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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:40 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:40 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1202-h/1202-h.htm b/1202-h/1202-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..63461e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/1202-h/1202-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6869 @@ +<?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> + Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + </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; } + .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> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1202 ***</div> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + TALES OF UNREST + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Joseph Conrad + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + “Be it thy course to being giddy minds With foreign quarrels.” —SHAKESPEARE + </h3> + <h4> + <br /> <br /> <b>TO ADOLF P. KRIEGER FOR THE SAKE OF OLD DAYS</b> <br /> + <br /> + </h4> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> AUTHOR’S NOTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> KARAIN, A MEMORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE IDIOTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE RETURN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE LAGOON </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + AUTHOR’S NOTE + </h2> + <p> + Of the five stories in this volume, “The Lagoon,” the last in order, is + the earliest in date. It is the first short story I ever wrote and marks, + in a manner of speaking, the end of my first phase, the Malayan phase with + its special subject and its verbal suggestions. Conceived in the same mood + which produced “Almayer’s Folly” and “An Outcast of the Islands,” it is + told in the same breath (with what was left of it, that is, after the end + of “An Outcast”), seen with the same vision, rendered in the same method—if + such a thing as method did exist then in my conscious relation to this new + adventure of writing for print. I doubt it very much. One does one’s work + first and theorises about it afterwards. It is a very amusing and + egotistical occupation of no use whatever to any one and just as likely as + not to lead to false conclusions. + </p> + <p> + Anybody can see that between the last paragraph of “An Outcast” and the + first of “The Lagoon” there has been no change of pen, figuratively + speaking. It happened also to be literally true. It was the same pen: a + common steel pen. Having been charged with a certain lack of emotional + faculty I am glad to be able to say that on one occasion at least I did + give way to a sentimental impulse. I thought the pen had been a good pen + and that it had done enough for me, and so, with the idea of keeping it + for a sort of memento on which I could look later with tender eyes, I put + it into my waistcoat pocket. Afterwards it used to turn up in all sorts of + places—at the bottom of small drawers, among my studs in cardboard + boxes—till at last it found permanent rest in a large wooden bowl + containing some loose keys, bits of sealing wax, bits of string, small + broken chains, a few buttons, and similar minute wreckage that washes out + of a man’s life into such receptacles. I would catch sight of it from time + to time with a distinct feeling of satisfaction till, one day, I perceived + with horror that there were two old pens in there. How the other pen found + its way into the bowl instead of the fireplace or wastepaper basket I + can’t imagine, but there the two were, lying side by side, both encrusted + with ink and completely undistinguishable from each other. It was very + distressing, but being determined not to share my sentiment between two + pens or run the risk of sentimentalising over a mere stranger, I threw + them both out of the window into a flower bed—which strikes me now + as a poetical grave for the remnants of one’s past. + </p> + <p> + But the tale remained. It was first fixed in print in the “Cornhill + Magazine”, being my first appearance in a serial of any kind; and I have + lived long enough to see it guyed most agreeably by Mr. Max Beerbohm in a + volume of parodies entitled “A Christmas Garland,” where I found myself in + very good company. I was immensely gratified. I began to believe in my + public existence. I have much to thank “The Lagoon” for. + </p> + <p> + My next effort in short-story writing was a departure—I mean a + departure from the Malay Archipelago. Without premeditation, without + sorrow, without rejoicing, and almost without noticing it, I stepped into + the very different atmosphere of “An Outpost of Progress.” I found there a + different moral attitude. I seemed able to capture new reactions, new + suggestions, and even new rhythms for my paragraphs. For a moment I + fancied myself a new man—a most exciting illusion. It clung to me + for some time, monstrous, half conviction and half hope as to its body, + with an iridescent tail of dreams and with a changeable head like a + plastic mask. It was only later that I perceived that in common with the + rest of men nothing could deliver me from my fatal consistency. We cannot + escape from ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “An Outpost of Progress” is the lightest part of the loot I carried off + from Central Africa, the main portion being of course “The Heart of + Darkness.” Other men have found a lot of quite different things there and + I have the comfortable conviction that what I took would not have been of + much use to anybody else. And it must be said that it was but a very small + amount of plunder. All of it could go into one’s breast pocket when folded + neatly. As for the story itself it is true enough in its essentials. The + sustained invention of a really telling lie demands a talent which I do + not possess. + </p> + <p> + “The Idiots” is such an obviously derivative piece of work that it is + impossible for me to say anything about it here. The suggestion of it was + not mental but visual: the actual idiots. It was after an interval of long + groping amongst vague impulses and hesitations which ended in the + production of “The Nigger” that I turned to my third short story in the + order of time, the first in this volume: “Karain: A Memory.” + </p> + <p> + Reading it after many years “Karain” produced on me the effect of + something seen through a pair of glasses from a rather advantageous + position. In that story I had not gone back to the Archipelago, I had only + turned for another look at it. I admit that I was absorbed by the distant + view, so absorbed that I didn’t notice then that the motif of the story is + almost identical with the motif of “The Lagoon.” However, the idea at the + back is very different; but the story is mainly made memorable to me by + the fact that it was my first contribution to “Blackwood’s Magazine” and + that it led to my personal acquaintance with Mr. William Blackwood whose + guarded appreciation I felt nevertheless to be genuine, and prized + accordingly. “Karain” was begun on a sudden impulse only three days after + I wrote the last line of “The Nigger,” and the recollection of its + difficulties is mixed up with the worries of the unfinished “Return,” the + last pages of which I took up again at the time; the only instance in my + life when I made an attempt to write with both hands at once as it were. + </p> + <p> + Indeed my innermost feeling, now, is that “The Return” is a left-handed + production. Looking through that story lately I had the material + impression of sitting under a large and expensive umbrella in the loud + drumming of a heavy rain-shower. It was very distracting. In the general + uproar one could hear every individual drop strike on the stout and + distended silk. Mentally, the reading rendered me dumb for the remainder + of the day, not exactly with astonishment but with a sort of dismal + wonder. I don’t want to talk disrespectfully of any pages of mine. + Psychologically there were no doubt good reasons for my attempt; and it + was worth while, if only to see of what excesses I was capable in that + sort of virtuosity. In this connection I should like to confess my + surprise on finding that notwithstanding all its apparatus of analysis the + story consists for the most part of physical impressions; impressions of + sound and sight, railway station, streets, a trotting horse, reflections + in mirrors and so on, rendered as if for their own sake and combined with + a sublimated description of a desirable middle-class town-residence which + somehow manages to produce a sinister effect. For the rest any kind word + about “The Return” (and there have been such words said at different + times) awakens in me the liveliest gratitude, for I know how much the + writing of that fantasy has cost me in sheer toil, in temper, and in + disillusion. + </p> + <p> + J. C. