growing pains hurt? Why are + measles catching? Why does a rose have thorns? Why do rhinoceroses have + horns? Why is the horn on the top of the nose? Why haven't I a horn on the + top of my nose, eh?” And he struck the bridge of his nose smartly with his + forefinger to indicate the place of the omission and then wagged the + finger menacingly at the Creator. + </p> + <p> + “I've often wanted to meet you,” he resumed, sternly, after a pause, “to + hold you accountable for all the idiocy and cruelty of this muddled and + meaningless world of yours. You make a hundred seeds and only one bears + fruit. You make a million worlds and only one seems inhabited. What do you + mean by it, eh? What do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + The unhappy lunatic had fallen back before this quite novel form of + attack, and lifted his burnt-out cigarette almost like one warding off a + blow. Turnbull went on like a torrent. + </p> + <p> + “A man died yesterday in Ealing. You murdered him. A girl had the + toothache in Croydon. You gave it her. Fifty sailors were drowned off + Selsey Bill. You scuttled their ship. What have you got to say for + yourself, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The representative of omnipotence looked as if he had left most of these + things to his subordinates; he passed a hand over his wrinkling brow and + said in a voice much saner than any he had yet used: + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you dislike my assistance, of course—perhaps the other + gentleman——” + </p> + <p> + “The other gentleman,” cried Turnbull, scornfully, “is a submissive and + loyal and obedient gentleman. He likes the people who wear crowns, whether + of diamonds or of stars. He believes in the divine right of kings, and it + is appropriate enough that he should have the king for his second. But it + is not appropriate to me that I should have God for my second. God is not + good enough. I dislike and I deny the divine right of kings. But I dislike + more and I deny more the divine right of divinity.” + </p> + <p> + Then after a pause in which he swallowed his passion, he said to MacIan: + “You have got the right second, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + The Highlander did not answer, but stood as if thunderstruck with one long + and heavy thought. Then at last he turned abruptly to his second in the + silk hat and said: “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + The man in the silk hat blinked and bridled in affected surprise, like one + who was in truth accustomed to be doubted. + </p> + <p> + “I am King Edward VII,” he said, with shaky arrogance. “Do you doubt my + word?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt it in the least,” answered MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “Then, why,” said the large man in the silk hat, trembling from head to + foot, “why do you wear your hat before the king?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I take it off,” retorted MacIan, with equal heat, “before a + usurper?” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull swung round on his heel. “Well, really,” he said, “I thought at + least you were a loyal subject.” + </p> + <p> + “I am the only loyal subject,” answered the Gael. “For nearly thirty years + I have walked these islands and have not found another.” + </p> + <p> + “You are always hard to follow,” remarked Turnbull, genially, “and + sometimes so much so as to be hardly worth following.” + </p> + <p> + “I alone am loyal,” insisted MacIan; “for I alone am in rebellion. I am + ready at any instant to restore the Stuarts. I am ready at any instant to + defy the Hanoverian brood—and I defy it now even when face to face + with the actual ruler of the enormous British Empire!” + </p> + <p> + And folding his arms and throwing back his lean, hawklike face, he + haughtily confronted the man with the formal frock-coat and the eccentric + elbow. + </p> + <p> + “What right had you stunted German squires,” he cried, “to interfere in a + quarrel between Scotch and English and Irish gentlemen? Who made you, + whose fathers could not splutter English while they walked in Whitehall, + who made you the judge between the republic of Sidney and the monarchy of + Montrose? What had your sires to do with England that they should have the + foul offering of the blood of Derwentwater and the heart of Jimmy Dawson? + Where are the corpses of Culloden? Where is the blood of Lochiel?” MacIan + advanced upon his opponent with a bony and pointed finger, as if + indicating the exact pocket in which the blood of that Cameron was + probably kept; and Edward VII fell back a few paces in considerable + confusion. + </p> + <p> + “What good have you ever done to us?” he continued in harsher and harsher + accents, forcing the other back towards the flower-beds. “What good have + you ever done, you race of German sausages? Yards of barbarian etiquette, + to throttle the freedom of aristocracy! Gas of northern metaphysics to + blow up Broad Church bishops like balloons. Bad pictures and bad manners + and pantheism and the Albert Memorial. Go back to Hanover, you humbug? Go + to——” + </p> + <p> + Before the end of this tirade the arrogance of the monarch had entirely + given way; he had fairly turned tail and was trundling away down the path. + MacIan strode after him still preaching and flourishing his large, lean + hands. The other two remained in the centre of the lawn—Turnbull in + convulsions of laughter, the lunatic in convulsions of disgust. Almost at + the same moment a third figure came stepping swiftly across the lawn. + </p> + <p> + The advancing figure walked with a stoop, and yet somehow flung his forked + and narrow beard forward. That carefully cut and pointed yellow beard was, + indeed, the most emphatic thing about him. When he clasped his hands + behind him, under the tails of his coat, he would wag his beard at a man + like a big forefinger. It performed almost all his gestures; it was more + important than the glittering eye-glasses through which he looked or the + beautiful bleating voice in which he spoke. His face and neck were of a + lusty red, but lean and stringy; he always wore his expensive gold-rim + eye-glasses slightly askew upon his aquiline nose; and he always showed + two gleaming foreteeth under his moustache, in a smile so perpetual as to + earn the reputation of a sneer. But for the crooked glasses his dress was + always exquisite; and but for the smile he was perfectly and perennially + depressed. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think,” said the new-comer, with a sort of supercilious + entreaty, “that we had better all come into breakfast? It is such a + mistake to wait for breakfast. It spoils one's temper so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” replied Turnbull, seriously. + </p> + <p> + “There seems almost to have been a little quarrelling here,” said the man + with the goatish beard. + </p> + <p> + “It is rather a long story,” said Turnbull, smiling. “Originally, it might + be called a phase in the quarrel between science and religion.” + </p> + <p> + The new-comer started slightly, and Turnbull replied to the question on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he said, “I am science!” + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you heartily,” answered the other, “I am Doctor Quayle.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's eyes did not move, but he realized that the man in the panama + hat had lost all his ease of a landed proprietor and had withdrawn to a + distance of thirty yards, where he stood glaring with all the contraction + of fear and hatred that can stiffen a cat. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * +</pre> + <p> + MacIan was sitting somewhat disconsolately on a stump of tree, his large + black head half buried in his large brown hands, when Turnbull strode up + to him chewing a cigarette. He did not look up, but his comrade and enemy + addressed him like one who must free himself of his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope, at any rate,” he said, “that you like your precious + religion now. I hope you like the society of this poor devil whom your + damned tracts and hymns and priests have driven out of his wits. Five men + in this place, they tell me, five men in this place who might have been + fathers of families, and every one of them thinks he is God the Father. + Oh! you may talk about the ugliness of science, but there is no one here + who thinks he is Protoplasm.” + </p> + <p> + “They naturally prefer a bright part,” said MacIan, wearily. “Protoplasm + is not worth going mad about.” + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said Turnbull, savagely, “it was your Jesus Christ who started + all this bosh about being God.” + </p> + <p> + For one instant MacIan opened the eyes of battle; then his tightened lips + took a crooked smile and he said, quite calmly: + </p> + <p> + “No, the idea is older; it was Satan who first said that he was God.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, what,” asked Turnbull, very slowly, as he softly picked a flower, + “what is the difference between Christ and Satan?” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite simple,” replied the Highlander. “Christ descended into hell; + Satan fell into it.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it make much odds?” asked the free-thinker. + </p> + <p> + “It makes all the odds,” said the other. “One of them wanted to go up and + went down; the other wanted to go down and went up. A god can be humble, a + devil can only be humbled.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you always wanting to humble a man?” asked Turnbull, knitting his + brows. “It affects me as ungenerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Why were you wanting to humble a god when you found him in this garden?” + asked MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “That was an extreme case of impudence,” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “Granting the man his almighty pretensions, I think he was very modest,” + said MacIan. “It is we who are arrogant, who know we are only men. The + ordinary man in the street is more of a monster than that poor fellow; for + the man in the street treats himself as God Almighty when he knows he + isn't. He expects the universe to turn round him, though he knows he isn't + the centre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Turnbull, sitting down on the grass, “this is a digression, + anyhow. What I want to point out is, that your faith does end in asylums + and my science doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't it, by George!” cried MacIan, scornfully. “There are a few men + here who are mad on God and a few who are mad on the Bible. But I bet + there are many more who are simply mad on madness.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really believe it?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Scores of them, I should say,” answered MacIan. “Fellows who have read + medical books or fellows whose fathers and uncles had something hereditary + in their heads—the whole air they breathe is mad.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” said Turnbull, shrewdly, “I bet you haven't found a madman + of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “I bet I have!” cried Evan, with unusual animation. “I've been walking + about the garden talking to a poor chap all the morning. He's simply been + broken down and driven raving by your damned science. Talk about believing + one is God—why, it's quite an old, comfortable, fireside fancy + compared with the sort of things this fellow believes. He believes that + there is a God, but that he is better than God. He says God will be afraid + to face him. He says one is always progressing beyond the best. He put his + arm in mine and whispered in my ear, as if it were the apocalypse: 'Never + trust a God that you can't improve on.'” + </p> + <p> + “What can he have meant?” said the atheist, with all his logic awake. + “Obviously one should not trust any God that one can improve on.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the way he talks,” said MacIan, almost indifferently; “but he says + rummier things than that. He says that a man's doctor ought to decide what + woman he marries; and he says that children ought not to be brought up by + their parents, because a physical partiality will then distort the + judgement of the educator.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” said Turnbull, laughing, “you have certainly come across a + pretty bad case, and incidentally proved your own. I suppose some men do + lose their wits through science as through love and other good things.” + </p> + <p> + “And he says,” went on MacIan, monotonously, “that he cannot see why + anyone should suppose that a triangle is a three-sided figure. He says + that on some higher plane——” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull leapt to his feet as by an electric shock. “I never could have + believed,” he cried, “that you had humour enough to tell a lie. You've + gone a bit too far, old man, with your little joke. Even in a lunatic + asylum there can't be anybody who, having thought about the matter, thinks + that a triangle has not got three sides. If he exists he must be a new era + in human psychology. But he doesn't exist.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go and fetch him,” said MacIan, calmly; “I left the poor fellow + wandering about by the nasturtium bed.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan vanished, and in a few moments returned, trailing with him his own + discovery among lunatics, who was a slender man with a fixed smile and an + unfixed and rolling head. He had a goatlike beard just long enough to be + shaken in a strong wind. Turnbull sprang to his feet and was like one who + is speechless through choking a sudden shout of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you great donkey,” he shouted, in an ear-shattering whisper, “that's + not one of the patients at all. That's one of the doctors.” + </p> + <p> + Evan looked back at the leering head with the long-pointed beard and + repeated the word inquiringly: “One of the doctors?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know what I mean,” said Turnbull, impatiently. “The medical + authorities of the place.” + </p> + <p> + Evan was still staring back curiously at the beaming and bearded creature + behind him. + </p> + <p> + “The mad doctors,” said Turnbull, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + After a rather restless silence Turnbull plucked MacIan by the elbow and + pulled him aside. + </p> + <p> + “For goodness sake,” he said, “don't offend this fellow; he may be as mad + as ten hatters, if you like, but he has us between his finger and thumb. + This is the very time he appointed to talk with us about our—well, + our exeat.” + </p> + <p> + “But what can it matter?” asked the wondering MacIan. “He can't keep us in + the asylum. We're not mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Jackass!” said Turnbull, heartily, “of course we're not mad. Of course, + if we are medically examined and the thing is thrashed out, they will find + we are not mad. But don't you see that if the thing is thrashed out it + will mean letters to this reference and telegrams to that; and at the + first word of who we are, we shall be taken out of a madhouse, where we + may smoke, to a jail, where we mayn't. No, if we manage this very quietly, + he may merely let us out at the front door as stray revellers. If there's + half an hour of inquiry, we are cooked.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan looked at the grass frowningly for a few seconds, and then said in + a new, small and childish voice: “I am awfully stupid, Mr. Turnbull; you + must be patient with me.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull caught Evan's elbow again with quite another gesture. “Come,” he + cried, with the harsh voice of one who hides emotion, “come and let us be + tactful in chorus.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor with the pointed beard was already slanting it forward at a + more than usually acute angle, with the smile that expressed expectancy. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I do not hurry you, gentlemen,” he said, with the faintest + suggestion of a sneer at their hurried consultation, “but I believe you + wanted to see me at half past eleven.” + </p> + <p> + “I am most awfully sorry, Doctor,” said Turnbull, with ready amiability; + “I never meant to keep you waiting; but the silly accident that has landed + us in your garden may have some rather serious consequences to our friends + elsewhere, and my friend here was just drawing my attention to some of + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so! Quite so!” said the doctor, hurriedly. “If you really want to + put anything before me, I can give you a few moments in my + consulting-room.” + </p> + <p> + He led them rapidly into a small but imposing apartment, which seemed to + be built and furnished entirely in red-varnished wood. There was one desk + occupied with carefully docketed papers; and there were several chairs of + the red-varnished wood—though of different shape. All along the wall + ran something that might have been a bookcase, only that it was not filled + with books, but with flat, oblong slabs or cases of the same polished + dark-red consistency. What those flat wooden cases were they could form no + conception. + </p> + <p> + The doctor sat down with a polite impatience on his professional perch; + MacIan remained standing, but Turnbull threw himself almost with luxury + into a hard wooden arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + “This is a most absurd business, Doctor,” he said, “and I am ashamed to + take up the time of busy professional men with such pranks from outside. + The plain fact is, that he and I and a pack of silly men and girls have + organized a game across this part of the country—a sort of + combination of hare and hounds and hide and seek—I dare say you've + heard of it. We are the hares, and, seeing your high wall look so + inviting, we tumbled over it, and naturally were a little startled with + what we found on the other side.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so!” said the doctor, mildly. “I can understand that you were + startled.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull had expected him to ask what place was the headquarters of the + new exhilarating game, and who were the male and female enthusiasts who + had brought it to such perfection; in fact, Turnbull was busy making up + these personal and topographical particulars. As the doctor did not ask + the question, he grew slightly uneasy, and risked the question: “I hope + you will accept my assurance that the thing was an accident and that no + intrusion was meant.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir,” replied the doctor, smiling, “I accept everything that you + say.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Turnbull, rising genially, “we must not further + interrupt your important duties. I suppose there will be someone to let us + out?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the doctor, still smiling steadily and pleasantly, “there will + be no one to let you out.” + </p> + <p> + “Can we let ourselves out, then?” asked Turnbull, in some surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not,” said the beaming scientist; “think how dangerous + that would be in a place like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, how the devil are we to get out?” cried Turnbull, losing his + manners for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “It is a question of time, of receptivity, and treatment,” said the + doctor, arching his eyebrows indifferently. “I do not regard either of + your cases as incurable.” + </p> + <p> + And with that the man of the world was struck dumb, and, as in all + intolerable moments, the word was with the unworldly. + </p> + <p> + MacIan took one stride to the table, leant across it, and said: “We can't + stop here, we're not mad people!” + </p> + <p> + “We don't use the crude phrase,” said the doctor, smiling at his + patent-leather boots. + </p> + <p> + “But you <i>can't</i> think us mad,” thundered MacIan. “You never saw us + before. You know nothing about us. You haven't even examined us.