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h1> + TALES OF UNREST + </h1> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + KARAIN, A MEMORY + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + We knew him in those unprotected days when we were content to hold in our + hands our lives and our property. None of us, I believe, has any property + now, and I hear that many, negligently, have lost their lives; but I am + sure that the few who survive are not yet so dim-eyed as to miss in the + befogged respectability of their newspapers the intelligence of various + native risings in the Eastern Archipelago. Sunshine gleams between the + lines of those short paragraphs—sunshine and the glitter of the sea. + A strange name wakes up memories; the printed words scent the smoky + atmosphere of to-day faintly, with the subtle and penetrating perfume as + of land breezes breathing through the starlight of bygone nights; a signal + fire gleams like a jewel on the high brow of a sombre cliff; great trees, + the advanced sentries of immense forests, stand watchful and still over + sleeping stretches of open water; a line of white surf thunders on an + empty beach, the shallow water foams on the reefs; and green islets + scattered through the calm of noonday lie upon the level of a polished + sea, like a handful of emeralds on a buckler of steel. + </p> + <p> + There are faces too—faces dark, truculent, and smiling; the frank + audacious faces of men barefooted, well armed and noiseless. They thronged + the narrow length of our schooner’s decks with their ornamented and + barbarous crowd, with the variegated colours of checkered sarongs, red + turbans, white jackets, embroideries; with the gleam of scabbards, gold + rings, charms, armlets, lance blades, and jewelled handles of their + weapons. They had an independent bearing, resolute eyes, a restrained + manner; and we seem yet to hear their soft voices speaking of battles, + travels, and escapes; boasting with composure, joking quietly; sometimes + in well-bred murmurs extolling their own valour, our generosity; or + celebrating with loyal enthusiasm the virtues of their ruler. We remember + the faces, the eyes, the voices, we see again the gleam of silk and metal; + the murmuring stir of that crowd, brilliant, festive, and martial; and we + seem to feel the touch of friendly brown hands that, after one short + grasp, return to rest on a chased hilt. They were Karain’s people—a + devoted following. Their movements hung on his lips; they read their + thoughts in his eyes; he murmured to them nonchalantly of life and death, + and they accepted his words humbly, like gifts of fate. They were all free + men, and when speaking to him said, “Your slave.” On his passage voices + died out as though he had walked guarded by silence; awed whispers + followed him. They called him their war-chief. He was the ruler of three + villages on a narrow plain; the master of an insignificant foothold on the + earth—of a conquered foothold that, shaped like a young moon, lay + ignored between the hills and the sea. + </p> + <p> + From the deck of our schooner, anchored in the middle of the bay, he + indicated by a theatrical sweep of his arm along the jagged outline of the + hills the whole of his domain; and the ample movement seemed to drive back + its limits, augmenting it suddenly into something so immense and vague + that for a moment it appeared to be bounded only by the sky. And really, + looking at that place, landlocked from the sea and shut off from the land + by the precipitous slopes of mountains, it was difficult to believe in the + existence of any neighbourhood. It was still, complete, unknown, and full + of a life that went on stealthily with a troubling effect of solitude; of + a life that seemed unaccountably empty of anything that would stir the + thought, touch the heart, give a hint of the ominous sequence of days. It + appeared to us a land without memories, regrets, and hopes; a land where + nothing could survive the coming of the night, and where each sunrise, + like a dazzling act of special creation, was disconnected from the eve and + the morrow. + </p> + <p> + Karain swept his hand over it. “All mine!” He struck the deck with his + long staff; the gold head flashed like a falling star; very close behind + him a silent old fellow in a richly embroidered black jacket alone of all + the Malays around did not follow the masterful gesture with a look. He did + not even lift his eyelids. He bowed his head behind his master, and + without stirring held hilt up over his right shoulder a long blade in a + silver scabbard. He was there on duty, but without curiosity, and seemed + weary, not with age, but with the possession of a burdensome secret of + existence. Karain, heavy and proud, had a lofty pose and breathed calmly. + It was our first visit, and we looked about curiously. + </p> + <p> + The bay was like a bottomless pit of intense light. The circular sheet of + water reflected a luminous sky, and the shores enclosing it made an opaque + ring of earth floating in an emptiness of transparent blue. The hills, + purple and arid, stood out heavily on the sky: their summits seemed to + fade into a coloured tremble as of ascending vapour; their steep sides + were streaked with the green of narrow ravines; at their foot lay + rice-fields, plantain-patches, yellow sands. A torrent wound about like a + dropped thread. Clumps of fruit-trees marked the villages; slim palms put + their nodding heads together above the low houses; dried palm-leaf roofs + shone afar, like roofs of gold, behind the dark colonnades of tree-trunks; + figures passed vivid and vanishing; the smoke of fires stood upright above + the masses of flowering bushes; bamboo fences glittered, running away in + broken lines between the fields. A sudden cry on the shore sounded + plaintive in the distance, and ceased abruptly, as if stifled in the + downpour of sunshine. A puff of breeze made a flash of darkness on the + smooth water, touched our faces, and became forgotten. Nothing moved. The + sun blazed down into a shadowless hollow of colours and stillness. + </p> + <p> + It was the stage where, dressed splendidly for his part, he strutted, + incomparably dignified, made important by the power he had to awaken an + absurd expectation of something heroic going to take place—a burst + of action or song—upon the vibrating tone of a wonderful sunshine. + He was ornate and disturbing, for one could not imagine what depth of + horrible void such an elaborate front could be worthy to hide. He was not + masked—there was too much life in him, and a mask is only a lifeless + thing; but he presented himself essentially as an actor, as a human being + aggressively disguised. His smallest acts were prepared and unexpected, + his speeches grave, his sentences ominous like hints and complicated like + arabesques. He was treated with a solemn respect accorded in the + irreverent West only to the monarchs of the stage, and he accepted the + profound homage with a sustained dignity seen nowhere else but behind the + footlights and in the condensed falseness of some grossly tragic + situation. It was almost impossible to remember who he was—only a + petty chief of a conveniently isolated corner of Mindanao, where we could + in comparative safety break the law against the traffic in firearms and + ammunition with the natives. What would happen should one of the moribund + Spanish gun-boats be suddenly galvanized into a flicker of active life did + not trouble us, once we were inside the bay—so completely did it + appear out of the reach of a meddling world; and besides, in those days we + were imaginative enough to look with a kind of joyous equanimity on any + chance there was of being quietly hanged somewhere out of the way of + diplomatic remonstrance. As to Karain, nothing could happen to him unless + what happens to all—failure and death; but his quality was to appear + clothed in the illusion of unavoidable success. He seemed too effective, + too necessary there, too much of an essential condition for the existence + of his land and his people, to be destroyed by anything short of an + earthquake. He summed up his race, his country, the elemental force of + ardent life, of tropical nature. He had its luxuriant strength, its + fascination; and, like it, he carried the seed of peril within. + </p> + <p> + In many successive visits we came to know his stage well—the purple + semicircle of hills, the slim trees leaning over houses, the yellow sands, + the streaming green of ravines. All that had the crude and blended + colouring, the appropriateness almost excessive, the suspicious immobility + of a painted scene; and it enclosed so perfectly the accomplished acting + of his amazing pretences that the rest of the world seemed shut out + forever from the gorgeous spectacle. There could be nothing outside. It + was as if the earth had gone on spinning, and had left that crumb of its + surface alone in space. He appeared utterly cut off from everything but + the sunshine, and that even seemed to be made for him alone. Once when + asked what was on the other side of the hills, he said, with a meaning + smile, “Friends and enemies—many enemies; else why should I buy your + rifles and powder?” He was always like this—word-perfect in his + part, playing up faithfully to the mysteries and certitudes of his + surroundings. “Friends and enemies”—nothing else. It was impalpable + and vast. The earth had indeed rolled away from under his land, and he, + with his handful of people, stood surrounded by a silent tumult as of + contending shades. Certainly no sound came from outside. “Friends and + enemies!” He might have added, “and memories,” at least as far as he + himself was concerned; but he neglected to make that point then. It made + itself later on, though; but it was after the daily performance—in + the wings, so to speak, and with the lights out. Meantime he filled the + stage with barbarous dignity. Some ten years ago he had led his people—a + scratch lot of wandering Bugis—to the conquest of the bay, and now + in his august care they had forgotten all the past, and had lost all + concern for the future. He gave them wisdom, advice, reward, punishment, + life or death, with the same serenity of attitude and voice. He understood + irrigation and the art of war—the qualities of weapons and the craft + of boat-building. He could conceal his heart; had more endurance; he could + swim longer, and steer a canoe better than any of his people; he could + shoot straighter, and negotiate more tortuously than any man of his race I + knew. He was an adventurer of the sea, an outcast, a ruler—and my + very good friend. I wish him a quick death in a stand-up fight, a death in + sunshine; for he had known remorse and power, and no man can demand more + from life. Day after day he appeared before us, incomparably faithful to + the illusions of the stage, and at sunset the night descended upon him + quickly, like a falling curtain. The seamed hills became black shadows + towering high upon a clear sky; above them the glittering confusion of + stars resembled a mad turmoil stilled by a gesture; sounds ceased, men + slept, forms vanished—and the reality of the universe alone remained—a + marvellous thing of darkness and glimmers. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + But it was at night that he talked openly, forgetting the exactions of his + stage. In the daytime there were affairs to be discussed in state. There + were at first between him and me his own splendour, my shabby suspicions, + and the scenic landscape that intruded upon the reality of our lives by + its motionless fantasy of outline and colour. His followers thronged round + him; above his head the broad blades of their spears made a spiked halo of + iron points, and they hedged him from humanity by the shimmer of silks, + the gleam of weapons, the excited and respectful hum of eager voices. + Before sunset he would take leave with ceremony, and go off sitting under + a red umbrella, and escorted by a score of boats. All the paddles flashed + and struck together with a mighty splash that reverberated loudly in the + monumental amphitheatre of hills. A broad stream of dazzling foam trailed + behind the flotilla. The canoes appeared very black on the white hiss of + water; turbaned heads swayed back and forth; a multitude of arms in + crimson and yellow rose and fell with one movement; the spearmen upright + in the bows of canoes had variegated sarongs and gleaming shoulders like + bronze statues; the muttered strophes of the paddlers’ song ended + periodically in a plaintive shout. They diminished in the distance; the + song ceased; they swarmed on the beach in the long shadows of the western + hills. The sunlight lingered on the purple crests, and we could see him + leading the way to his stockade, a burly bareheaded figure walking far in + advance of a straggling cortege, and swinging regularly an ebony staff + taller than himself. The darkness deepened fast; torches gleamed fitfully, + passing behind bushes; a long hail or two trailed in the silence of the + evening; and at last the night stretched its smooth veil over the shore, + the lights, and the voices. + </p> + <p> + Then, just as we were thinking of repose, the watchmen of the schooner + would hail a splash of paddles away in the starlit gloom of the bay; a + voice would respond in cautious tones, and our serang, putting his head + down the open skylight, would inform us without surprise, “That Rajah, he + coming. He here now.” Karain appeared noiselessly in the doorway of the + little cabin. He was simplicity itself then; all in white; muffled about + his head; for arms only a kriss with a plain buffalo-horn handle, which he + would politely conceal within a fold of his sarong before stepping over + the threshold. The old sword-bearer’s face, the worn-out and mournful face + so covered with wrinkles that it seemed to look out through the meshes of + a fine dark net, could be seen close above his shoulders. Karain never + moved without that attendant, who stood or squatted close at his back. He + had a dislike of an open space behind him. It was more than a dislike—it + resembled fear, a nervous preoccupation of what went on where he could not + see. This, in view of the evident and fierce loyalty that surrounded him, + was inexplicable. He was there alone in the midst of devoted men; he was + safe from neighbourly ambushes, from fraternal ambitions; and yet more + than one of our visitors had assured us that their ruler could not bear to + be alone. They said, “Even when he eats and sleeps there is always one on + the watch near him who has strength and weapons.” There was indeed always + one near him, though our informants had no conception of that watcher’s + strength and weapons, which were both shadowy and terrible. We knew, but + only later on, when we had heard the story. Meantime we noticed that, even + during the most important interviews, Karain would often give a start, and + interrupting his discourse, would sweep his arm back with a sudden + movement, to feel whether the old fellow was there. The old fellow, + impenetrable and weary, was always there. He shared his food, his repose, + and his thoughts; he knew his plans, guarded his secrets; and, impassive + behind his master’s agitation, without stirring the least bit, murmured + above his head in a soothing tone some words difficult to catch. + </p> + <p> + It was only on board the schooner, when surrounded by white faces, by + unfamiliar sights and sounds, that Karain seemed to forget the strange + obsession that wound like a black thread through the gorgeous pomp of his + public life. At night we treated him in a free and easy manner, which just + stopped short of slapping him on the back, for there are liberties one + must not take with a Malay. He said himself that on such occasions he was + only a private gentleman coming to see other gentlemen whom he supposed as + well born as himself. I fancy that to the last he believed us to be + emissaries of Government, darkly official persons furthering by our + illegal traffic some dark scheme of high statecraft. Our denials and + protestations were unavailing. He only smiled with discreet politeness