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor threw back his head and beard. “Oh, yes,” he said, “very + thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't shut a man up on your mere impressions without documents or + certificates or anything?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor got languidly to his feet. “Quite so,” he said. “You certainly + ought to see the documents.” + </p> + <p> + He went across to the curious mock book-shelves and took down one of the + flat mahogany cases. This he opened with a curious key at his watch-chain, + and laying back a flap revealed a quire of foolscap covered with close but + quite clear writing. The first three words were in such large copy-book + hand that they caught the eye even at a distance. They were: “MacIan, Evan + Stuart.” + </p> + <p> + Evan bent his angry eagle face over it; yet something blurred it and he + could never swear he saw it distinctly. He saw something that began: + “Prenatal influences predisposing to mania. Grandfather believed in return + of the Stuarts. Mother carried bone of St. Eulalia with which she touched + children in sickness. Marked religious mania at early age——” + </p> + <p> + Evan fell back and fought for his speech. “Oh!” he burst out at last. “Oh! + if all this world I have walked in had been as sane as my mother was.” + </p> + <p> + Then he compressed his temples with his hands, as if to crush them. And + then lifted suddenly a face that looked fresh and young, as if he had + dipped and washed it in some holy well. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he cried; “I will take the sour with the sweet. I will pay + the penalty of having enjoyed God in this monstrous modern earth that + cannot enjoy man or beast. I will die happy in your madhouse, only because + I know what I know. Let it be granted, then—MacIan is a mystic; + MacIan is a maniac. But this honest shopkeeper and editor whom I have + dragged on my inhuman escapades, you cannot keep him. He will go free, + thank God, he is not down in any damned document. His ancestor, I am + certain, did not die at Culloden. His mother, I swear, had no relics. Let + my friend out of your front door, and as for me——” + </p> + <p> + The doctor had already gone across to the laden shelves, and after a few + minutes' short-sighted peering, had pulled down another parallelogram of + dark-red wood. + </p> + <p> + This also he unlocked on the table, and with the same unerring egotistic + eye on of the company saw the words, written in large letters: “Turnbull, + James.” + </p> + <p> + Hitherto Turnbull himself had somewhat scornfully surrendered his part in + the whole business; but he was too honest and unaffected not to start at + his own name. After the name, the inscription appeared to run: “Unique + case of Eleutheromania. Parentage, as so often in such cases, prosaic and + healthy. Eleutheromaniac signs occurred early, however, leading him to + attach himself to the individualist Bradlaugh. Recent outbreak of pure + anarchy——” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull slammed the case to, almost smashing it, and said with a burst of + savage laughter: “Oh! come along, MacIan; I don't care so much, even about + getting out of the madhouse, if only we get out of this room. You were + right enough, MacIan, when you spoke about—about mad doctors.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow they found themselves outside in the cool, green garden, and then, + after a stunned silence, Turnbull said: “There is one thing that was + puzzling me all the time, and I understand it now.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Evan. + </p> + <p> + “No man by will or wit,” answered Turnbull, “can get out of this garden; + and yet we got into it merely by jumping over a garden wall. The whole + thing explains itself easily enough. That undefended wall was an open + trap. It was a trap laid for two celebrated lunatics. They saw us get in + right enough. And they will see that we do not get out.” + </p> + <p> + Evan gazed at the garden wall, gravely for more than a minute, and then he + nodded without a word. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. THE DREAM OF MACIAN + </h2> + <p> + The system of espionage in the asylum was so effective and complete that + in practice the patients could often enjoy a sense of almost complete + solitude. They could stray up so near to the wall in an apparently + unwatched garden as to find it easy to jump over it. They would only have + found the error of their calculations if they had tried to jump. + </p> + <p> + Under this insulting liberty, in this artificial loneliness, Evan MacIan + was in the habit of creeping out into the garden after dark—especially + upon moonlight nights. The moon, indeed, was for him always a positive + magnet in a manner somewhat hard to explain to those of a robuster + attitude. Evidently, Apollo is to the full as poetical as Diana; but it is + not a question of poetry in the matured and intellectual sense of the + word. It is a question of a certain solid and childish fancy. The sun is + in the strict and literal sense invisible; that is to say, that by our + bodily eyes it cannot properly be seen. But the moon is a much simpler + thing; a naked and nursery sort of thing. It hangs in the sky quite solid + and quite silver and quite useless; it is one huge celestial snowball. It + was at least some such infantile facts and fancies which led Evan again + and again during his dehumanized imprisonment to go out as if to shoot the + moon. + </p> + <p> + He was out in the garden on one such luminous and ghostly night, when the + steady moonshine toned down all the colours of the garden until almost the + strongest tints to be seen were the strong soft blue of the sky and the + large lemon moon. He was walking with his face turned up to it in that + rather half-witted fashion which might have excused the error of his + keepers; and as he gazed he became aware of something little and lustrous + flying close to the lustrous orb, like a bright chip knocked off the moon. + At first he thought it was a mere sparkle or refraction in his own + eyesight; he blinked and cleared his eyes. Then he thought it was a + falling star; only it did not fall. It jerked awkwardly up and down in a + way unknown among meteors and strangely reminiscent of the works of man. + The next moment the thing drove right across the moon, and from being + silver upon blue, suddenly became black upon silver; then although it + passed the field of light in a flash its outline was unmistakable though + eccentric. It was a flying ship. + </p> + <p> + The vessel took one long and sweeping curve across the sky and came nearer + and nearer to MacIan, like a steam-engine coming round a bend. It was of + pure white steel, and in the moon it gleamed like the armour of Sir + Galahad. The simile of such virginity is not inappropriate; for, as it + grew larger and larger and lower and lower, Evan saw that the only figure + in it was robed in white from head to foot and crowned with snow-white + hair, on which the moonshine lay like a benediction. The figure stood so + still that he could easily have supposed it to be a statue. Indeed, he + thought it was until it spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Evan,” said the voice, and it spoke with the simple authority of some + forgotten father revisiting his children, “you have remained here long + enough, and your sword is wanted elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Wanted for what?” asked the young man, accepting the monstrous event with + a queer and clumsy naturalness; “what is my sword wanted for?” + </p> + <p> + “For all that you hold dear,” said the man standing in the moonlight; “for + the thrones of authority and for all ancient loyalty to law.” + </p> + <p> + Evan looked up at the lunar orb again as if in irrational appeal—a + moon calf bleating to his mother the moon. But the face of Luna seemed as + witless as his own; there is no help in nature against the supernatural; + and he looked again at the tall marble figure that might have been made + out of solid moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Then he said in a loud voice: “Who are you?” and the next moment was + seized by a sort of choking terror lest his question should be answered. + But the unknown preserved an impenetrable silence for a long space and + then only answered: “I must not say who I am until the end of the world; + but I may say what I am. I am the law.” + </p> + <p> + And he lifted his head so that the moon smote full upon his beautiful and + ancient face. + </p> + <p> + The face was the face of a Greek god grown old, but not grown either weak + or ugly; there was nothing to break its regularity except a rather long + chin with a cleft in it, and this rather added distinction than lessened + beauty. His strong, well-opened eyes were very brilliant but quite + colourless like steel. + </p> + <p> + MacIan was one of those to whom a reverence and self-submission in ritual + come quite easy, and are ordinary things. It was not artificial in him to + bend slightly to this solemn apparition or to lower his voice when he + said: “Do you bring me some message?” + </p> + <p> + “I do bring you a message,” answered the man of moon and marble. “The king + has returned.” + </p> + <p> + Evan did not ask for or require any explanation. “I suppose you can take + me to the war,” he said, and the silent silver figure only bowed its head + again. MacIan clambered into the silver boat, and it rose upward to the + stars. + </p> + <p> + To say that it rose to the stars is no mere metaphor, for the sky had + cleared to that occasional and astonishing transparency in which one can + see plainly both stars and moon. + </p> + <p> + As the white-robed figure went upward in his white chariot, he said quite + quietly to Evan: “There is an answer to all the folly talked about + equality. Some stars are big and some small; some stand still and some + circle around them as they stand. They can be orderly, but they cannot be + equal.” + </p> + <p> + “They are all very beautiful,” said Evan, as if in doubt. + </p> + <p> + “They are all beautiful,” answered the other, “because each is in his + place and owns his superior. And now England will be beautiful after the + same fashion. The earth will be as beautiful as the heavens, because our + kings have come back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “The Stuart——” began Evan, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the old man, “that which has returned is Stuart and yet + older than Stuart. It is Capet and Plantagenet and Pendragon. It is all + that good old time of which proverbs tell, that golden reign of Saturn + against which gods and men were rebels. It is all that was ever lost by + insolence and overwhelmed in rebellion. It is your own forefather, MacIan + with the broken sword, bleeding without hope at Culloden. It is Charles + refusing to answer the questions of the rebel court. It is Mary of the + magic face confronting the gloomy and grasping peers and the boorish + moralities of Knox. It is Richard, the last Plantagenet, giving his crown + to Bolingbroke as to a common brigand. It is Arthur, overwhelmed in + Lyonesse by heathen armies and dying in the mist, doubtful if ever he + shall return.” + </p> + <p> + “But now——” said Evan, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “But now!” said the old man; “he has returned.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the war still raging?” asked MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “It rages like the pit itself beyond the sea whither I am taking you,” + answered the other. “But in England the king enjoys his own again. The + people are once more taught and ruled as is best; they are happy knights, + happy squires, happy servants, happy serfs, if you will; but free at last + of that load of vexation and lonely vanity which was called being a + citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “Is England, indeed, so secure?” asked Evan. + </p> + <p> + “Look out and see,” said the guide. “I fancy you have seen this place + before.” + </p> + <p> + They were driving through the air towards one region of the sky where the + hollow of night seemed darkest and which was quite without stars. But + against this black background there sprang up, picked out in glittering + silver, a dome and a cross. It seemed that it was really newly covered + with silver, which in the strong moonlight was like white flame. But, + however, covered or painted, Evan had no difficult in knowing the place + again. He saw the great thoroughfare that sloped upward to the base of its + huge pedestal of steps. And he wondered whether the little shop was still + by the side of it and whether its window had been mended. + </p> + <p> + As the flying ship swept round the dome he observed other alterations. The + dome had been redecorated so as to give it a more solemn and somewhat more + ecclesiastical note; the ball was draped or destroyed, and round the + gallery, under the cross, ran what looked like a ring of silver statues, + like the little leaden images that stood round the hat of Louis XI. Round + the second gallery, at the base of the dome, ran a second rank of such + images, and Evan thought there was another round the steps below. When + they came closer he saw that they were figures in complete armour of steel + or silver, each with a naked sword, point upward; and then he saw one of + the swords move. These were not statues but an armed order of chivalry + thrown in three circles round the cross. MacIan drew in his breath, as + children do at anything they think utterly beautiful. For he could imagine + nothing that so echoed his own visions of pontifical or chivalric art as + this white dome sitting like a vast silver tiara over London, ringed with + a triple crown of swords. + </p> + <p> + As they went sailing down Ludgate Hill, Evan saw that the state of the + streets fully answered his companion's claim about the reintroduction of + order. All the old blackcoated bustle with its cockney vivacity and + vulgarity had disappeared. Groups of labourers, quietly but picturesquely + clad, were passing up and down in sufficiently large numbers; but it + required but a few mounted men to keep the streets in order. The mounted + men were not common policemen, but knights with spurs and plume whose + smooth and splendid armour glittered like diamond rather than steel. Only + in one place—at the corner of Bouverie Street—did there appear + to be a moment's confusion, and that was due to hurry rather than + resistance. But one old grumbling man did not get out of the way quick + enough, and the man on horseback struck him, not severely, across the + shoulders with the flat of his sword. + </p> + <p> + “The soldier had no business to do that,” said MacIan, sharply. “The old + man was moving as quickly as he could.” + </p> + <p> + “We attach great importance to discipline in the streets,” said the man in + white, with a slight smile. + </p> + <p> + “Discipline is not so important as justice,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + The other did not answer. + </p> + <p> + Then after a swift silence that took them out across St. James's Park, he + said: “The people must be taught to obey; they must learn their own + ignorance. And I am not sure,” he continued, turning his back on Evan and + looking out of the prow of the ship into the darkness, “I am not sure that + I agree with your little maxim about justice. Discipline for the whole + society is surely more important than justice to an individual.” + </p> + <p> + Evan, who was also leaning over the edge, swung round with startling + suddenness and stared at the other's back. + </p> + <p> + “Discipline for society——” he repeated, very staccato, “more + important—justice to individual?” + </p> + <p> + Then after a long silence he called out: “Who and what are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am an angel,” said the white-robed figure, without turning round. + </p> + <p> + “You are not a Catholic,” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + The other seemed to take no notice, but reverted to the main topic. + </p> + <p> + “In our armies up in heaven we learn to put a wholesome fear into + subordinates.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan sat craning his neck forward with an extraordinary and + unaccountable eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” he cried, twisting and untwisting his long, bony fingers, “go + on!” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” continued he, in the prow, “you must allow for a certain high + spirit and haughtiness in the superior type.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” said Evan, with burning eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Just as the sight of sin offends God,” said the unknown, “so does the + sight of ugliness offend Apollo. The beautiful and princely must, of + necessity, be impatient with the squalid and——” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you great fool!” cried MacIan, rising to the top of his tremendous + stature, “did you think I would have doubted only for that rap with a + sword? I know that noble orders have bad knights, that good knights have + bad tempers, that the Church has rough priests and coarse cardinals; I + have known it ever since I was born. You fool! you had only to say, 'Yes, + it is rather a shame,' and I should have forgotten the affair. But I saw + on your mouth the twitch of your infernal sophistry; I knew that something + was wrong with you and your cathedrals. Something is wrong; everything is + wrong. You are not an angel. That is not a church. It is not the rightful + king who has come home.” + </p> + <p> + “That is unfortunate,” said the other, in a quiet but hard voice, “because + you are going to see his Majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said MacIan, “I am going to jump over the side.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you desire death?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Evan, quite composedly, “I desire a miracle.” + </p> + <p> + “From whom do you ask it? To whom do you appeal?” said his companion, + sternly. “You have betrayed the king, renounced his cross on the + cathedral, and insulted an archangel.” + </p> + <p> + “I appeal to God,” said Evan, and sprang up and stood upon the edge of the + swaying ship. + </p> + <p> + The being in the prow turned slowly round; he looked at Evan with eyes + which were like two suns, and put his hand to his mouth just too late to + hide an awful smile. + </p> + <p> + “And how do you know,” he said, “how do you know that I am not God?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan screamed. “Ah!” he cried. “Now I know who you really are. You are + not God. You are not one of God's angels. But you were once.” + </p> + <p> + The being's hand dropped from his mouth and Evan dropped out of the car. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. THE DREAM OF TURNBULL + </h2> + <p> + Turnbull was walking rather rampantly up and down the garden on a gusty + evening chewing his cigar and in that mood when every man suppresses an + instinct to spit. He was not, as a rule, a man much acquainted with moods; + and the storms and sunbursts of MacIan's soul passed before him as an + impressive but unmeaning panorama, like the anarchy of Highland scenery. + Turnbull was one of those men in whom a continuous appetite and industry + of the intellect leave the emotions very simple and steady. His heart was + in the right place; but he was quite content to leave it there. It was his + head that was his hobby. His mornings and evenings were marked not by + impulses or thirsty desires, not by hope or by heart-break; they were + filled with the fallacies he had detected, the problems he had made plain, + the adverse theories he had wrestled with and thrown, the grand + generalizations he had justified. But even the cheerful inner life of a + logician may be upset by a lunatic asylum, to say nothing of whiffs of + memory from a lady in Jersey, and the little red-bearded man on this windy + evening was in a dangerous frame of mind. + </p> + <p> + Plain and positive as he was, the influence of earth and sky may have been + greater on him than he imagined; and the weather that walked the world at + that moment was as red and angry as Turnbull. Long strips and swirls of + tattered and tawny cloud were dragged downward to the west exactly as torn + red raiment would be dragged. And so strong and pitiless was the wind that + it whipped away fragments of red-flowering bushes or of copper beech, and + drove them also across the garden, a drift of red leaves, like the leaves + of autumn, as in parody of the red and driven rags of cloud. + </p> + <p> + There was a sense in earth and heaven as of everything breaking up, and + all the revolutionist in Turnbull rejoiced that it was breaking up. The + trees were breaking up under the wind, even in the tall strength of their + bloom: the clouds were breaking up and losing even their large heraldic + shapes. Shards and shreds of copper cloud split off continually and + floated by themselves, and for some reason the truculent eye of Turnbull + was attracted to one of these careering cloudlets, which seemed to him to + career in an exaggerated manner. Also it kept its shape, which is unusual + with clouds shaken off; also its shape was of an odd sort. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull continued to stare at it, and in a little time occurred that + crucial instant when a thing, however incredible, is accepted as a fact. + The copper cloud was tumbling down towards the earth, like some gigantic + leaf from the copper beeches. And as it came nearer it was evident, first, + that it was not a cloud, and, second, that it was not itself of the colour + of copper; only, being burnished like a mirror, it had reflected the + red-brown colours of the burning clouds. As the thing whirled like a + windswept leaf down towards the wall of the garden it was clear that it + was some sort of air-ship made of metal, and slapping the air with big + broad fins of steel. When it came about a hundred feet above the garden, a + shaggy, lean figure leapt up in it, almost black against the bronze and + scarlet of the west, and, flinging out a kind of hook or anchor, caught on + to the green apple-tree just under the wall; and from that fixed holding + ground the ship swung in the red tempest like a captive balloon. + </p> + <p> + While our friend stood frozen for an instant by his astonishment, the + queer figure in the airy car tipped the vehicle almost upside down by + leaping over the side of it, seemed to slide or drop down the rope like a + monkey, and alighted (with impossible precision and placidity) seated on + the edge of the wall, over which he kicked and dangled his legs as he + grinned at Turnbull. The wind roared in the trees yet more ruinous and + desolate, the red tails of the sunset were dragged downward like red + dragons sucked down to death, and still on the top of the asylum wall sat + the sinister figure with the grimace, swinging his feet in tune with the + tempest; while above him, at the end of its tossing or tightened cord, the + enormous iron air-ship floated as light and as little noticed as a baby's + balloon upon its string. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's first movement after sixty motionless seconds was to turn round + and look at the large, luxuriant parallelogram of the garden and the long, + low rectangular building beyond. There was not a soul or a stir of life + within sight. And he had a quite meaningless sensation, as if there never + really had been any one else there except he since the foundation of the + world. + </p> + <p> + Stiffening in himself the masculine but mirthless courage of the atheist, + he drew a little nearer to the wall and, catching the man at a slightly + different angle of the evening light, could see his face and figure quite + plain. Two facts about him stood out in the picked colours of some + piratical schoolboy's story. The first was that his lean brown body was + bare to the belt of his loose white trousers; the other that through + hygiene, affectation, or whatever other cause, he had a scarlet + handkerchief tied tightly but somewhat aslant across his brow. After these + two facts had become emphatic, others appeared sufficiently important. One + was that under the scarlet rag the hair was plentiful, but white as with + the last snows of mortality. Another was that under the mop of white and + senile hair the face was strong, handsome, and smiling, with a well-cut + profile and a long cloven chin. The length of this lower part of the face + and the strange cleft in it (which gave the man, in quite another sense + from the common one, a double chin) faintly spoilt the claim of the face + to absolute regularity, but it greatly assisted it in wearing the + expression of half-smiling and half-sneering arrogance with which it was + staring at all the stones, all the flowers, but especially at the solitary + man. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” shouted Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “I want you, Jimmy,” said the eccentric man on the wall, and with the very + word he had let himself down with a leap on to the centre of the lawn, + where he bounded once literally like an India-rubber ball and then stood + grinning with his legs astride. The only three facts that Turnbull could + now add to his inventory were that the man had an ugly-looking knife + swinging at his trousers belt, that his brown feet were as bare as his + bronzed trunk and arms, and that his eyes had a singular bleak brilliancy + which was of no particular colour. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my not being in evening dress,” said the newcomer with an urbane + smile. “We scientific men, you know—I have to work my own engines—electrical + engineer—very hot work.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Turnbull, sturdily clenching his fists in his trousers + pockets, “I am bound to expect lunatics inside these four walls; but I do + bar their coming from outside, bang out of the sunset clouds.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you came from the outside, too, Jim,” said the stranger in a + voice almost affectionate. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” asked Turnbull, with an explosion of temper as sudden + as a pistol shot. + </p> + <p> + “I have already told you,” said the man, lowering his voice and speaking + with evident sincerity; “I want you.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I want exactly what you want,” said the new-comer with a new gravity. “I + want the Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull looked at the fire-swept sky and the wind-stricken woodlands, and + kept on repeating the word voicelessly to himself—the word that did + indeed so thoroughly express his mood of rage as it had been among those + red clouds and rocking tree-tops. “Revolution!” he said to himself. “The + Revolution—yes, that is what I want right enough—anything, so + long as it is a Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + To some cause he could never explain he found himself completing the + sentence on the top of the wall, having automatically followed the + stranger so far. But when the stranger silently indicated the rope that + led to the machine, he found himself pausing and saying: “I can't leave + MacIan behind in this den.” + </p> + <p> + “We are going to destroy the Pope and all the kings,” said the new-comer. + “Would it be wiser to take him with us?” + </p> + <p> + Somehow the muttering Turnbull found himself in the flying ship also, and + it swung up into the sunset. + </p> + <p> + “All the great rebels have been very little rebels,” said the man with the + red scarf. “They have been like fourth-form boys who sometimes venture to + hit a fifth-form boy. That was all the worth of their French Revolution + and regicide. The boys never really dared to defy the schoolmaster.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you mean by the schoolmaster?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “You know whom I mean,” answered the strange man, as he lay back on + cushions and looked up into the angry sky. + </p> + <p> + They seemed rising into stronger and stronger sunlight, as if it were + sunrise rather than sunset. But when they looked down at the earth they + saw it growing darker and darker. The lunatic asylum in its large + rectangular grounds spread below them in a foreshortened and infantile + plan, and looked for the first time the grotesque thing that it was. But + the clear colours of the plan were growing darker every moment. The masses + of rose or rhododendron deepened from crimson to violet. The maze of + gravel pathways faded from gold to brown. By the time they had risen a few + hundred feet higher nothing could be seen of that darkening landscape + except the lines of lighted windows, each one of which, at least, was the + light of one lost intelligence. But on them as they swept upward better + and braver winds seemed to blow, and on them the ruby light of evening + seemed struck, and splashed like red spurts from the grapes of Dionysus. + Below them the fallen lights were literally the fallen stars of servitude. + And above them all the red and raging clouds were like the leaping flags + of liberty. + </p> + <p> + The man with the cloven chin seemed to have a singular power of + understanding thoughts; for, as Turnbull felt the whole universe tilt and + turn over his head, the stranger said exactly the right thing. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't it seem as if everything were being upset?” said he; “and if once + everything is upset, He will be upset on top of it.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as Turnbull made no answer, his host continued: + </p> + <p> + “That is the really fine thing about space. It is topsy-turvy. You have + only to climb far enough towards the morning star to feel that you are + coming down to it. You have only to dive deep enough into the abyss to + feel that you are rising. That is the only glory of this universe—it + is a giddy universe.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as Turnbull was still silent, he added: + </p> + <p> + “The heavens are full of revolution—of the real sort of revolution. + All the high things are sinking low and all the big things looking small. + All the people who think they are aspiring find they are falling head + foremost. And all the people who think they are condescending find they + are climbing up a precipice. That is the intoxication of space. That is + the only joy of eternity—doubt. There is only one pleasure the + angels can possibly have in flying, and that is, that they do not know + whether they are on their head or their heels.” + </p> + <p> + Then, finding his companion still mute, he fell himself into a smiling and + motionless meditation, at the end of which he said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “So MacIan converted you?” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull sprang up as if spurning the steel car from under his feet. + “Converted me!” he cried. “What the devil do you mean? I have known him + for a month, and I have not retracted a single——” + </p> + <p> + “This Catholicism is a curious thing,” said the man of the cloven chin in + uninterrupted reflectiveness, leaning his elegant elbows over the edge of + the vessel; “it soaks and weakens men without their knowing it, just as I + fear it has soaked and weakened you.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull stood in an attitude which might well have meant pitching the + other man out of the flying ship. + </p> + <p> + “I am an atheist,” he said, in a stifled voice. “I have always been an + atheist. I am still an atheist.” Then, addressing the other's indolent and + indifferent back, he cried: “In God's name what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + And the other answered without turning round: + </p> + <p> + “I mean nothing in God's name.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull spat over the edge of the car and fell back furiously into his + seat. + </p> + <p> + The other continued still unruffled, and staring over the edge idly as an + angler stares down at a stream. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is that we never thought that you could have been caught,” he + said; “we counted on you as the one red-hot revolutionary left in the + world. But, of course, these men like MacIan are awfully clever, + especially when they pretend to be stupid.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull leapt up again in a living fury and cried: “What have I got to do + with MacIan? I believe all I ever believed, and disbelieve all I ever + disbelieved. What does all this mean, and what do you want with me here?” + </p> + <p> + Then for the first time the other lifted himself from the edge of the car + and faced him. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought you here,” he answered, “to take part in the last war of + the world.” + </p> + <p> + “The last war!” repeated Turnbull, even in his dazed state a little touchy + about such a dogma; “how do you know it will be the last?” + </p> + <p> + The man laid himself back in his reposeful attitude, and said: + </p> + <p> + “It is the last war, because if it does not cure the world for ever, it + will destroy it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I only mean what you mean,” answered the unknown in a temperate voice. + “What was it that you always meant on those million and one nights when + you walked outside your Ludgate Hill shop and shook your hand in the air?” + </p> + <p> + “Still I do not see,” said Turnbull, stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “You will soon,” said the other, and abruptly bent downward one iron + handle of his huge machine. The engine stopped, stooped, and dived almost + as deliberately as a man bathing; in their downward rush they swept within + fifty yards of a big bulk of stone that Turnbull knew only too well. The + last red anger of the sunset was ended; the dome of heaven was dark; the + lanes of flaring light in the streets below hardly lit up the base of the + building. But he saw that it was St. Paul's Cathedral, and he saw that on + the top of it the ball was still standing erect, but the cross was + stricken and had fallen sideways. Then only he cared to look down into the + streets, and saw that they were inflamed with uproar and tossing passions. + </p> + <p> + “We arrive at a happy moment,” said the man steering the ship. “The + insurgents are bombarding the city, and a cannon-ball has just hit the + cross. Many of the insurgents are simple people, and they naturally regard + it as a happy omen.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Turnbull, in a rather colourless voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the other. “I thought you would be glad to see your prayer + answered. Of course I apologize for the word prayer.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it,” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + The flying ship had come down upon a sort of curve, and was now rising + again. The higher and higher it rose the broader and broader became the + scenes of flame and desolation underneath. + </p> + <p> + Ludgate Hill indeed had been an uncaptured and comparatively quiet height, + altered only by the startling coincidence of the cross fallen awry. All + the other thoroughfares on all sides of that hill were full of the + pulsation and the pain of battle, full of shaking torches and shouting + faces. When at length they had risen high enough to have a bird's-eye view + of the whole campaign, Turnbull was already intoxicated. He had smelt + gunpowder, which was the incense of his own revolutionary religion. + </p> + <p> + “Have the people really risen?” he asked, breathlessly. “What are they + fighting about?” + </p> + <p> + “The programme is rather elaborate,” said his entertainer with some + indifference. “I think Dr. Hertz drew it up.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull wrinkled his forehead. “Are all the poor people with the + Revolution?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The other shrugged his shoulders. “All the instructed and class-conscious + part of them without exception,” he replied. “There were certainly a few + districts; in fact, we are passing over them just now——” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull looked down and saw that the polished car was literally lit up + from underneath by the far-flung fires from below. Underneath whole + squares and solid districts were in flames, like prairies or forests on + fire. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Hertz has convinced everybody,” said Turnbull's cicerone in a smooth + voice, “that nothing can really be done with the real slums. His + celebrated maxim has been quite adopted. I mean the three celebrated + sentences: 'No man should be unemployed. Employ the employables. Destroy + the unemployables.'” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence, and then Turnbull said in a rather strained voice: + “And do I understand that this good work is going on under here?” + </p> + <p> + “Going on splendidly,” replied his companion in the heartiest voice. “You + see, these people were much too tired and weak even to join the social + war. They were a definite hindrance to it.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you are simply burning them out?” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>does</i> seem absurdly simple,” said the man, with a beaming smile, + “when one thinks of all the worry and talk about helping a hopeless slave + population, when the future obviously was only crying to be rid of them. + There are happy babes unborn ready to burst the doors when these + drivellers are swept away.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you permit me to say,” said Turnbull, after reflection, “that I + don't like all this?” + </p> + <p> + “And will you permit me to say,” said the other, with a snap, “that I + don't like Mr. Evan MacIan?” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to the speaker's surprise this did not inflame the sensitive + sceptic; he had the air of thinking thoroughly, and then he said: “No, I + don't think it's my friend MacIan that taught me that. I think I should + always have said that I don't like this. These people have rights.” + </p> + <p> + “Rights!” repeated the unknown in a tone quite indescribable. Then he + added with a more open sneer: “Perhaps they also have souls.” + </p> + <p> + “They have lives!” said Turnbull, sternly; “that is quite enough for me. I + understood you to say that you thought life sacred.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed!” cried his mentor with a sort of idealistic animation. “Yes, + indeed! Life is sacred—but lives are not sacred. We are improving + Life by removing lives. Can you, as a free-thinker, find any fault in + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Turnbull with brevity. + </p> + <p> + “Yet you applaud tyrannicide,” said the stranger with rationalistic + gaiety. “How inconsistent! It really comes to this: You approve of taking + away life from those to whom it is a triumph and a pleasure. But you will + not take away life from those to whom it is a burden and a toil.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull rose to his feet in the car with considerable deliberation, but + his face seemed oddly pale. The other went on with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Life, yes, Life is indeed sacred!” he cried; “but new lives for old! Good + lives for bad! On that very place where now there sprawls one drunken + wastrel of a pavement artist more or less wishing he were dead—on + that very spot there shall in the future be living pictures; there shall + be golden girls and boys leaping in the sun.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull, still standing up, opened his lips. “Will you put me down, + please?” he said, quite calmly, like on stopping an omnibus. + </p> + <p> + “Put you down—what do you mean?” cried his leader. “I am taking you + to the front of the revolutionary war, where you will be one of the first + of the revolutionary leaders.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” replied Turnbull with the same painful constraint. “I have + heard about your revolutionary war, and I think on the whole that I would + rather be anywhere else.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to be taken to a monastery,” snarled the other, “with MacIan + and his winking Madonnas.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to be taken to a madhouse,” said Turnbull distinctly, giving the + direction with a sort of precision. “I want to go back to exactly the same + lunatic asylum from which I came.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the unknown. + </p> + <p> + “Because I want a little sane and wholesome society,” answered Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + There was a long and peculiar silence, and then the man driving the flying + machine said quite coolly: “I won't take you back.” + </p> + <p> + And then Turnbull said equally coolly: “Then I'll jump out of the car.” + </p> + <p> + The unknown rose to his full height, and the expression in his eyes seemed + to be made of ironies behind ironies, as two mirrors infinitely reflect + each other. At last he said, very gravely: “Do you think I am the devil?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Turnbull, violently. “For I think the devil is a dream, and so + are you. I don't believe in you or your flying ship or your last fight of + the world. It is all a nightmare. I say as a fact of dogma and faith that + it is all a nightmare. And I will be a martyr for my faith as much as St. + Catherine, for I will jump out of this ship and risk waking up safe in + bed.” + </p> + <p> + After swaying twice with the swaying vessel he dived over the side as one + dives into the sea. For some incredible moments stars and space and + planets seemed to shoot up past him as the sparks fly upward; and yet in + that sickening descent he was full of some unnatural happiness. He could + connect it with no idea except one that half escaped him—what Evan + had said of the difference between Christ and Satan; that it was by + Christ's own choice that He descended into hell. + </p> + <p> + When he again realized anything, he was lying on his elbow on the lawn of + the lunatic asylum, and the last red of the sunset had not yet + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. THE IDIOT + </h2> + <p> + Evan MacIan was standing a few yards off looking at him in absolute + silence. + </p> + <p> + He had not the moral courage to ask MacIan if there had been anything + astounding in the manner of his coming there, nor did MacIan seem to have + any question to ask, or perhaps any need to ask it. The two men came + slowly towards each other, and found the same expression on each other's + faces. Then, for the first time in all their acquaintance, they shook + hands. + </p> + <p> + Almost as if this were a kind of unconscious signal, it brought Dr. Quayle + bounding out of a door and running across the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there you are!” he exclaimed with a relieved giggle. “Will you come + inside, please? I want to speak to you both.” + </p> + <p> + They followed him into his shiny wooden office where their damning record + was kept. Dr. Quayle sat down on a swivel chair and swung round to face + them. His carved smile had suddenly disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “I will be plain with you gentlemen,” he said, abruptly; “you know quite + well we do our best for everybody here. Your cases have been under special + consideration, and the Master himself has decided that you ought to be + treated specially and—er—under somewhat simpler conditions.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean treated worse, I suppose,” said Turnbull, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + The doctor did not reply, and MacIan said: “I expected this.” His eyes had + begun to glow. + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered, looking at his desk and playing with a key: “Well, in + certain cases that give anxiety—it is often better——” + </p> + <p> + “Give anxiety,” said Turnbull, fiercely. “Confound your impudence! What do + you mean? You imprison two perfectly sane men in a madhouse because you + have made up a long word. They take it in good temper, walk and talk in + your garden like monks who have found a vocation, are civil even to you, + you damned druggists' hack! Behave not only more sanely than any of your + patients, but more sanely than half the sane men outside, and you have the + soul-stifling cheek to say that they give anxiety.” + </p> + <p> + “The head of the asylum has settled it all,” said Dr. Quayle, still + looking down. + </p> + <p> + MacIan took one of his immense strides forward and stood over the doctor + with flaming eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If the head has settled it let the head announce it,” he said. “I won't + take it from you. I believe you to be a low, gibbering degenerate. Let us + see the head of the asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “See the head of the asylum,” repeated Dr. Quayle. “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + The tall Highlander, bending over him, put one hand on his shoulder with + fatherly interest. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to appreciate the peculiar advantages of my position as a + lunatic,” he said. “I could kill you with my left hand before such a rat + as you could so much as squeak. And I wouldn't be hanged for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly agree with Mr. MacIan,” said Turnbull with sobriety and + perfect respectfulness, “that you had better let us see the head of the + institution.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Quayle got to his feet in a mixture of sudden hysteria and clumsy + presence of mind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” he said with a weak laugh. “You can see the head of the + asylum if you particularly want to.” He almost ran out of the room, and + the two followed swiftly on his flying coat tails. He knocked at an + ordinary varnished door in the corridor. When a voice said, “Come in,” + MacIan's breath went hissing back through his teeth into his chest. + Turnbull was more impetuous, and opened the door. + </p> + <p> + It was a neat and well-appointed room entirely lined with a medical + library. At the other end of it was a ponderous and polished desk with an + incandescent lamp on it, the light of which was just sufficient to show a + slender, well-bred figure in an ordinary medical black frock-coat, whose + head, quite silvered with age, was bent over neat piles of notes. This + gentleman looked up for an instant as they entered, and the lamplight fell + on his glittering spectacles and long, clean-shaven face—a face + which would have been simply like an aristocrat's but that a certain lion + poise of the head and long cleft in the chin made it look more like a very + handsome actor's. It was only for a flash that his face was thus lifted. + Then he bent his silver head over his notes once more, and said, without + looking up again: + </p> + <p> + “I told you, Dr. Quayle, that these men were to go to cells B and C.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull and MacIan looked at each other, and said more than they could + ever say with tongues or swords. Among other things they said that to that + particular Head of the institution it was a waste of time to appeal, and + they followed Dr. Quayle out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The instant they stepped out into the corridor four sturdy figures stepped + from four sides, pinioned them, and ran them along the galleries. They + might very likely have thrown their captors right and left had they been + inclined to resist, but for some nameless reason they were more inclined + to laugh. A mixture of mad irony with childish curiosity made them feel + quite inclined to see what next twist would be taken by their imbecile + luck. They were dragged down countless cold avenues lined with glazed + tiles, different only in being of different lengths and set at different + angles. They were so many and so monotonous that to escape back by them + would have been far harder than fleeing from the Hampton Court maze. Only + the fact that windows grew fewer, coming at longer intervals, and the fact + that when the windows did come they seemed shadowed and let in less light, + showed that they were winding into the core or belly of some enormous + building. After a little time the glazed corridors began to be lit by + electricity. + </p> + <p> + At last, when they had walked nearly a mile in those white and polished + tunnels, they came with quite a shock to the futile finality of a + cul-de-sac. All that white and weary journey ended suddenly in an oblong + space and a blank white wall. But in the white wall there were two iron + doors painted white on which were written, respectively, in neat black + capitals B and C. + </p> + <p> + “You go in here, sir,” said the leader of the officials, quite + respectfully, “and you in here.” + </p> + <p> + But before the doors had clanged upon their dazed victims, MacIan had been + able to say to Turnbull with a strange drawl of significance: “I wonder + who A is.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull made an automatic struggle before he allowed himself to be thrown + into the cell. Hence it happened that he was the last to enter, and was + still full of the exhilaration of the adventures for at least five minutes + after the echo of the clanging door had died away. + </p> + <p> + Then, when silence had sunk deep and nothing happened for two and a half + hours, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the end of his life. He + was hidden and sealed up in this little crack of stone until the flesh + should fall off his bones. He was dead, and the world had won. + </p> + <p> + His cell was of an oblong shape, but very long in comparison with its + width. It was just wide enough to permit the arms to be fully extended + with the dumb-bells, which were hung up on the left wall, very dusty. It + was, however, long enough for a man to walk one thirty-fifth part of a + mile if he traversed it entirely. On the same principle a row of fixed + holes, quite close together, let in to the cells by pipes what was alleged + to be the freshest air. For these great scientific organizers insisted + that a man should be healthy even if he was miserable. They provided a + walk long enough to give him exercise and holes large enough to give him + oxygen. There their interest in human nature suddenly ceased. It seemed + never to have occurred to them that the benefit of exercise belongs partly + to the benefit of liberty. They had not entertained the suggestion that + the open air is only one of the advantages of the open sky. They + administered air in secret, but in sufficient doses, as if it were a + medicine. They suggested walking, as if no man had ever felt inclined to + walk. Above all, the asylum authorities insisted on their own + extraordinary cleanliness. Every morning, while Turnbull was still half + asleep on his iron bedstead which was lifted half-way up the wall and + clamped to it with iron, four sluices or metal mouths opened above him at + the four corners of the chamber and washed it white of any defilement. + Turnbull's solitary soul surged up against this sickening daily solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “I am buried alive!” he cried, bitterly; “they have hidden me under + mountains. I shall be here till I rot. Why the blazes should it matter to + them whether I am dirty or clean.” + </p> + <p> + Every morning and evening an iron hatchway opened in his oblong cell, and + a brown hairy hand or two thrust in a plate of perfectly cooked lentils + and a big bowl of cocoa. He was not underfed any more than he was + underexercised or asphyxiated. He had ample walking space, ample air, + ample and even filling food. The only objection was that he had nothing to + walk towards, nothing to feast about, and no reason whatever for drawing + the breath of life. + </p> + <p> + Even the shape of his cell especially irritated him. It was a long, narrow + parallelogram, which had a flat wall at one end and ought to have had a + flat wall at the other; but that end was broken by a wedge or angle of + space, like the prow of a ship. After three days of silence and cocoa, + this angle at the end began to infuriate Turnbull. It maddened him to + think that two lines came together and pointed at nothing. After the fifth + day he was reckless, and poked his head into the corner. After twenty-five + days he almost broke his head against it. Then he became quite cool and + stupid again, and began to examine it like a sort of Robinson Crusoe. + </p> + <p> + Almost unconsciously it was his instinct to examine outlets, and he found + himself paying particular attention to the row of holes which let in the + air into his last house of life. He soon discovered that these air-holes + were all the ends and mouths of long leaden tubes which doubtless carried + air from some remote watering-place near Margate. One evening while he was + engaged in the fifth investigation he noticed something like twilight in + one of these dumb mouths, as compared with the darkness of the others. + Thrusting his finger in as far as it would go, he found a hole and + flapping edge in the tube. This he rent open and instantly saw a light + behind; it was at least certain that he had struck some other cell. + </p> + <p> + It is a characteristic of all things now called “efficient”, which means + mechanical and calculated, that if they go wrong at all they go entirely + wrong. There is no power of retrieving a defeat, as in simpler and more + living organisms. A strong gun can conquer a strong elephant, but a + wounded elephant can easily conquer a broken gun. Thus the Prussian + monarchy in the eighteenth century, or now, can make a strong army merely + by making the men afraid. But it does it with the permanent possibility + that the men may some day be more afraid of their enemies than of their + officers. Thus the drainage in our cities so long as it is quite solid + means a general safety, but if there is one leak it means concentrated + poison—an explosion of deathly germs like dynamite, a spirit of + stink. Thus, indeed, all that excellent machinery which is the swiftest + thing on earth in saving human labour is also the slowest thing on earth + in resisting human interference. It may be easier to get chocolate for + nothing out of a shopkeeper than out of an automatic machine. But if you + did manage to steal the chocolate, the automatic machine would be much + less likely to run after you. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was not long in discovering this truth in connexion with the cold + and colossal machinery of this great asylum. He had been shaken by many + spiritual states since the instant when he was pitched head foremost into + that private cell which was to be his private room till death. He had felt + a high fit of pride and poetry, which had ebbed away and left him deadly + cold. He had known a period of mere scientific curiosity, in the course of + which he examined all the tiles of his cell, with the gratifying + conclusion that they were all the same shape and size; but was greatly + puzzled about the angle in the wall at the end, and also about an iron peg + or spike that stood out from the wall, the object of which he does not + know to this day. Then he had a period of mere madness not to be written + of by decent men, but only by those few dirty novelists hallooed on by the + infernal huntsman to hunt down and humiliate human nature. This also + passed, but left behind it a feverish distaste for many of the mere + objects around him. Long after he had returned to sanity and such hopeless + cheerfulness as a man might have on a desert island, he disliked the + regular squares of the pattern of wall and floor and the triangle that + terminated his corridor. Above all, he had a hatred, deep as the hell he + did not believe in, for the objectless iron peg in the wall. + </p> + <p> + But in all his moods, sane or insane, intolerant or stoical, he never + really doubted this: that the machine held him as light and as hopelessly + as he had from his birth been held by the hopeless cosmos of his own + creed. He knew well the ruthless and inexhaustible resources of our + scientific civilization. He no more expected rescue from a medical + certificate than rescue from the solar system. In many of his Robinson + Crusoe moods he thought kindly of MacIan as of some quarrelsome + school-fellow who had long been dead. He thought of leaving in the cell + when he died a rigid record of his opinions, and when he began to write + them down on scraps of envelope in his pocket, he was startled to discover + how much they had changed. Then he remembered the Beauchamp Tower, and + tried to write his blazing scepticism on the wall, and discovered that it + was all shiny tiles on which nothing could be either drawn or carved. Then + for an instant there hung and broke above him like a high wave the whole + horror of scientific imprisonment, which manages to deny a man not only + liberty, but every accidental comfort of bondage. In the old filthy + dungeons men could carve their prayers or protests in the rock. Here the + white and slippery walls escaped even from bearing witness. The old + prisoners could make a pet of a mouse or a beetle strayed out of a hole. + Here the unpierceable walls were washed every morning by an automatic + sluice. There was no natural corruption and no merciful decay by which a + living thing could enter in. Then James Turnbull looked up and saw the + high invincible hatefulness of the society in which he lived, and saw the + hatefulness of something else also, which he told himself again and again + was not the cosmos in which he believed. But all the time he had never + once doubted that the five sides of his cell were for him the wall of the + world henceforward, and it gave him a shock of surprise even to discover + the faint light through the aperture in the ventilation tube. But he had + forgotten how close efficiency has to pack everything together and how + easily, therefore, a pipe here or there may leak. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull thrust his first finger down the aperture, and at last managed to + make a slight further fissure in the piping. The light that came up from + beyond was very faint, and apparently indirect; it seemed to fall from + some hole or window higher up. As he was screwing his eye to peer at this + grey and greasy twilight he was astonished to see another human finger + very long and lean come down from above towards the broken pipe and hook + it up to something higher. The lighted aperture was abruptly blackened and + blocked, presumably by a face and mouth, for something human spoke down + the tube, though the words were not clear. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” asked Turnbull, trembling with excitement, yet wary and + quite resolved not to spoil any chance. + </p> + <p> + After a few indistinct sounds the voice came down with a strong + Argyllshire accent: + </p> + <p> + “I say, Turnbull, we couldn't fight through this tube, could we?” + </p> + <p> + Sentiments beyond speech surged up in Turnbull and silenced him for a + space just long enough to be painful. Then he said with his old gaiety: “I + vote we talk a little first; I don't want to murder the first man I have + met for ten million years.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean,” answered the other. “It has been awful. For a + mortal month I have been alone with God.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull started, and it was on the tip of his tongue to answer: “Alone + with God! Then you do not know what loneliness is.” + </p> + <p> + But he answered, after all, in his old defiant style: “Alone with God, + were you? And I suppose you found his Majesty's society rather + monotonous?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said MacIan, and his voice shuddered; “it was a great deal too + exciting.” + </p> + <p> + After a very long silence the voice of MacIan said: “What do you really + hate most in your place?” + </p> + <p> + “You'd think I was really mad if I told you,” answered Turnbull, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Then I expect it's the same as mine,” said the other voice. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it's not the same as anybody's,” said Turnbull, “for it has no + rhyme or reason. Perhaps my brain really has gone, but I detest that iron + spike in the left wall more than the damned desolation or the damned + cocoa. Have you got one in your cell?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” replied MacIan with serenity. “I've pulled it out.” + </p> + <p> + His fellow-prisoner could only repeat the words. + </p> + <p> + “I pulled it out the other day when I was off my head,” continued the + tranquil Highland voice. “It looked so unnecessary.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be ghastly strong,” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “One is, when one is mad,” was the careless reply, “and it had worn a + little loose in the socket. Even now I've got it out I can't discover what + it was for. But I've found out something a long sight funnier.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “I have found out where A is,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks afterwards MacIan had managed to open up communications which + made his meaning plain. By that time the two captives had fully discovered + and demonstrated that weakness in the very nature of modern machinery to + which we have already referred. The very fact that they were isolated from + all companions meant that they were free from all spies, and as there were + no gaolers to be bribed, so there were none to be baffled. Machinery + brought them their cocoa and cleaned their cells; that machinery was as + helpless as it was pitiless. A little patient violence, conducted day + after day amid constant mutual suggestion, opened an irregular hole in the + wall, large enough to let in a small man, in the exact place where there + had been before the tiny ventilation holes. Turnbull tumbled somehow into + MacIan's apartment, and his first glance found out that the iron spike was + indeed plucked from its socket, and left, moreover, another ragged hole + into some hollow place behind. But for this MacIan's cell was the + duplicate of Turnbull's—a long oblong ending in a wedge and lined + with cold and lustrous tiles. The small hole from which the peg had been + displaced was in that short oblique wall at the end nearest to Turnbull's. + That individual looked at it with a puzzled face. + </p> + <p> + “What is in there?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + MacIan answered briefly: “Another cell.” + </p> + <p> + “But where can the door of it be?” said his companion, even more puzzled; + “the doors of our cells are at the other end.” + </p> + <p> + “It has no door,” said Evan. + </p> + <p> + In the pause of perplexity that followed, an eerie and sinister feeling + crept over Turnbull's stubborn soul in spite of himself. The notion of the + doorless room chilled him with that sense of half-witted curiosity which + one has when something horrible is half understood. + </p> + <p> + “James Turnbull,” said MacIan, in a low and shaken voice, “these people + hate us more than Nero hated Christians, and fear us more than any man + feared Nero. They have filled England with frenzy and galloping in order + to capture us and wipe us out—in order to kill us. And they have + killed us, for you and I have only made a hole in our coffins. But though + this hatred that they felt for us is bigger than they felt for Bonaparte, + and more plain and practical than they would feel for Jack the Ripper, yet + it is not we whom the people of this place hate most.” + </p> + <p> + A cold and quivering impatience continued to crawl up Turnbull's spine; he + had never felt so near to superstition and supernaturalism, and it was not + a pretty sort of superstition either. + </p> + <p> + “There is another man more fearful and hateful,” went on MacIan, in his + low monotone voice, “and they have buried him even deeper. God knows how + they did it, for he was let in by neither door nor window, nor lowered + through any opening above. I expect these iron handles that we both hate + have been part of some damned machinery for walling him up. He is there. I + have looked through the hole at him; but I cannot stand looking at him + long, because his face is turned away from me and he does not move.” + </p> + <p> + Al Turnbull's unnatural and uncompleted feelings found their outlet in + rushing to the aperture and looking into the unknown room. + </p> + <p> + It was a third oblong cell exactly like the other two except that it was + doorless, and except that on one of the walls was painted a large black A + like the B and C outside their own doors. The letter in this case was not + painted outside, because this prison had no outside. + </p> + <p> + On the same kind of tiled floor, of which the monotonous squares had + maddened Turnbull's eye and brain, was sitting a figure which was + startlingly short even for a child, only that the enormous head was ringed + with hair of a frosty grey. The figure was draped, both insecurely and + insufficiently, in what looked like the remains of a brown flannel + dressing-gown; an emptied cup of cocoa stood on the floor beside it, and + the creature had his big grey head cocked at a particular angle of inquiry + or attention which amid all that gathering gloom and mystery struck one as + comic if not cocksure. + </p> + <p> + After six still seconds Turnbull could stand it no longer, but called out + to the dwarfish thing—in what words heaven knows. The thing got up + with the promptitude of an animal, and turning round offered the spectacle + of two owlish eyes and a huge grey-and-white beard not unlike the plumage + of an owl. This extraordinary beard covered him literally to his feet (not + that that was very far), and perhaps it was as well that it did, for + portions of his remaining clothing seemed to fall off whenever he moved. + One talks trivially of a face like parchment, but this old man's face was + so wrinkled that it was like a parchment loaded with hieroglyphics. The + lines of his face were so deep and complex that one could see five or ten + different faces besides the real one, as one can see them in an elaborate + wall-paper. And yet while his face seemed like a scripture older than the + gods, his eyes were quite bright, blue, and startled like those of a baby. + They looked as if they had only an instant before been fitted into his + head. + </p> + <p> + Everything depended so obviously upon whether this buried monster spoke + that Turnbull did not know or care whether he himself had spoken. He said + something or nothing. And then he waited for this dwarfish voice that had + been hidden under the mountains of the world. At last it did speak, and + spoke in English, with a foreign accent that was neither Latin nor + Teutonic. He suddenly stretched out a long and very dirty forefinger, and + cried in a voice of clear recognition, like a child's: “That's a hole.” + </p> + <p> + He digested the discovery for some seconds, sucking his finger, and then + he cried, with a crow of laughter: “And that's a head come through it.” + </p> + <p> + The hilarious energy in this idiot attitude gave Turnbull another sick + turn. He had grown to tolerate those dreary and mumbling madmen who + trailed themselves about the beautiful asylum gardens. But there was + something new and subversive of the universe in the combination of so much + cheerful decision with a body without a brain. + </p> + <p> + “Why did they put you in such a place?” he asked at last with + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Good place. Yes,” said the old man, nodding a great many times and + beaming like a flattered landlord. “Good shape. Long and narrow, with a + point. Like this,” and he made lovingly with his hands a map of the room + in the air. + </p> + <p> + “But that's not the best,” he added, confidentially. “Squares very good; I + have a nice long holiday, and can count them. But that's not the best.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the best?” asked Turnbull in great distress. + </p> + <p> + “Spike is the best,” said the old man, opening his blue eyes blazing; “it + sticks out.” + </p> + <p> + The words Turnbull spoke broke out of him in pure pity. “Can't we do + anything for you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am very happy,” said the other, alphabetically. “You are a good man. + Can I help you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't think you can, sir,” said Turnbull with rough pathos; “I am + glad you are contented at least.” + </p> + <p> + The weird old person opened his broad blue eyes and fixed Turnbull with a + stare extraordinarily severe. “You are quite sure,” he said, “I cannot + help you?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure, thank you,” said Turnbull with broken brevity. “Good day.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to MacIan who was standing close behind him, and whose + face, now familiar in all its moods, told him easily that Evan had heard + the whole of the strange dialogue. + </p> + <p> + “Curse those cruel beasts!” cried Turnbull. “They've turned him to an + imbecile just by burying him alive. His brain's like a pin-point now.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure he is a lunatic?” said Evan, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Not a lunatic,” said Turnbull, “an idiot. He just points to things and + says that they stick out.” + </p> + <p> + “He had a notion that he could help us,” said MacIan moodily, and began to + pace towards the other end of his cell. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was a bit pathetic,” assented Turnbull; “such a Thing offering + help, and besides—— Hallo! Hallo! What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “God Almighty guide us all!” said MacIan. + </p> + <p> + He was standing heavy and still at the other end of the room and staring + quietly at the door which for thirty days had sealed them up from the sun. + Turnbull, following the other's eye, stared at the door likewise, and then + he also uttered an exclamation. The iron door was standing about an inch + and a half open. + </p> + <p> + “He said——” began Evan, in a trembling voice—“he offered——” + </p> + <p> + “Come along, you fool!” shouted Turnbull with a sudden and furious energy. + “I see it all now, and it's the best stroke of luck in the world. You + pulled out that iron handle that had screwed up his cell, and it somehow + altered the machinery and opened all the doors.” + </p> + <p> + Seizing MacIan by the elbow he bundled him bodily out into the open + corridor and ran him on till they saw daylight through a half-darkened + window. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” said Evan, like one answering in an ordinary conversation, + “he did ask you whether he could help you.” + </p> + <p> + All this wilderness of windowless passages was so built into the heart of + that fortress of fear that it seemed more than an hour before the + fugitives had any good glimpse of the outer world. They did not even know + what hour of the day it was; and when, turning a corner, they saw the bare + tunnel of the corridor end abruptly in a shining square of garden, the + grass burning in that strong evening sunshine which makes it burnished + gold rather than green, the abrupt opening on to the earth seemed like a + hole knocked in the wall of heaven. Only once or twice in life is it + permitted to a man thus to see the very universe from outside, and feel + existence itself as an adorable adventure not yet begun. As they found + this shining escape out of that hellish labyrinth they both had + simultaneously the sensation of being babes unborn, of being asked by God + if they would like to live upon the earth. They were looking in at one of + the seven gates of Eden. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was the first to leap into the garden, with an earth-spurning + leap like that of one who could really spread his wings and fly. MacIan, + who came an instant after, was less full of mere animal gusto and fuller + of a more fearful and quivering pleasure in the clear and innocent flower + colours and the high and holy trees. With one bound they were in that cool + and cleared landscape, and they found just outside the door the black-clad + gentleman with the cloven chin smilingly regarding them; and his chin + seemed to grow longer and longer as he smiled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. A RIDDLE OF FACES + </h2> + <p> + Just behind him stood two other doctors: one, the familiar Dr. Quayle, of + the blinking eyes and bleating voice; the other, a more commonplace but + much more forcible figure, a stout young doctor with short, well-brushed + hair and a round but resolute face. At the sight of the escape these two + subordinates uttered a cry and sprang forward, but their superior remained + motionless and smiling, and somehow the lack of his support seemed to + arrest and freeze them in the very gesture of pursuit. + </p> + <p> + “Let them be,” he cried in a voice that cut like a blade of ice; and not + only of ice, but of some awful primordial ice that had never been water. + </p> + <p> + “I want no devoted champions,” said the cutting voice; “even the folly of + one's friends bores one at last. You don't suppose I should have let these + lunatics out of their cells without good reason. I have the best and + fullest reason. They can be let out of their cell today, because today the + whole world has become their cell. I will have no more medieval mummery of + chains and doors. Let them wander about the earth as they wandered about + this garden, and I shall still be their easy master. Let them take the + wings of the morning and abide in the uttermost parts of the sea—I + am there. Whither shall they go from my presence and whither shall they + flee from my spirit? Courage, Dr. Quayle, and do not be downhearted; the + real days of tyranny are only beginning on this earth.” + </p> + <p> + And with that the Master laughed and swung away from them, almost as if + his laugh was a bad thing for people to see. + </p> + <p> + “Might I speak to you a moment?” said Turnbull, stepping forward with a + respectful resolution. But the shoulders of the Master only seemed to take + on a new and unexpected angle of mockery as he strode away. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull swung round with great abruptness to the other two doctors, and + said, harshly: “What in snakes does he mean—and who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Hutton,” said the short, stout man, “and I am—well, one + of those whose business it is to uphold this establishment.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Turnbull,” said the other; “I am one of those whose business + it is to tear it to the ground.” + </p> + <p> + The small doctor smiled, and Turnbull's anger seemed suddenly to steady + him. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to talk about that,” he said, calmly; “I only want to + know what the Master of this asylum really means.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Hutton's smile broke into a laugh which, short as it was, had the + suspicion of a shake in it. “I suppose you think that quite a simple + question,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I think it a plain question,” said Turnbull, “and one that deserves a + plain answer. Why did the Master lock us up in a couple of cupboards like + jars of pickles for a mortal month, and why does he now let us walk free + in the garden again?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Hutton, with arched eyebrows, “that your complaint is + that you are now free to walk in the garden.” + </p> + <p> + “My complaint is,” said Turnbull, stubbornly, “that if I am fit to walk + freely now, I have been as fit for the last month. No one has examined me, + no one has come near me. Your chief says that I am only free because he + has made other arrangements. What are those arrangements?” + </p> + <p> + The young man with the round face looked down for a little while and + smoked reflectively. The other and elder doctor had gone pacing nervously + by himself upon the lawn. At length the round face was lifted again, and + showed two round blue eyes with a certain frankness in them. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't see that it can do any harm to tell you know,” he said. + “You were shut up just then because it was just during that month that the + Master was bringing off his big scheme. He was getting his bill through + Parliament, and organizing the new medical police. But of course you + haven't heard of all that; in fact, you weren't meant to.” + </p> + <p> + “Heard of all what?” asked the impatient inquirer. + </p> + <p> + “There's a new law now, and the asylum powers are greatly extended. Even + if you did escape now, any policeman would take you up in the next town if + you couldn't show a certificate of sanity from us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” continued Dr. Hutton, “the Master described before both Houses of + Parliament the real scientific objection to all existing legislation about + lunacy. As he very truly said, the mistake was in supposing insanity to be + merely an exception or an extreme. Insanity, like forgetfulness, is simply + a quality which enters more or less into all human beings; and for + practical purposes it is more necessary to know whose mind is really + trustworthy than whose has some accidental taint. We have therefore + reversed the existing method, and people now have to prove that they are + sane. In the first village you entered, the village constable would notice + that you were not wearing on the left lapel of your coat the small pewter + S which is now necessary to any one who walks about beyond asylum bounds + or outside asylum hours.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to say,” said Turnbull, “that this was what the Master of the + asylum urged before the House of Commons?” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Hutton nodded with gravity. + </p> + <p> + “And you mean to say,” cried Turnbull, with a vibrant snort, “that that + proposal was passed in an assembly that calls itself democratic?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor showed his whole row of teeth in a smile. “Oh, the assembly + calls itself Socialist now,” he said, “But we explained to them that this + was a question for men of science.