and + inquired about the Queen. Every visit began with that inquiry; he was + insatiable of details; he was fascinated by the holder of a sceptre the + shadow of which, stretching from the westward over the earth and over the + seas, passed far beyond his own hand’s-breadth of conquered land. He + multiplied questions; he could never know enough of the Monarch of whom he + spoke with wonder and chivalrous respect—with a kind of affectionate + awe! Afterwards, when we had learned that he was the son of a woman who + had many years ago ruled a small Bugis state, we came to suspect that the + memory of his mother (of whom he spoke with enthusiasm) mingled somehow in + his mind with the image he tried to form for himself of the far-off Queen + whom he called Great, Invincible, Pious, and Fortunate. We had to invent + details at last to satisfy his craving curiosity; and our loyalty must be + pardoned, for we tried to make them fit for his august and resplendent + ideal. We talked. The night slipped over us, over the still schooner, over + the sleeping land, and over the sleepless sea that thundered amongst the + reefs outside the bay. His paddlers, two trustworthy men, slept in the + canoe at the foot of our side-ladder. The old confidant, relieved from + duty, dozed on his heels, with his back against the companion-doorway; and + Karain sat squarely in the ship’s wooden armchair, under the slight sway + of the cabin lamp, a cheroot between his dark fingers, and a glass of + lemonade before him. He was amused by the fizz of the thing, but after a + sip or two would let it get flat, and with a courteous wave of his hand + ask for a fresh bottle. He decimated our slender stock; but we did not + begrudge it to him, for, when he began, he talked well. He must have been + a great Bugis dandy in his time, for even then (and when we knew him he + was no longer young) his splendour was spotlessly neat, and he dyed his + hair a light shade of brown. The quiet dignity of his bearing transformed + the dim-lit cuddy of the schooner into an audience-hall. He talked of + inter-island politics with an ironic and melancholy shrewdness. He had + travelled much, suffered not a little, intrigued, fought. He knew native + Courts, European Settlements, the forests, the sea, and, as he said + himself, had spoken in his time to many great men. He liked to talk with + me because I had known some of these men: he seemed to think that I could + understand him, and, with a fine confidence, assumed that I, at least, + could appreciate how much greater he was himself. But he preferred to talk + of his native country—a small Bugis state on the island of Celebes. + I had visited it some time before, and he asked eagerly for news. As men’s + names came up in conversation he would say, “We swam against one another + when we were boys”; or, “We hunted the deer together—he could use + the noose and the spear as well as I.” Now and then his big dreamy eyes + would roll restlessly; he frowned or smiled, or he would become pensive, + and, staring in silence, would nod slightly for a time at some regretted + vision of the past. + </p> + <p> + His mother had been the ruler of a small semi-independent state on the + sea-coast at the head of the Gulf of Boni. He spoke of her with pride. She + had been a woman resolute in affairs of state and of her own heart. After + the death of her first husband, undismayed by the turbulent opposition of + the chiefs, she married a rich trader, a Korinchi man of no family. Karain + was her son by that second marriage, but his unfortunate descent had + apparently nothing to do with his exile. He said nothing as to its cause, + though once he let slip with a sigh, “Ha! my land will not feel any more + the weight of my body.” But he related willingly the story of his + wanderings, and told us all about the conquest of the bay. Alluding to the + people beyond the hills, he would murmur gently, with a careless wave of + the hand, “They came over the hills once to fight us, but those who got + away never came again.” He thought for a while, smiling to himself. “Very + few got away,” he added, with proud serenity. He cherished the + recollections of his successes; he had an exulting eagerness for + endeavour; when he talked, his aspect was warlike, chivalrous, and + uplifting. No wonder his people admired him. We saw him once walking in + daylight amongst the houses of the settlement. At the doors of huts groups + of women turned to look after him, warbling softly, and with gleaming + eyes; armed men stood out of the way, submissive and erect; others + approached from the side, bending their backs to address him humbly; an + old woman stretched out a draped lean arm—“Blessings on thy head!” + she cried from a dark doorway; a fiery-eyed man showed above the low fence + of a plantain-patch a streaming face, a bare breast scarred in two places, + and bellowed out pantingly after him, “God give victory to our master!” + Karain walked fast, and with firm long strides; he answered greetings + right and left by quick piercing glances. Children ran forward between the + houses, peeped fearfully round corners; young boys kept up with him, + gliding between bushes: their eyes gleamed through the dark leaves. The + old sword-bearer, shouldering the silver scabbard, shuffled hastily at his + heels with bowed head, and his eyes on the ground. And in the midst of a + great stir they passed swift and absorbed, like two men hurrying through a + great solitude. + </p> + <p> + In his council hall he was surrounded by the gravity of armed chiefs, + while two long rows of old headmen dressed in cotton stuffs squatted on + their heels, with idle arms hanging over their knees. Under the thatch + roof supported by smooth columns, of which each one had cost the life of a + straight-stemmed young palm, the scent of flowering hedges drifted in warm + waves. The sun was sinking. In the open courtyard suppliants walked + through the gate, raising, when yet far off, their joined hands above + bowed heads, and bending low in the bright stream of sunlight. Young + girls, with flowers in their laps, sat under the wide-spreading boughs of + a big tree. The blue smoke of wood fires spread in a thin mist above the + high-pitched roofs of houses that had glistening walls of woven reeds, and + all round them rough wooden pillars under the sloping eaves. He dispensed + justice in the shade; from a high seat he gave orders, advice, reproof. + Now and then the hum of approbation rose louder, and idle spearmen that + lounged listlessly against the posts, looking at the girls, would turn + their heads slowly. To no man had been given the shelter of so much + respect, confidence, and awe. Yet at times he would lean forward and + appear to listen as for a far-off note of discord, as if expecting to hear + some faint voice, the sound of light footsteps; or he would start half up + in his seat, as though he had been familiarly touched on the shoulder. He + glanced back with apprehension; his aged follower whispered inaudibly at + his ear; the chiefs turned their eyes away in silence, for the old wizard, + the man who could command ghosts and send evil spirits against enemies, + was speaking low to their ruler. Around the short stillness of the open + place the trees rustled faintly, the soft laughter of girls playing with + the flowers rose in clear bursts of joyous sound. At the end of upright + spear-shafts the long tufts of dyed horse-hair waved crimson and filmy in + the gust of wind; and beyond the blaze of hedges the brook of limpid quick + water ran invisible and loud under the drooping grass of the bank, with a + great murmur, passionate and gentle. + </p> + <p> + After sunset, far across the fields and over the bay, clusters of torches + could be seen burning under the high roofs of the council shed. Smoky red + flames swayed on high poles, and the fiery blaze flickered over faces, + clung to the smooth trunks of palm-trees, kindled bright sparks on the + rims of metal dishes standing on fine floor-mats. That obscure adventurer + feasted like a king. Small groups of men crouched in tight circles round + the wooden platters; brown hands hovered over snowy heaps of rice. Sitting + upon a rough couch apart from the others, he leaned on his elbow with + inclined head; and near him a youth improvised in a high tone a song that + celebrated his valour and wisdom. The singer rocked himself to and fro, + rolling frenzied eyes; old women hobbled about with dishes, and men, + squatting low, lifted their heads to listen gravely without ceasing to + eat. The song of triumph vibrated in the night, and the stanzas rolled out + mournful and fiery like the thoughts of a hermit. He silenced it with a + sign, “Enough!” An owl hooted far away, exulting in the delight of deep + gloom in dense foliage; overhead lizards ran in the attap thatch, calling + softly; the dry leaves of the roof rustled; the rumour of mingled voices + grew louder suddenly. After a circular and startled glance, as of a man + waking up abruptly to the sense of danger, he would throw himself back, + and under the downward gaze of the old sorcerer take up, wide-eyed, the + slender thread of his dream. They watched his moods; the swelling rumour + of animated talk subsided like a wave on a sloping beach. The chief is + pensive. And above the spreading whisper of lowered voices only a little + rattle of weapons would be heard, a single louder word distinct and alone, + or the grave ring of a big brass tray. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + For two years at short intervals we visited him. We came to like him, to + trust him, almost to admire him. He was plotting and preparing a war with + patience, with foresight—with a fidelity to his purpose and with a + steadfastness of which I would have thought him racially incapable. He + seemed fearless of the future, and in his plans displayed a sagacity that + was only limited by his profound ignorance of the rest of the world. We + tried to enlighten him, but our attempts to make clear the irresistible + nature of the forces which he desired to arrest failed to discourage his + eagerness to strike a blow for his own primitive ideas. He did not + understand us, and replied by arguments that almost drove one to + desperation by their childish shrewdness. He was absurd and unanswerable. + Sometimes we caught glimpses of a sombre, glowing fury within him—a + brooding and vague sense of wrong, and a concentrated lust of violence + which is dangerous in a native. He raved like one inspired. On one + occasion, after we had been talking to him late in his campong, he jumped + up. A great, clear fire blazed in the grove; lights and shadows danced + together between the trees; in the still night bats flitted in and out of + the boughs like fluttering flakes of denser darkness. He snatched the + sword from the old man, whizzed it out of the scabbard, and thrust the + point into the earth. Upon the thin, upright blade the silver hilt, + released, swayed before him like something alive. He stepped back a pace, + and in a deadened tone spoke fiercely to the vibrating steel: “If there is + virtue in the fire, in the iron, in the hand that forged thee, in the + words spoken over thee, in the desire of my heart, and in the wisdom of + thy makers,—then we shall be victorious together!” He drew it out, + looked along the edge. “Take,” he said over his shoulder to the old + sword-bearer. The other, unmoved on his hams, wiped the point with a + corner of his sarong, and returning the weapon to its scabbard, sat + nursing it on his knees without a single look upwards. Karain, suddenly + very calm, reseated himself with dignity. We gave up remonstrating after + this, and let him go his way to an honourable disaster. All we could do + for him was to see to it that the powder was good for the money and the + rifles serviceable, if old. + </p> + <p> + But the game was becoming at last too dangerous; and if we, who had faced + it pretty often, thought little of the danger, it was decided for us by + some very respectable people sitting safely in counting-houses that the + risks were too great, and that only one more trip could be made. After + giving in the usual way many misleading hints as to our destination, we + slipped away quietly, and after a very quick passage entered the bay. It + was early morning, and even before the anchor went to the bottom the + schooner was surrounded by boats. + </p> + <p> + The first thing we heard was that Karain’s mysterious sword-bearer had + died a few days ago. We did not attach much importance to the news. It was + certainly difficult to imagine Karain without his inseparable follower; + but the fellow was old, he had never spoken to one of us, we hardly ever + had heard the sound of his voice; and we had come to look upon him as upon + something inanimate, as a part of our friend’s trappings of state—like + that sword he had carried, or the fringed red umbrella displayed during an + official progress. Karain did not visit us in the afternoon as usual. A + message of greeting and a present of fruit and vegetables came off for us + before sunset. Our friend paid us like a banker, but treated us like a + prince. We sat up for him till midnight. Under the stern awning bearded + Jackson jingled an old guitar and sang, with an execrable accent, Spanish + love-songs; while young Hollis and I, sprawling on the deck, had a game of + chess by the light of a cargo lantern. Karain did not appear. Next day we + were busy unloading, and heard that the Rajah was unwell. The expected + invitation to visit him ashore did not come. We sent friendly messages, + but, fearing to intrude upon some secret council, remained on board. Early + on the third day we had landed all the powder and rifles, and also a + six-pounder brass gun with its carriage which we had subscribed together + for a present for our friend. The afternoon was sultry. Ragged edges of + black clouds peeped over the hills, and invisible thunderstorms circled + outside, growling like wild beasts. We got the schooner ready for sea, + intending to leave next morning at daylight. All day a merciless sun + blazed down into the bay, fierce and pale, as if at white heat. Nothing + moved on the land. The beach was empty, the villages seemed deserted; the + trees far off stood in unstirring clumps, as if painted; the white smoke + of some invisible bush-fire spread itself low over the shores of the bay + like a settling fog. Late in the day three of Karain’s chief men, dressed + in their best and armed to the teeth, came off in a canoe, bringing a case + of dollars. They were gloomy and languid, and told us they had not seen + their Rajah for five days. No one had seen him! We settled all accounts, + and after shaking hands in turn and in profound silence, they descended + one after another into their boat, and were paddled to the shore, sitting + close together, clad in vivid colours, with hanging heads: the gold + embroideries of their jackets flashed dazzlingly as they went away gliding + on the smooth water, and not one of them looked back once. Before sunset + the growling clouds carried with a rush the ridge of hills, and came + tumbling down the inner slopes. Everything disappeared; black whirling + vapours filled the bay, and in the midst of them the schooner swung here + and there in the shifting gusts of wind. A single clap of thunder + detonated in the hollow with a violence that seemed capable of bursting + into small pieces the ring of high land, and a warm deluge descended. The + wind died out. We panted in the close cabin; our faces streamed; the bay + outside hissed as if boiling; the water fell in perpendicular shafts as + heavy as lead; it swished about the deck, poured off the spars, gurgled, + sobbed, splashed, murmured in the blind night. Our lamp burned low. + Hollis, stripped to the waist, lay stretched out on the lockers, with + closed eyes and motionless like a despoiled corpse; at his head Jackson + twanged the guitar, and gasped out in sighs a mournful dirge about + hopeless love and eyes like stars. Then we heard startled voices on deck + crying in the rain, hurried footsteps overhead, and suddenly Karain + appeared in the doorway of the cabin. His bare breast and his face + glistened in the light; his sarong, soaked, clung about his legs; he had + his sheathed kriss in his left hand; and wisps of wet hair, escaping from + under his red kerchief, stuck over his eyes and down his cheeks. He + stepped in with a headlong stride and looking over his shoulder like a man + pursued. Hollis turned on his side quickly and opened his eyes. Jackson + clapped his big hand over the strings and the jingling vibration died + suddenly. I stood up. + </p> + <p> + “We did not hear your boat’s hail!