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull gave one stamp upon the gravel, then pulled himself together, and + resumed: “But why should your infernal head medicine-man lock us up in + separate cells while he was turning England into a madhouse? I'm not the + Prime Minister; we're not the House of Lords.” + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't afraid of the Prime Minister,” replied Dr. Hutton; “he isn't + afraid of the House of Lords. But——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired Turnbull, stamping again. + </p> + <p> + “He is afraid of you,” said Hutton, simply. “Why, didn't you know?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan, who had not spoken yet, made one stride forward and stood with + shaking limbs and shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + “He was afraid!” began Evan, thickly. “You mean to say that we——” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to say the plain truth now that the danger is over,” said Hutton, + calmly; “most certainly you two were the only people he ever was afraid + of.” Then he added in a low but not inaudible voice: “Except one—whom + he feared worse, and has buried deeper.” + </p> + <p> + “Come away,” cried MacIan, “this has to be thought about.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull followed him in silence as he strode away, but just before he + vanished, turned and spoke again to the doctors. + </p> + <p> + “But what has got hold of people?” he asked, abruptly. “Why should all + England have gone dotty on the mere subject of dottiness?” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Hutton smiled his open smile once more and bowed slightly. “As to that + also,” he replied, “I don't want to make you vain.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull swung round without a word, and he and his companion were lost in + the lustrous leafage of the garden. They noticed nothing special about the + scene, except that the garden seemed more exquisite than ever in the + deepening sunset, and that there seemed to be many more people, whether + patients or attendants, walking about in it. + </p> + <p> + From behind the two black-coated doctors as they stood on the lawn another + figure somewhat similarly dressed strode hurriedly past them, having also + grizzled hair and an open flapping frock-coat. Both his decisive step and + dapper black array marked him out as another medical man, or at least a + man in authority, and as he passed Turnbull the latter was aroused by a + strong impression of having seen the man somewhere before. It was no one + that he knew well, yet he was certain that it was someone at whom he had + at sometime or other looked steadily. It was neither the face of a friend + nor of an enemy; it aroused neither irritation nor tenderness, yet it was + a face which had for some reason been of great importance in his life. + Turning and returning, and making detours about the garden, he managed to + study the man's face again and again—a moustached, somewhat military + face with a monocle, the sort of face that is aristocratic without being + distinguished. Turnbull could not remember any particular doctors in his + decidedly healthy existence. Was the man a long-lost uncle, or was he only + somebody who had sat opposite him regularly in a railway train? At that + moment the man knocked down his own eye-glass with a gesture of annoyance; + Turnbull remembered the gesture, and the truth sprang up solid in front of + him. The man with the moustaches was Cumberland Vane, the London police + magistrate before whom he and MacIan had once stood on their trial. The + magistrate must have been transferred to some other official duties—to + something connected with the inspection of asylums. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's heart gave a leap of excitement which was half hope. As a + magistrate Mr. Cumberland Vane had been somewhat careless and shallow, but + certainly kindly, and not inaccessible to common sense so long as it was + put to him in strictly conventional language. He was at least an authority + of a more human and refreshing sort than the crank with the wagging beard + or the fiend with the forked chin. + </p> + <p> + He went straight up to the magistrate, and said: “Good evening, Mr. Vane; + I doubt if you remember me.” + </p> + <p> + Cumberland Vane screwed the eye-glass into his scowling face for an + instant, and then said curtly but not uncivilly: “Yes, I remember you, + sir; assault or battery, wasn't it?—a fellow broke your window. A + tall fellow—McSomething—case made rather a noise afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “MacIan is the name, sir,” said Turnbull, respectfully; “I have him here + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” said Vane very sharply. “Confound him! Has he got anything to do + with this game?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vane,” said Turnbull, pacifically, “I will not pretend that either he + or I acted quite decorously on that occasion. You were very lenient with + us, and did not treat us as criminals when you very well might. So I am + sure you will give us your testimony that, even if we were criminals, we + are not lunatics in any legal or medical sense whatever. I am sure you + will use your influence for us.” + </p> + <p> + “My influence!” repeated the magistrate, with a slight start. “I don't + quite understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know in what capacity you are here,” continued Turnbull, gravely, + “but a legal authority of your distinction must certainly be here in an + important one. Whether you are visiting and inspecting the place, or + attached to it as some kind of permanent legal adviser, your opinion must + still——” + </p> + <p> + Cumberland Vane exploded with a detonation of oaths; his face was + transfigured with fury and contempt, and yet in some odd way he did not + seem specially angry with Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “But Lord bless us and save us!” he gasped, at length; “I'm not here as an + official at all. I'm here as a patient. The cursed pack of rat-catching + chemists all say that I've lost my wits.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried Turnbull with terrible emphasis. “You! Lost your wits!” + </p> + <p> + In the rush of his real astonishment at this towering unreality Turnbull + almost added: “Why, you haven't got any to lose.” But he fortunately + remembered the remains of his desperate diplomacy. + </p> + <p> + “This can't go on,” he said, positively. “Men like MacIan and I may suffer + unjustly all our lives, but a man like you must have influence.” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one man who has any influence in England now,” said Vane, + and his high voice fell to a sudden and convincing quietude. + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you mean?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that cursed fellow with the long split chin,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Is it really true,” asked Turnbull, “that he has been allowed to buy up + and control such a lot? What put the country into such a state?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cumberland Vane laughed outright. “What put the country into such a + state?” he asked. “Why, you did. When you were fool enough to agree to + fight MacIan, after all, everybody was ready to believe that the Bank of + England might paint itself pink with white spots.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” answered Turnbull. “Why should you be surprised at + my fighting? I hope I have always fought.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Cumberland Vane, airily, “you didn't believe in religion, you + see—so we thought you were safe at any rate. You went further in + your language than most of us wanted to go; no good in just hurting one's + mother's feelings, I think. But of course we all knew you were right, and, + really, we relied on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” said the editor of <i>The Atheist</i> with a bursting heart. “I + am sorry you did not tell me so at the time.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away very rapidly and flung himself on a garden seat, and for + some six minutes his own wrongs hid from him the huge and hilarious fact + that Cumberland Vane had been locked up as a lunatic. + </p> + <p> + The garden of the madhouse was so perfectly planned, and answered so + exquisitely to every hour of daylight, that one could almost fancy that + the sunlight was caught there tangled in its tinted trees, as the wise men + of Gotham tried to chain the spring to a bush. Or it seemed as if this + ironic paradise still kept its unique dawn or its special sunset while the + rest of the earthly globe rolled through its ordinary hours. There was one + evening, or late afternoon, in particular, which Evan MacIan will remember + in the last moments of death. It was what artists call a daffodil sky, but + it is coarsened even by reference to a daffodil. It was of that innocent + lonely yellow which has never heard of orange, though it might turn quite + unconsciously into green. Against it the tops, one might say the turrets, + of the clipt and ordered trees were outlined in that shade of veiled + violet which tints the tops of lavender. A white early moon was hardly + traceable upon that delicate yellow. MacIan, I say, will remember this + tender and transparent evening, partly because of its virgin gold and + silver, and partly because he passed beneath it through the most horrible + instant of his life. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull was sitting on his seat on the lawn, and the golden evening + impressed even his positive nature, as indeed it might have impressed the + oxen in a field. He was shocked out of his idle mood of awe by seeing + MacIan break from behind the bushes and run across the lawn with an action + he had never seen in the man before, with all his experience of the + eccentric humours of this Celt. MacIan fell on the bench, shaking it so + that it rattled, and gripped it with his knees like one in dreadful pain + of body. That particular run and tumble is typical only of a man who has + been hit by some sudden and incurable evil, who is bitten by a viper or + condemned to be hanged. Turnbull looked up in the white face of his friend + and enemy, and almost turned cold at what he saw there. He had seen the + blue but gloomy eyes of the western Highlander troubled by as many + tempests as his own west Highland seas, but there had always been a fixed + star of faith behind the storms. Now the star had gone out, and there was + only misery. + </p> + <p> + Yet MacIan had the strength to answer the question where Turnbull, taken + by surprise, had not the strength to ask it. + </p> + <p> + “They are right, they are right!” he cried. “O my God! they are right, + Turnbull. I ought to be here!” + </p> + <p> + He went on with shapeless fluency as if he no longer had the heart to + choose or check his speech. “I suppose I ought to have guessed long ago—all + my big dreams and schemes—and everyone being against us—but I + was stuck up, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me about it, really,” cried the atheist, and, faced with the + furnace of the other's pain, he did not notice that he spoke with the + affection of a father. + </p> + <p> + “I am mad, Turnbull,” said Evan, with a dead clearness of speech, and + leant back against the garden seat. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said the other, clutching at the obvious cue of benevolent + brutality, “this is one of your silly moods.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan shook his head. “I know enough about myself,” he said, “to allow + for any mood, though it opened heaven or hell. But to see things—to + see them walking solid in the sun—things that can't be there—real + mystics never do that, Turnbull.” + </p> + <p> + “What things?” asked the other, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + MacIan lowered his voice. “I saw <i>her</i>,” he said, “three minutes ago—walking + here in this hell yard.” + </p> + <p> + Between trying to look scornful and really looking startled, Turnbull's + face was confused enough to emit no speech, and Evan went on in monotonous + sincerity: + </p> + <p> + “I saw her walk behind those blessed trees against that holy sky of gold + as plain as I can see her whenever I shut my eyes. I did shut them, and + opened them again, and she was still there—that is, of course, she + wasn't—— She still had a little fur round her neck, but her + dress was a shade brighter than when I really saw her.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” cried Turnbull, rallying a hearty laugh, “the fancies + have really got hold of you. You mistook some other poor girl here for + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistook some other——” said MacIan, and words failed him + altogether. + </p> + <p> + They sat for some moments in the mellow silence of the evening garden, a + silence that was stifling for the sceptic, but utterly empty and final for + the man of faith. At last he broke out again with the words: “Well, + anyhow, if I'm mad, I'm glad I'm mad on that.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull murmured some clumsy deprecation, and sat stolidly smoking to + collect his thoughts; the next instant he had all his nerves engaged in + the mere effort to sit still. + </p> + <p> + Across the clear space of cold silver and a pale lemon sky which was left + by the gap in the ilex-trees there passed a slim, dark figure, a profile + and the poise of a dark head like a bird's, which really pinned him to his + seat with the point of coincidence. With an effort he got to his feet, and + said with a voice of affected insouciance: “By George! MacIan, she is + uncommonly like——” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried MacIan, with a leap of eagerness that was heart-breaking, + “do you see her, too?” And the blaze came back into the centre of his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull's tawny eyebrows were pulled together with a peculiar frown of + curiosity, and all at once he walked quickly across the lawn. MacIan sat + rigid, but peered after him with open and parched lips. He saw the sight + which either proved him sane or proved the whole universe half-witted; he + saw the man of flesh approach that beautiful phantom, saw their gestures + of recognition, and saw them against the sunset joining hands. + </p> + <p> + He could stand it no longer, but ran across to the path, turned the corner + and saw standing quite palpable in the evening sunlight, talking with a + casual grace to Turnbull, the face and figure which had filled his + midnights with frightfully vivid or desperately half-forgotten features. + She advanced quite pleasantly and coolly, and put out her hand. The moment + that he touched it he knew that he was sane even if the solar system was + crazy. + </p> + <p> + She was entirely elegant and unembarrassed. That is the awful thing about + women—they refuse to be emotional at emotional moments, upon some + such ludicrous pretext as there being someone else there. But MacIan was + in a condition of criticism much less than the average masculine one, + being in fact merely overturned by the rushing riddle of the events. + </p> + <p> + Evan does not know to this day what particular question he asked, but he + vividly remembers that she answered, and every line or fluctuation of her + face as she said it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't you know?” she said, smiling, and suddenly lifting her level + brown eyebrows. “Haven't you heard the news? I'm a lunatic.” + </p> + <p> + Then she added after a short pause, and with a sort of pride: “I've got a + certificate.” + </p> + <p> + Her manner, by the matchless social stoicism of her sex, was entirely + suited to a drawing-room, but Evan's reply fell somewhat far short of such + a standard, as he only said: “What the devil in hell does all this + nonsense mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said the young lady, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the unhappy young man, rather wildly, “but what + I mean is, why are you here in an asylum?” + </p> + <p> + The young woman broke again into one of the maddening and mysterious + laughs of femininity. Then she composed her features, and replied with + equal dignity: “Well, if it comes to that, why are you?” + </p> + <p> + The fact that Turnbull had strolled away and was investigating + rhododendrons may have been due to Evan's successful prayers to the other + world, or possibly to his own pretty successful experience of this one. + But though they two were as isolated as a new Adam and Eve in a pretty + ornamental Eden, the lady did not relax by an inch the rigour of her + badinage. + </p> + <p> + “I am locked up in the madhouse,” said Evan, with a sort of stiff pride, + “because I tried to keep my promise to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” answered the inexplicable lady, nodding with a perfectly + blazing smile, “and I am locked up because it was to me you promised.” + </p> + <p> + “It is outrageous!” cried Evan; “it is impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you can see my certificate if you like,” she replied with some + hauteur. + </p> + <p> + MacIan stared at her and then at his boots, and then at the sky and then + at her again. He was quite sure now that he himself was not mad, and the + fact rather added to his perplexity. + </p> + <p> + Then he drew nearer to her, and said in a dry and dreadful voice: “Oh, + don't condescend to play the fool with such a fool as me. Are you really + locked up here as a patient—because you helped us to escape?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, still smiling, but her steady voice had a shake in it. + </p> + <p> + Evan flung his big elbow across his forehead and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + The pure lemon of the sky faded into purer white as the great sunset + silently collapsed. The birds settled back into the trees; the moon began + to glow with its own light. Mr. James Turnbull continued his botanical + researches into the structure of the rhododendron. But the lady did not + move an inch until Evan had flung up his face again; and when he did he + saw by the last gleam of sunlight that it was not only his face that was + wet. + </p> + <p> + Mr. James Turnbull had all his life professed a profound interest in + physical science, and the phenomena of a good garden were really a + pleasure to him; but after three-quarters of an hour or so even the + apostle of science began to find rhododendrus a bore, and was somewhat + relieved when an unexpected development of events obliged him to transfer + his researches to the equally interesting subject of hollyhocks, which + grew some fifty feet farther along the path. The ostensible cause of his + removal was the unexpected reappearance of his two other acquaintances + walking and talking laboriously along the way, with the black head bent + close to the brown one. Even hollyhocks detained Turnbull but a short + time. Having rapidly absorbed all the important principles affecting the + growth of those vegetables, he jumped over a flower-bed and walked back + into the building. The other two came up along the slow course of the path + talking and talking. No one but God knows what they said (for they + certainly have forgotten), and if I remembered it I would not repeat it. + When they parted at the head of the walk she put out her hand again in the + same well-bred way, although it trembled; he seemed to restrain a gesture + as he let it fall. + </p> + <p> + “If it is really always to be like this,” he said, thickly, “it would not + matter if we were here for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “You tried to kill yourself four times for me,” she said, unsteadily, “and + I have been chained up as a madwoman for you. I really think that after + that——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Evan in a low voice, looking down. “After that we + belong to each other. We are sort of sold to each other—until the + stars fall.” Then he looked up suddenly, and said: “By the way, what is + your name?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Beatrice Drake,” she replied with complete gravity. “You can + see it on my certificate of lunacy.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. THE LAST PARLEY + </h2> + <p> + Turnbull walked away, wildly trying to explain to himself the presence of + two personal acquaintances so different as Vane and the girl. As he + skirted a low hedge of laurel, an enormously tall young man leapt over it, + stood in front of him, and almost fell on his neck as if seeking to + embrace him. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know me?” almost sobbed the young man, who was in the highest + spirits. “Ain't I written on your heart, old boy? I say, what did you do + with my yacht?” + </p> + <p> + “Take your arms off my neck,” said Turnbull, irritably. “Are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + The young man sat down on the gravel path and went into ecstasies of + laughter. “No, that's just the fun of it—I'm not mad,” he replied. + “They've shut me up in this place, and I'm not mad.” And he went off again + into mirth as innocent as wedding-bells. + </p> + <p> + Turnbull, whose powers of surprise were exhausted, rolled his round grey + eyes and said, “Mr. Wilkinson, I think,” because he could not think of + anything else to say. + </p> + <p> + The tall man sitting on the gravel bowed with urbanity, and said: “Quite + at your service. Not to be confused with the Wilkinsons of Cumberland; and + as I say, old boy, what have you done with my yacht? You see, they've + locked me up here—in this garden—and a yacht would be a sort + of occupation for an unmarried man.” + </p> + <p> + “I am really horribly sorry,” began Turnbull, in the last stage of bated + bewilderment and exasperation, “but really——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can see you can't have it on you at the moment,” said Mr. Wilkinson + with much intellectual magnanimity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the fact is——” began Turnbull again, and then the + phrase was frozen on his mouth, for round the corner came the goatlike + face and gleaming eye-glasses of Dr. Quayle. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear Mr. Wilkinson,” said the doctor, as if delighted at a + coincidence; “and Mr. Turnbull, too. Why, I want to speak to Mr. + Turnbull.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Turnbull made some movement rather of surrender than assent, and the + doctor caught it up exquisitely, showing even more of his two front teeth. + “I am sure Mr. Wilkinson will excuse us a moment.” And with flying + frock-coat he led Turnbull rapidly round the corner of a path. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” he said, in a quite affectionate manner, “I do not mind + telling you—you are such a very hopeful case—you understand so + well the scientific point of view; and I don't like to see you bothered by + the really hopeless cases. They are monotonous and maddening. The man you + have just been talking to, poor fellow, is one of the strongest cases of + pure <i>idee fixe</i> that we have. It's very sad, and I'm afraid utterly + incurable. He keeps on telling everybody”—and the doctor lowered his + voice confidentially—“he tells everybody that two people have taken + is yacht. His account of how he lost it is quite incoherent.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull stamped his foot on the gravel path, and called out: “Oh, I can't + stand this. Really——” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” said the psychologist, mournfully; “it is a most + melancholy case, and also fortunately a very rare one. It is so rare, in + fact, that in one classification of these maladies it is entered under a + heading by itself—Perdinavititis, mental inflammation creating the + impression that one has lost a ship. Really,” he added, with a kind of + half-embarrassed guilt, “it's rather a feather in my cap. I discovered the + only existing case of perdinavititis.” + </p> + <p> + “But this won't do, doctor,” said Turnbull, almost tearing his hair, “this + really won't do. The man really did lose a ship. Indeed, not to put too + fine a point on it, I took his ship.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Quayle swung round for an instant so that his silk-lined overcoat + rustled, and stared singularly at Turnbull. Then he said with hurried + amiability: “Why, of course you did. Quite so, quite so,” and with + courteous gestures went striding up the garden path. Under the first + laburnum-tree he stopped, however, and pulling out his pencil and notebook + wrote down feverishly: “Singular development in the Elenthero-maniac, + Turnbull. Sudden manifestation of Rapinavititis—the delusion that + one has stolen a ship. First case ever recorded.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull stood for an instant staggered into stillness. Then he ran raging + round the garden to find MacIan, just as a husband, even a bad husband, + will run raging to find his wife if he is full of a furious query. He + found MacIan stalking moodily about the half-lit garden, after his + extraordinary meeting with Beatrice. No one who saw his slouching stride + and sunken head could have known that his soul was in the seventh heaven + of ecstasy. He did not think; he did not even very definitely desire. He + merely wallowed in memories, chiefly in material memories; words said with + a certain cadence or trivial turns of the neck or wrist. Into the middle + of his stationary and senseless enjoyment were thrust abruptly the + projecting elbow and the projecting red beard of Turnbull. MacIan stepped + back a little, and the soul in his eyes came very slowly to its windows. + When James Turnbull had the glittering sword-point planted upon his breast + he was in far less danger. For three pulsating seconds after the + interruption MacIan was in a mood to have murdered his father. + </p> + <p> + And yet his whole emotional anger fell from him when he saw Turnbull's + face, in which the eyes seemed to be bursting from the head like bullets. + All the fire and fragrance even of young and honourable love faded for a + moment before that stiff agony of interrogation. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt, Turnbull?” he asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I am dying,” answered the other quite calmly. “I am in the quite literal + sense of the words dying to know something. I want to know what all this + can possibly mean.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan did not answer, and he continued with asperity: “You are still + thinking about that girl, but I tell you the whole thing is incredible. + She's not the only person here. I've met the fellow Wilkinson, whose yacht + we lost. I've met the very magistrate you were hauled up to when you broke + my window. What can it mean—meeting all these old people again? One + never meets such old friends again except in a dream.” + </p> + <p> + Then after a silence he cried with a rending sincerity: “Are you really + there, Evan? Have you ever been really there? Am I simply dreaming?” + </p> + <p> + MacIan had been listening with a living silence to every word, and now his + face flamed with one of his rare revelations of life. + </p> + <p> + “No, you good atheist,” he cried; “no, you clean, courteous, reverent, + pious old blasphemer. No, you are not dreaming—you are waking up.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “There are two states where one meets so many old friends,” said MacIan; + “one is a dream, the other is the end of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “And you say——” + </p> + <p> + “I say this is not a dream,” said Evan in a ringing voice. + </p> + <p> + “You really mean to suggest——” began Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent! or I shall say it all wrong,” said MacIan, breathing hard. + “It's hard to explain, anyhow. An apocalypse is the opposite of a dream. A + dream is falser than the outer life. But the end of the world is more + actual than the world it ends. I don't say this is really the end of the + world, but it's something like that—it's the end of something. All + the people are crowding into one corner. Everything is coming to a point.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the point?” asked Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “I can't see it,” said Evan; “it is too large and plain.” + </p> + <p> + Then after a silence he said: “I can't see it—and yet I will try to + describe it. Turnbull, three days ago I saw quite suddenly that our duel + was not right after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Three days ago!” repeated Turnbull. “When and why did this illumination + occur?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew I was not quite right,” answered Evan, “the moment I saw the round + eyes of that old man in the cell.” + </p> + <p> + “Old man in the cell!” repeated his wondering companion. “Do you mean the + poor old idiot who likes spikes to stick out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said MacIan, after a slight pause, “I mean the poor old idiot who + likes spikes to stick out. When I saw his eyes and heard his old croaking + accent, I knew that it would not really have been right to kill you. It + would have been a venial sin.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged,” said Turnbull, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “You must give me time,” said MacIan, quite patiently, “for I am trying to + tell the whole truth. I am trying to tell more of it than I know.” + </p> + <p> + “So you see I confess”—he went on with laborious distinctness—“I + confess that all the people who called our duel mad were right in a way. I + would confess it to old Cumberland Vane and his eye-glass. I would confess + it even to that old ass in brown flannel who talked to us about Love. Yes, + they are right in a way. I am a little mad.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and wiped his brow as if he were literally doing heavy labour. + Then he went on: + </p> + <p> + “I am a little mad; but, after all, it is only a little madness. When + hundreds of high-minded men had fought duels about a jostle with the elbow + or the ace of spades, the whole world need not have gone wild over my one + little wildness. Plenty of other people have killed themselves between + then and now. But all England has gone into captivity in order to take us + captive. All England has turned into a lunatic asylum in order to prove us + lunatics. Compared with the general public, I might positively be called + sane.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped again, and went on with the same air of travailing with the + truth: + </p> + <p> + “When I saw that, I saw everything; I saw the Church and the world. The + Church in its earthly action has really touched morbid things—tortures + and bleeding visions and blasts of extermination. The Church has had her + madnesses, and I am one of them. I am the massacre of St. Bartholomew. I + am the Inquisition of Spain. I do not say that we have never gone mad, but + I say that we are fit to act as keepers to our enemies. Massacre is wicked + even with a provocation, as in the Bartholomew. But your modern Nietzsche + will tell you that massacre would be glorious without a provocation. + Torture should be violently stopped, though the Church is doing it. But + your modern Tolstoy will tell you that it ought not to be violently + stopped whoever is doing it. In the long run, which is most mad—the + Church or the world? Which is madder, the Spanish priest who permitted + tyranny, or the Prussian sophist who admired it? Which is madder, the + Russian priest who discourages righteous rebellion, or the Russian + novelist who forbids it? That is the final and blasting test. The world + left to itself grows wilder than any creed. A few days ago you and I were + the maddest people in England. Now, by God! I believe we are the sanest. + That is the only real question—whether the Church is really madder + than the world. Let the rationalists run their own race, and let us see + where <i>they</i> end. If the world has some healthy balance other than + God, let the world find it. Does the world find it? Cut the world loose,” + he cried with a savage gesture. “Does the world stand on its own end? Does + it stand, or does it stagger?” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull remained silent, and MacIan said to him, looking once more at the + earth: “It staggers, Turnbull. It cannot stand by itself; you know it + cannot. It has been the sorrow of your life. Turnbull, this garden is not + a dream, but an apocalyptic fulfilment. This garden is the world gone + mad.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull did not move his head, and he had been listening all the time; + yet, somehow, the other knew that for the first time he was listening + seriously. + </p> + <p> + “The world has gone mad,” said MacIan, “and it has gone mad about Us. The + world takes the trouble to make a big mistake about every little mistake + made by the Church. That is why they have turned ten counties to a + madhouse; that is why crowds of kindly people are poured into this filthy + melting-pot. Now is the judgement of this world. The Prince of this World + is judged, and he is judged exactly because he is judging. There is at + last one simple solution to the quarrel between the ball and the cross——” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull for the first time started. + </p> + <p> + “The ball and——” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” asked MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “I had a dream,” said Turnbull, thickly and obscurely, “in which I saw the + cross struck crooked and the ball secure——” + </p> + <p> + “I had a dream,” said MacIan, “in which I saw the cross erect and the ball + invisible. They were both dreams from hell. There must be some round earth + to plant the cross upon. But here is the awful difference—that the + round world will not consent even to continue round. The astronomers are + always telling us that it is shaped like an orange, or like an egg, or + like a German sausage. They beat the old world about like a bladder and + thump it into a thousand shapeless shapes. Turnbull, we cannot trust the + ball to be always a ball; we cannot trust reason to be reasonable. In the + end the great terrestrial globe will go quite lop-sided, and only the + cross will stand upright.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, and then Turnbull said, hesitatingly: “Has it + occurred to you that since—since those two dreams, or whatever they + were——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” murmured MacIan. + </p> + <p> + “Since then,” went on Turnbull, in the same low voice, “since then we have + never even looked for our swords.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” answered Evan almost inaudibly. “We have found something + which we both hate more than we ever hated each other, and I think I know + its name.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull seemed to frown and flinch for a moment. “It does not much matter + what you call it,” he said, “so long as you keep out of its way.” + </p> + <p> + The bushes broke and snapped abruptly behind them, and a very tall figure + towered above Turnbull with an arrogant stoop and a projecting chin, a + chin of which the shape showed queerly even in its shadow upon the path. + </p> + <p> + “You see that is not so easy,” said MacIan between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + They looked up into the eyes of the Master, but looked only for a moment. + The eyes were full of a frozen and icy wrath, a kind of utterly heartless + hatred. His voice was for the first time devoid of irony. There was no + more sarcasm in it than there is in an iron club. + </p> + <p> + “You will be inside the building in three minutes,” he said, with + pulverizing precision, “or you will be fired on by the artillery at all + the windows. There is too much talking in this garden; we intend to close + it. You will be accommodated indoors.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said MacIan, with a long and satisfied sigh, “then I was right.” + </p> + <p> + And he turned his back and walked obediently towards the building. + Turnbull seemed to canvass for a few minutes the notion of knocking the + Master down, and then fell under the same almost fairy fatalism as his + companion. In some strange way it did seem that the more smoothly they + yielded, the more swiftly would events sweep on to some great collision. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. DIES IRAE + </h2> + <p> + As they advanced towards the asylum they looked up at its rows on rows of + windows, and understood the Master's material threat. By means of that + complex but concealed machinery which ran like a network of nerves over + the whole fabric, there had been shot out under every window-ledge rows + and rows of polished-steel cylinders, the cold miracles of modern gunnery. + They commanded the whole garden and the whole country-side, and could have + blown to pieces an army corps. + </p> + <p> + This silent declaration of war had evidently had its complete effect. As + MacIan and Turnbull walked steadily but slowly towards the entrance hall + of the institution, they could see that most, or at least many, of the + patients had already gathered there as well as the staff of doctors and + the whole regiment of keepers and assistants. But when they entered the + lamp-lit hall, and the high iron door was clashed to and locked behind + them, yet a new amazement leapt into their eyes, and the stalwart Turnbull + almost fell. For he saw a sight which was indeed, as MacIan had said—either + the Day of Judgement or a dream. + </p> + <p> + Within a few feet of him at one corner of the square of standing people + stood the girl he had known in Jersey, Madeleine Durand. She looked + straight at him with a steady smile which lit up the scene of darkness and + unreason like the light of some honest fireside. Her square face and + throat were thrown back, as her habit was, and there was something almost + sleepy in the geniality of her eyes. He saw her first, and for a few + seconds saw her only; then the outer edge of his eyesight took in all the + other staring faces, and he saw all the faces he had ever seen for weeks + and months past. There was the Tolstoyan in Jaeger flannel, with the + yellow beard that went backward and the foolish nose and eyes that went + forward, with the curiosity of a crank. He was talking eagerly to Mr. + Gordon, the corpulent Jew shopkeeper whom they had once gagged in his own + shop. There was the tipsy old Hertfordshire rustic; he was talking + energetically to himself. There was not only Mr. Vane the magistrate, but + the clerk of Mr. Vane, the magistrate. There was not only Miss Drake of + the motor-car, but also Miss Drake's chauffeur. Nothing wild or unfamiliar + could have produced upon Turnbull such a nightmare impression as that ring + of familiar faces. Yet he had one intellectual shock which was greater + than all the others. He stepped impulsively forward towards Madeleine, and + then wavered with a kind of wild humility. As he did so he caught sight of + another square face behind Madeleine's, a face with long grey whiskers and + an austere stare. It was old Durand, the girls' father; and when Turnbull + saw him he saw the last and worst marvel of that monstrous night. He + remembered Durand; he remembered his monotonous, everlasting lucidity, his + stupefyingly sensible views of everything, his colossal contentment with + truisms merely because they were true. “Confound it all!” cried Turnbull + to himself, “if <i>he</i> is in the asylum, there can't be anyone + outside.” He drew nearer to Madeleine, but still doubtfully and all the + more so because she still smiled at him. MacIan had already gone across to + Beatrice with an air of fright. + </p> + <p> + Then all these bewildered but partly amicable recognitions were cloven by + a cruel voice which always made all human blood turn bitter. The Master + was standing in the middle of the room surveying the scene like a great + artist looking at a completed picture. Handsome as he looked, they had + never seen so clearly what was really hateful in his face; and even then + they could only express it by saying that the arched brows and the long + emphatic chin gave it always a look of being lit from below, like the face + of some infernal actor. + </p> + <p> + “This is indeed a cosy party,” he said, with glittering eyes. + </p> + <p> + The Master evidently meant to say more, but before he could say anything + M. Durand had stepped right up to him and was speaking. + </p> + <p> + He was speaking exactly as a French bourgeois speaks to the manager of a + restaurant. That is, he spoke with rattling and breathless rapidity, but + with no incoherence, and therefore with no emotion. It was a steady, + monotonous vivacity, which came not seemingly from passion, but merely + from the reason having been sent off at a gallop. He was saying something + like this: + </p> + <p> + “You refuse me my half-bottle of Medoc, the drink the most wholesome and + the most customary. You refuse me the company and obedience of my + daughter, which Nature herself indicates. You refuse me the beef and + mutton, without pretence that it is a fast of the Church. You now forbid + me the promenade, a thing necessary to a person of my age. It is useless + to tell me that you do all this by law. Law rests upon the social + contract. If the citizen finds himself despoiled of such pleasures and + powers as he would have had even in the savage state, the social contract + is annulled.” + </p> + <p> + “It's no good chattering away, Monsieur,” said Hutton, for the Master was + silent. “The place is covered with machine-guns. We've got to obey our + orders, and so have you.” + </p> + <p> + “The machinery is of the most perfect,” assented Durand, somewhat + irrelevantly; “worked by petroleum, I believe. I only ask you to admit + that if such things fall below the comfort of barbarism, the social + contract is annulled. It is a pretty little point of theory.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I dare say,” said Hutton. + </p> + <p> + Durand bowed quite civilly and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “A cosy party,” resumed the Master, scornfully, “and yet I believe some of + you are in doubt about how we all came together. I will explain it, ladies + and gentlemen; I will explain everything. To whom shall I specially + address myself? To Mr. James Turnbull. He has a scientific mind.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull seemed to choke with sudden protest. The Master seemed only to + cough out of pure politeness and proceeded: “Mr. Turnbull will agree with + me,” he said, “when I say that we long felt in scientific circles that + great harm was done by such a legend as that of the Crucifixion.” + </p> + <p> + Turnbull growled something which was presumably assent. + </p> + <p> + The Master went on smoothly: “It was in vain for us to urge that the + incident was irrelevant; that there were many such fanatics, many such + executions. We were forced to take the thing thoroughly in hand, to + investigate it in the spirit of scientific history, and with the + assistance of Mr. Turnbull and others we were happy in being able to + announce that this alleged Crucifixion never occurred at all.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan lifted his head and looked at the Master steadily, but Turnbull did + not look up. + </p> + <p> + “This, we found, was the only way with all superstitions,” continued the + speaker; “it was necessary to deny them historically, and we have done it + with great success in the case of miracles and such things. Now within our + own time there arose an unfortunate fuss which threatened (as Mr. Turnbull + would say) to galvanize the corpse of Christianity into a fictitious life—the + alleged case of a Highland eccentric who wanted to fight for the Virgin.” + </p> + <p> + MacIan, quite white, made a step forward, but the speaker did not alter + his easy attitude or his flow of words. “Again we urged that this duel was + not to be admired, that it was a mere brawl, but the people were ignorant + and romantic. There were signs of treating this alleged Highlander and his + alleged opponent as heroes. We tried all other means of arresting this + reactionary hero worship. Working men who betted on the duel were + imprisoned for gambling. Working men who drank the health of a duellist + were imprisoned for drunkenness. But the popular excitement about the + alleged duel continued, and we had to fall back on our old historical + method. We investigated, on scientific principles, the story of MacIan's + challenge, and we are happy to be able to inform you that the whole story + of the attempted duel is a fable. There never was any challenge. There + never was any man named MacIan. It is a melodramatic myth, like Calvary.” + </p> + <p> + Not a soul moved save Turnbull, who lifted his head; yet there was the + sense of a silent explosion. + </p> + <p> + “The whole story of the MacIan challenge,” went on the Master, beaming at + them all with a sinister benignity, “has been found to originate in the + obsessions of a few pathological types, who are now all fortunately in our + care. There is, for instance, a person here of the name of Gordon, + formerly the keeper of a curiosity shop. He is a victim of the disease + called Vinculomania—the impression that one has been bound or tied + up. We have also a case of Fugacity (Mr. Whimpey), who imagines that he + was chased by two men.” + </p> + <p> + The indignant faces of the Jew shopkeeper and the Magdalen Don started out + of the crowd in their indignation, but the speaker continued: + </p> + <p> + “One poor woman we have with us,” he said, in a compassionate voice, + “believes she was in a motor-car with two such men; this is the well-known + illusion of speed on which I need not dwell. Another wretched woman has + the simple egotistic mania that she has caused the duel. Madeleine Durand + actually professes to have been the subject of the fight between MacIan + and his enemy, a fight which, if it occurred at all, certainly began long + before. But it never occurred at all. We have taken in hand every person + who professed to have seen such a thing, and proved them all to be + unbalanced. That is why they are here.” + </p> + <p> + The Master looked round the room, just showing his perfect teeth with the + perfection of artistic cruelty, exalted for a moment in the enormous + simplicity of his success, and then walked across the hall and vanished + through an inner door. His two lieutenants, Quayle and Hutton, were left + standing at the head of the great army of servants and keepers. + </p> + <p> + “I hope we shall have no more trouble,” said Dr. Quayle pleasantly enough, + and addressing Turnbull, who was leaning heavily upon the back of a chair. + </p> + <p> + Still looking down, Turnbull lifted the chair an inch or two from the + ground. Then he suddenly swung it above his head and sent it at the + inquiring doctor with an awful crash which sent one of its wooden legs + loose along the floor and crammed the doctor gasping into a corner. MacIan + gave a great shout, snatched up the loose chair-leg, and, rushing on the + other doctor, felled him with a blow. Twenty attendants rushed to capture + the rebels; MacIan flung back three of them and Turnbull went over on top + of one, when from behind them all came a shriek as of something quite + fresh and frightful. + </p> + <p> + Two of the three passages leading out of the hall were choked with blue + smoke. Another instant and the hall was full of the fog of it, and red + sparks began to swarm like scarlet bees. + </p> + <p> + “The place is on fire!” cried Quayle with a scream of indecent terror. + “Oh, who can have done it? How can it have happened?” + </p> + <p> + A light had come into Turnbull's eyes. “How did the French Revolution + happen?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how should I know!” wailed the other. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will tell you,” said Turnbull; “it happened because some people + fancied that a French grocer was as respectable as he looked.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke, as if by confirmation, old Mr. Durand re-entered the + smoky room quite placidly, wiping the petroleum from his hands with a + handkerchief. He had set fire to the building in accordance with the + strict principles of the social contract. + </p> + <p> + But MacIan had taken a stride forward and stood there shaken and terrible. + “Now,” he cried, panting, “now is the judgement of the world. The doctors + will leave this place; the keepers will leave this place. They will leave + us in charge of the machinery and the machine-guns at the windows. But we, + the lunatics, will wait to be burned alive if only we may see them go.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know we shall go?” asked Hutton, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “You believe nothing,” said MacIan, simply, “and you are insupportably + afraid of death.” + </p> + <p> + “So this is suicide,” sneered the doctor; “a somewhat doubtful sign of + sanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all—this is vengeance,” answered Turnbull, quite calmly; “a + thing which is completely healthy.” + </p> + <p> + “You think the doctors will go,” said Hutton, savagely. + </p> + <p> + “The keepers have gone already,” said Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + Even as they spoke the main doors were burst open in mere brutal panic, + and all the officers and subordinates of the asylum rushed away across the + garden pursued by the smoke. But among the ticketed maniacs not a man or + woman moved. + </p> + <p> + “We hate dying,” said Turnbull, with composure, “but we hate you even + more. This is a successful revolution.” + </p> + <p> + In the roof above their heads a panel shot back, showing a strip of + star-lit sky and a huge thing made of white metal, with the shape and fins + of a fish, swinging as if at anchor. At the same moment a steel ladder + slid down from the opening and struck the floor, and the cleft chin of the + mysterious Master was thrust into the opening. “Quayle, Hutton,” he said, + “you will escape with me.” And they went up the ladder like automata of + lead. + </p> + <p> + Long after they had clambered into the car, the creature with the cloven + face continued to leer down upon the smoke-stung crowd below. Then at last + he said in a silken voice and with a smile of final satisfaction: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, I fear I am very absent minded. There is one man specially + whom, somehow, I always forget. I always leave him lying about. Once I + mislaid him on the Cross of St. Paul's. So silly of me; and now I've + forgotten him in one of those little cells where your fire is burning. + Very unfortunate—especially for him.” And nodding genially, he + climbed into his flying ship. + </p> + <p> + MacIan stood motionless for two minutes, and then rushed down one of the + suffocating corridors till he found the flames. Turnbull looked once at + Madeleine, and followed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * +</pre> + <p> + MacIan, with singed hair, smoking garments, and smarting hands and face, + had already broken far enough through the first barriers of burning timber + to come within cry of the cells he had once known. It was impossible, + however, to see the spot where the old man lay dead or alive; not now + through darkness, but through scorching and aching light. The site of the + old half-wit's cell was now the heart of a standing forest of fire—the + flames as thick and yellow as a cornfield. Their incessant shrieking and + crackling was like a mob shouting against an orator. Yet through all that + deafening density MacIan thought he heard a small and separate sound. When + he heard it he rushed forward as if to plunge into that furnace, but + Turnbull arrested him by an elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go!” cried Evan, in agony; “it's the poor old beggar's voice—he's + still alive, and shouting for help.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” said Turnbull, and lifted one finger from his clenched hand. + </p> + <p> + “Or else he is shrieking with pain,” protested MacIan. “I will not endure + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” repeated Turnbull, grimly. “Did you ever hear anyone shout for + help or shriek with pain in that voice?” + </p> + <p> + The small shrill sounds which came through the crash of the conflagration + were indeed of an odd sort, and MacIan turned a face of puzzled inquiry to + his companion. + </p> + <p> + “He is singing,” said Turnbull, simply. + </p> + <p> + A remaining rampart fell, crushing the fire, and through the diminished + din of it the voice of the little old lunatic came clearer. In the heart + of that white-hot hell he was singing like a bird. What he was singing it + was not very easy to follow, but it seemed to be something about playing + in the golden hay. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” cried Turnbull, bitterly, “there seem to be some advantages + in really being an idiot.” Then advancing to the fringe of the fire he + called out on chance to the invisible singer: “Can you come out? Are you + cut off?” + </p> + <p> + “God help us all!” said MacIan, with a shudder; “he's laughing now.” + </p> + <p> + At whatever stage of being burned alive the invisible now found himself, + he was now shaking out peals of silvery and hilarious laughter. As he + listened, MacIan's two eyes began to glow, as if a strange thought had + come into his head. + </p> + <p> + “Fool, come out and save yourself!” shouted Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “No, by Heaven! that is not the way,” cried Evan, suddenly. “Father,” he + shouted, “come out and save us all!” + </p> + <p> + The fire, though it had dropped in one or two places, was, upon the whole, + higher and more unconquerable than ever. Separate tall flames shot up and + spread out above them like the fiery cloisters of some infernal cathedral, + or like a grove of red tropical trees in the garden of the devil. Higher + yet in the purple hollow of the night the topmost flames leapt again and + again fruitlessly at the stars, like golden dragons chained but + struggling. The towers and domes of the oppressive smoke seemed high and + far enough to drown distant planets in a London fog. But if we exhausted + all frantic similes for that frantic scene, the main impression about the + fire would still be its ranked upstanding rigidity and a sort of roaring + stillness. It was literally a wall of fire. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” cried MacIan, once more, “come out of it and save us all!” + Turnbull was staring at him as he cried. + </p> + <p> + The tall and steady forest of fire must have been already a portent + visible to the whole circle of land and sea. The red flush of it lit up + the long sides of white ships far out in the German Ocean, and picked out + like piercing rubies the windows in the villages on the distant heights. + If any villagers or sailors were looking towards it they must have seen a + strange sight as MacIan cried out for the third time. + </p> + <p> + That forest of fire wavered, and was cloven in the centre; and then the + whole of one half of it leaned one way as a cornfield leans all one way + under the load of the wind. Indeed, it looked as if a great wind had + sprung up and driven the great fire aslant. Its smoke was no longer sent + up to choke the stars, but was trailed and dragged across county after + county like one dreadful banner of defeat. + </p> + <p> + But it was not the wind; or, if it was the wind, it was two winds blowing + in opposite directions. For while one half of the huge fire sloped one way + towards the inland heights, the other half, at exactly the same angle, + sloped out eastward towards the sea. So that earth and ocean could behold, + where there had been a mere fiery mass, a thing divided like a V—a + cloven tongue of flame. But if it were a prodigy for those distant, it was + something beyond speech for those quite near. As the echoes of Evan's last + appeal rang and died in the universal uproar, the fiery vault over his + head opened down the middle, and, reeling back in two great golden + billows, hung on each side as huge and harmless as two sloping hills lie + on each side of a valley. Down the centre of this trough, or chasm, a + little path ran, cleared of all but ashes, and down this little path was + walking a little old man singing as if he were alone in a wood in spring. + </p> + <p> + When James Turnbull saw this he suddenly put out a hand and seemed to + support himself on the strong shoulder of Madeleine Durand. Then after a + moment's hesitation he put his other hand on the shoulder of MacIan. His + blue eyes looked extraordinarily brilliant and beautiful. In many + sceptical papers and magazines afterwards he was sadly or sternly rebuked + for having abandoned the certainties of materialism. All his life up to + that moment he had been most honestly certain that materialism was a fact. + But he was unlike the writers in the magazines precisely in this—that + he preferred a fact even to materialism. + </p> + <p> + As the little singing figure came nearer and nearer, Evan fell on his + knees, and after an instant Beatrice followed; then Madeleine fell on her + knees, and after a longer instant Turnbull followed. Then the little old + man went past them singing down that corridor of flames. They had not + looked at his face. + </p> + <p> + When he had passed they looked up. While the first light of the fire had + shot east and west, painting the sides of ships with fire-light or + striking red sparks out of windowed houses, it had not hitherto struck + upward, for there was above it the ponderous and rococo cavern of its own + monstrous coloured smoke. But now the fire was turned to left and right + like a woman's hair parted in the middle, and now the shafts of its light + could shoot up into empty heavens and strike anything, either bird or + cloud. But it struck something that was neither cloud nor bird. Far, far + away up in those huge hollows of space something was flying swiftly and + shining brightly, something that shone too bright and flew too fast to be + any of the fowls of the air, though the red light lit it from underneath + like the breast of a bird. Everyone knew it was a flying ship, and + everyone knew whose. + </p> + <p> + As they stared upward the little speck of light seemed slightly tilted, + and two black dots dropped from the edge of it. All the eager, upturned + faces watched the two dots as they grew bigger and bigger in their + downward rush. Then someone screamed, and no one looked up any more. For + the two bodies, larger every second flying, spread out and sprawling in + the fire-light, were the dead bodies of the two doctors whom Professor + Lucifer had carried with him—the weak and sneering Quayle, the cold + and clumsy Hutton. They went with a crash into the thick of the fire. + </p> + <p> + “They are gone!” screamed Beatrice, hiding her head. “O God! The are + lost!” + </p> + <p> + Evan put his arm about her, and remembered his own vision. + </p> + <p> + “No, they are not lost,” he said. “They are saved. He has taken away no + souls with him, after all.” + </p> + <p> + He looked vaguely about at the fire that was already fading, and there + among the ashes lay two shining things that had survived the fire, his + sword and Turnbull's, fallen haphazard in the pattern of a cross. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Ball and The Cross, by G.K. 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