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Boat! The man’s swum off,” drawled out Hollis from the locker. “Look at + him!” + </p> + <p> + He breathed heavily, wild-eyed, while we looked at him in silence. Water + dripped from him, made a dark pool, and ran crookedly across the cabin + floor. We could hear Jackson, who had gone out to drive away our Malay + seamen from the doorway of the companion; he swore menacingly in the + patter of a heavy shower, and there was a great commotion on deck. The + watchmen, scared out of their wits by the glimpse of a shadowy figure + leaping over the rail, straight out of the night as it were, had alarmed + all hands. + </p> + <p> + Then Jackson, with glittering drops of water on his hair and beard, came + back looking angry, and Hollis, who, being the youngest of us, assumed an + indolent superiority, said without stirring, “Give him a dry sarong—give + him mine; it’s hanging up in the bathroom.” Karain laid the kriss on the + table, hilt inwards, and murmured a few words in a strangled voice. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” asked Hollis, who had not heard. + </p> + <p> + “He apologizes for coming in with a weapon in his hand,” I said, dazedly. + </p> + <p> + “Ceremonious beggar. Tell him we forgive a friend . . . on such a night,” + drawled out Hollis. “What’s wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Karain slipped the dry sarong over his head, dropped the wet one at his + feet, and stepped out of it. I pointed to the wooden armchair—his + armchair. He sat down very straight, said “Ha!” in a strong voice; a short + shiver shook his broad frame. He looked over his shoulder uneasily, turned + as if to speak to us, but only stared in a curious blind manner, and again + looked back. Jackson bellowed out, “Watch well on deck there!” heard a + faint answer from above, and reaching out with his foot slammed-to the + cabin door. + </p> + <p> + “All right now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Karain’s lips moved slightly. A vivid flash of lightning made the two + round stern-ports facing him glimmer like a pair of cruel and + phosphorescent eyes. The flame of the lamp seemed to wither into brown + dust for an instant, and the looking-glass over the little sideboard + leaped out behind his back in a smooth sheet of livid light. The roll of + thunder came near, crashed over us; the schooner trembled, and the great + voice went on, threatening terribly, into the distance. For less than a + minute a furious shower rattled on the decks. Karain looked slowly from + face to face, and then the silence became so profound that we all could + hear distinctly the two chronometers in my cabin ticking along with + unflagging speed against one another. + </p> + <p> + And we three, strangely moved, could not take our eyes from him. He had + become enigmatical and touching, in virtue of that mysterious cause that + had driven him through the night and through the thunderstorm to the + shelter of the schooner’s cuddy. Not one of us doubted that we were + looking at a fugitive, incredible as it appeared to us. He was haggard, as + though he had not slept for weeks; he had become lean, as though he had + not eaten for days. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunk, the muscles of + his chest and arms twitched slightly as if after an exhausting contest. Of + course it had been a long swim off to the schooner; but his face showed + another kind of fatigue, the tormented weariness, the anger and the fear + of a struggle against a thought, an idea—against something that + cannot be grappled, that never rests—a shadow, a nothing, + unconquerable and immortal, that preys upon life. We knew it as though he + had shouted it at us. His chest expanded time after time, as if it could + not contain the beating of his heart. For a moment he had the power of the + possessed—the power to awaken in the beholders wonder, pain, pity, + and a fearful near sense of things invisible, of things dark and mute, + that surround the loneliness of mankind. His eyes roamed about aimlessly + for a moment, then became still. He said with effort— + </p> + <p> + “I came here . . . I leaped out of my stockade as after a defeat. I ran in + the night. The water was black. I left him calling on the edge of black + water. . . . I left him standing alone on the beach. I swam . . . he + called out after me . . . I swam . . .” + </p> + <p> + He trembled from head to foot, sitting very upright and gazing straight + before him. Left whom? Who called? We did not know. We could not + understand. I said at all hazards— + </p> + <p> + “Be firm.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of my voice seemed to steady him into a sudden rigidity, but + otherwise he took no notice. He seemed to listen, to expect something for + a moment, then went on— + </p> + <p> + “He cannot come here—therefore I sought you. You men with white + faces who despise the invisible voices. He cannot abide your unbelief and + your strength.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a while, then exclaimed softly— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! the strength of unbelievers!” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no one here but you—and we three,” said Hollis, quietly. He + reclined with his head supported on elbow and did not budge. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Karain. “He has never followed me here. Was not the wise + man ever by my side? But since the old wise man, who knew of my trouble, + has died, I have heard the voice every night. I shut myself up—for + many days—in the dark. I can hear the sorrowful murmurs of women, + the whisper of the wind, of the running waters; the clash of weapons in + the hands of faithful men, their footsteps—and his voice! . . . Near + . . . So! In my ear! I felt him near . . . His breath passed over my neck. + I leaped out without a cry. All about me men slept quietly. I ran to the + sea. He ran by my side without footsteps, whispering, whispering old words—whispering + into my ear in his old voice. I ran into the sea; I swam off to you, with + my kriss between my teeth. I, armed, I fled before a breath—to you. + Take me away to your land. The wise old man has died, and with him is gone + the power of his words and charms. And I can tell no one. No one. There is + no one here faithful enough and wise enough to know. It is only near you, + unbelievers, that my trouble fades like a mist under the eye of day.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “With you I go!” he cried in a contained voice. “With you, who know so + many of us. I want to leave this land—my people . . . and him—there!” + </p> + <p> + He pointed a shaking finger at random over his shoulder. It was hard for + us to bear the intensity of that undisclosed distress. Hollis stared at + him hard. I asked gently— + </p> + <p> + “Where is the danger?” + </p> + <p> + “Everywhere outside this place,” he answered, mournfully. “In every place + where I am. He waits for me on the paths, under the trees, in the place + where I sleep—everywhere but here.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round the little cabin, at the painted beams, at the tarnished + varnish of bulkheads; he looked round as if appealing to all its shabby + strangeness, to the disorderly jumble of unfamiliar things that belong to + an inconceivable life of stress, of power, of endeavour, of unbelief—to + the strong life of white men, which rolls on irresistible and hard on the + edge of outer darkness. He stretched out his arms as if to embrace it and + us. We waited. The wind and rain had ceased, and the stillness of the + night round the schooner was as dumb and complete as if a dead world had + been laid to rest in a grave of clouds. We expected him to speak. The + necessity within him tore at his lips. There are those who say that a + native will not speak to a white man. Error. No man will speak to his + master; but to a wanderer and a friend, to him who does not come to teach + or to rule, to him who asks for nothing and accepts all things, words are + spoken by the camp-fires, in the shared solitude of the sea, in riverside + villages, in resting-places surrounded by forests—words are spoken + that take no account of race or colour. One heart speaks—another one + listens; and the earth, the sea, the sky, the passing wind and the + stirring leaf, hear also the futile tale of the burden of life. + </p> + <p> + He spoke at last. It is impossible to convey the effect of his story. It + is undying, it is but a memory, and its vividness cannot be made clear to + another mind, any more than the vivid emotions of a dream. One must have + seen his innate splendour, one must have known him before—looked at + him then. The wavering gloom of the little cabin; the breathless stillness + outside, through which only the lapping of water against the schooner’s + sides could be heard; Hollis’s pale face, with steady dark eyes; the + energetic head of Jackson held up between two big palms, and with the long + yellow hair of his beard flowing over the strings of the guitar lying on + the table; Karain’s upright and motionless pose, his tone—all this + made an impression that cannot be forgotten. He faced us across the table. + His dark head and bronze torso appeared above the tarnished slab of wood, + gleaming and still as if cast in metal. Only his lips moved, and his eyes + glowed, went out, blazed again, or stared mournfully. His expressions came + straight from his tormented heart. His words sounded low, in a sad murmur + as of running water; at times they rang loud like the clash of a war-gong—or + trailed slowly like weary travellers—or rushed forward with the + speed of fear. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + This is, imperfectly, what he said— + </p> + <p> + “It was after the great trouble that broke the alliance of the four states + of Wajo. We fought amongst ourselves, and the Dutch watched from afar till + we were weary. Then the smoke of their fire-ships was seen at the mouth of + our rivers, and their great men came in boats full of soldiers to talk to + us of protection and peace. We answered with caution and wisdom, for our + villages were burnt, our stockades weak, the people weary, and the weapons + blunt. They came and went; there had been much talk, but after they went + away everything seemed to be as before, only their ships remained in sight + from our coast, and very soon their traders came amongst us under a + promise of safety. My brother was a Ruler, and one of those who had given + the promise. I was young then, and had fought in the war, and Pata Matara + had fought by my side. We had shared hunger, danger, fatigue, and victory. + His eyes saw my danger quickly, and twice my arm had preserved his life. + It was his destiny. He was my friend. And he was great amongst us—one + of those who were near my brother, the Ruler. He spoke in council, his + courage was great, he was the chief of many villages round the great lake + that is in the middle of our country as the heart is in the middle of a + man’s body. When his sword was carried into a campong in advance of his + coming, the maidens whispered wonderingly under the fruit-trees, the rich + men consulted together in the shade, and a feast was made ready with + rejoicing and songs. He had the favour of the Ruler and the affection of + the poor. He loved war, deer hunts, and the charms of women. He was the + possessor of jewels, of lucky weapons, and of men’s devotion. He was a + fierce man; and I had no other friend. + </p> + <p> + “I was the chief of a stockade at the mouth of the river, and collected + tolls for my brother from the passing boats. One day I saw a Dutch trader + go up the river. He went up with three boats, and no toll was demanded + from him, because the smoke of Dutch war-ships stood out from the open + sea, and we were too weak to forget treaties. He went up under the promise + of safety, and my brother gave him protection. He said he came to trade. + He listened to our voices, for we are men who speak openly and without + fear; he counted the number of our spears, he examined the trees, the + running waters, the grasses of the bank, the slopes of our hills. He went + up to Matara’s country and obtained permission to build a house. He traded + and planted. He despised our joys, our thoughts, and our sorrows. His face + was red, his hair like flame, and his eyes pale, like a river mist; he + moved heavily, and spoke with a deep voice; he laughed aloud like a fool, + and knew no courtesy in his speech. He was a big, scornful man, who looked + into women’s faces and put his hand on the shoulders of free men as though + he had been a noble-born chief. We bore with him. Time passed. + </p> + <p> + “Then Pata Matara’s sister fled from the campong and went to live in the + Dutchman’s house. She was a great and wilful lady: I had seen her once + carried high on slaves’ shoulders amongst the people, with uncovered face, + and I had heard all men say that her beauty was extreme, silencing the + reason and ravishing the heart of the beholders. The people were dismayed; + Matara’s face was blackened with that disgrace, for she knew she had been + promised to another man. Matara went to the Dutchman’s house, and said, + ‘Give her up to die—she is the daughter of chiefs.’ The white man + refused and shut himself up, while his servants kept guard night and day + with loaded guns. Matara raged. My brother called a council. But the Dutch + ships were near, and watched our coast greedily. My brother said, ‘If he + dies now our land will pay for his blood. Leave him alone till we grow + stronger and the ships are gone.’ Matara was wise; he waited and watched. + But the white man feared for her life and went away. + </p> + <p> + “He left his house, his plantations, and his goods! He departed, armed and + menacing, and left all—for her! She had ravished his heart! From my + stockade I saw him put out to sea in a big boat. Matara and I watched him + from the fighting platform behind the pointed stakes. He sat cross-legged, + with his gun in his hands, on the roof at the stern of his prau. The + barrel of his rifle glinted aslant before his big red face. The broad + river was stretched under him—level, smooth, shining, like a plain + of silver; and his prau, looking very short and black from the shore, + glided along the silver plain and over into the blue of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Thrice Matara, standing by my side, called aloud her name with grief and + imprecations. He stirred my heart. It leaped three times; and three times + with the eyes of my mind I saw in the gloom within the enclosed space of + the prau a woman with streaming hair going away from her land and her + people. I was angry—and sorry. Why? And then I also cried out + insults and threats. Matara said, ‘Now they have left our land their lives + are mind. I shall follow and strike—and, alone, pay the price of + blood.’ A great wind was sweeping towards the setting sun over the empty + river. I cried, ‘By your side I will go!’ He lowered his head in sign of + assent. It was his destiny. The sun had set, and the trees swayed their + boughs with a great noise above our heads. + </p> + <p> + “On the third night we two left our land together in a trading prau. + </p> + <p> + “The sea met us—the sea, wide, pathless, and without voice. A + sailing prau leaves no track. We went south. The moon was full; and, + looking up, we said to one another, ‘When the next moon shines as this + one, we shall return and they will be dead.’ It was fifteen years ago. + Many moons have grown full and withered and I have not seen my land since. + We sailed south; we overtook many praus; we examined the creeks and the + bays; we saw the end of our coast, of our island—a steep cape over a + disturbed strait, where drift the shadows of shipwrecked praus and drowned + men clamour in the night. The wide sea was all round us now. We saw a + great mountain burning in the midst of water; we saw thousands of islets + scattered like bits of iron fired from a big gun; we saw a long coast of + mountain and lowlands stretching away in sunshine from west to east. It + was Java. We said, ‘They are there; their time is near, and we shall + return or die cleansed from dishonour.’ + </p> + <p> + “We landed. Is there anything good in that country? The paths run straight + and hard and dusty. Stone campongs, full of white faces, are surrounded by + fertile fields, but every man you meet is a slave. The rulers live under + the edge of a foreign sword. We ascended mountains, we traversed valleys; + at sunset we entered villages. We asked everyone, ‘Have you seen such a + white man?’ Some stared; others laughed; women gave us food, sometimes, + with fear and respect, as though we had been distracted by the visitation + of God; but some did not understand our language, and some cursed us, or, + yawning, asked with contempt the reason of our quest. Once, as we were + going away, an old man called after us, ‘Desist!’ + </p> + <p> + “We went on. Concealing our weapons, we stood humbly aside before the + horsemen on the road; we bowed low in the courtyards of chiefs who were no + better than slaves. We lost ourselves in the fields, in the jungle; and + one night, in a tangled forest, we came upon a place where crumbling old + walls had fallen amongst the trees, and where strange stone idols—carved + images of devils with many arms and legs, with snakes twined round their + bodies, with twenty heads and holding a hundred swords—seemed to + live and threaten in the light of our camp fire. Nothing dismayed us. And + on the road, by every fire, in resting-places, we always talked of her and + of him. Their time was near. We spoke of nothing else. No! not of hunger, + thirst, weariness, and faltering hearts. No! we spoke of him and her! Of + her! And we thought of them—of her! Matara brooded by the fire. I + sat and thought and thought, till suddenly I could see again the image of + a woman, beautiful, and young, and great and proud, and tender, going away + from her land and her people. Matara said, ‘When we find them we shall + kill her first to cleanse the dishonour—then the man must die.’ I + would say, ‘It shall be so; it is your vengeance.’ He stared long at me + with his big sunken eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We came back to the coast. Our feet were bleeding, our bodies thin. We + slept in rags under the shadow of stone enclosures; we prowled, soiled and + lean, about the gateways of white men’s courtyards. Their hairy dogs + barked at us, and their servants shouted from afar, ‘Begone!’ Low-born + wretches, that keep watch over the streets of stone campongs, asked us who + we were. We lied, we cringed, we smiled with hate in our hearts, and we + kept looking here, looking there for them—for the white man with + hair like flame, and for her, for the woman who had broken faith, and + therefore must die. We looked. At last in every woman’s face I thought I + could see hers. We ran swiftly. No! Sometimes Matara would whisper, ‘Here + is the man,’ and we waited, crouching. He came near. It was not the man—those + Dutchmen are all alike. We suffered the anguish of deception. In my sleep + I saw her face, and was both joyful and sorry . . . . Why? . . . I seemed + to hear a whisper near me. I turned swiftly. She was not there! And as we + trudged wearily from stone city to stone city I seemed to hear a light + footstep near me. A time came when I heard it always, and I was glad. I + thought, walking dizzy and weary in sunshine on the hard paths of white + men I thought, She is there—with us! . . . Matara was sombre. We + were often hungry. + </p> + <p> + “We sold the carved sheaths of our krisses—the ivory sheaths with + golden ferules. We sold the jewelled hilts. But we kept the blades—for + them. The blades that never touch but kill—we kept the blades for + her. . . . Why? She was always by our side. . . . We starved. We begged. + We left Java at last. + </p> + <p> + “We went West, we went East. We saw many lands, crowds of strange faces, + men that live in trees and men who eat their old people. We cut rattans in + the forest for a handful of rice, and for a living swept the decks of big + ships and heard curses heaped upon our heads. We toiled in villages; we + wandered upon the seas with the Bajow people, who have no country. We + fought for pay; we hired ourselves to work for Goram men, and were + cheated; and under the orders of rough white faces we dived for pearls in + barren bays, dotted with black rocks, upon a coast of sand and desolation. + And everywhere we watched, we listened, we asked. We asked traders, + robbers, white men. We heard jeers, mockery, threats—words of wonder + and words of contempt. We never knew rest; we never thought of home, for + our work was not done. A year passed, then another. I ceased to count the + number of nights, of moons, of years. I watched over Matara. He had my + last handful of rice; if there was water enough for one he drank it; I + covered him up when he shivered with cold; and when the hot sickness came + upon him I sat sleepless through many nights and fanned his face. He was a + fierce man, and my friend. He spoke of her with fury in the daytime, with + sorrow in the dark; he remembered her in health, in sickness. I said + nothing; but I saw her every day—always! At first I saw only her + head, as of a woman walking in the low mist on a river bank. Then she sat + by our fire. I saw her! I looked at her! She had tender eyes and a + ravishing face. I murmured to her in the night. Matara said sleepily + sometimes, ‘To whom are you talking? Who is there?’ I answered quickly, + ‘No one’ . . . It was a lie! She never left me. She shared the warmth of + our fire, she sat on my couch of leaves, she swam on the sea to follow me. + . . . I saw her! . . . I tell you I saw her long black hair spread behind + her upon the moonlit water as she struck out with bare arms by the side of + a swift prau. She was beautiful, she was faithful, and in the silence of + foreign countries she spoke to me very low in the language of my people. + No one saw her; no one heard her; she was mine only! In daylight she moved + with a swaying walk before me upon the weary paths; her figure was + straight and flexible like the stem of a slender tree; the heels of her + feet were round and polished like shells of eggs; with her round arm she + made signs. At night she looked into my face. And she was sad! Her eyes + were tender and frightened; her voice soft and pleading. Once I murmured + to her, ‘You shall not die,’ and she smiled . . . ever after she smiled! . + . . She gave me courage to bear weariness and hardships. Those were times + of pain, and she soothed me. We wandered patient in our search. We knew + deception, false hopes; we knew captivity, sickness, thirst, misery, + despair . . . . Enough! We found them! . . .” + </p> + <p> + He cried out the last words and paused. His face was impassive, and he + kept still like a man in a trance. Hollis sat up quickly, and spread his + elbows on the table. Jackson made a brusque movement, and accidentally + touched the guitar. A plaintive resonance filled the cabin with confused + vibrations and died out slowly. Then Karain began to speak again. The + restrained fierceness of his tone seemed to rise like a voice from + outside, like a thing unspoken but heard; it filled the cabin and + enveloped in its intense and deadened murmur the motionless figure in the + chair. + </p> + <p> + “We were on our way to Atjeh, where there was war; but the vessel ran on a + sandbank, and we had to land in Delli. We had earned a little money, and + had bought a gun from some Selangore traders; only one gun, which was + fired by the spark of a stone; Matara carried it. We landed. Many white + men lived there, planting tobacco on conquered plains, and Matara . . . + But no matter. He saw him! . . . The Dutchman! . . . At last! . . . We + crept and watched. Two nights and a day we watched. He had a house—a + big house in a clearing in the midst of his fields; flowers and bushes + grew around; there were narrow paths of yellow earth between the cut + grass, and thick hedges to keep people out. The third night we came armed, + and lay behind a hedge. + </p> + <p> + “A heavy dew seemed to soak through our flesh and made our very entrails + cold. The grass, the twigs, the leaves, covered with drops of water, were + gray in the moonlight. Matara, curled up in the grass, shivered in his + sleep. My teeth rattled in my head so loud that I was afraid the noise + would wake up all the land. Afar, the watchmen of white men’s houses + struck wooden clappers and hooted in the darkness. And, as every night, I + saw her by my side. She smiled no more! . . . The fire of anguish burned + in my breast, and she whispered to me with compassion, with pity, softly—as + women will; she soothed the pain of my mind; she bent her face over me—the + face of a woman who ravishes the hearts and silences the reason of men. + She was all mine, and no one could see her—no one of living mankind! + Stars shone through her bosom, through her floating hair. I was overcome + with regret, with tenderness, with sorrow. Matara slept . . . Had I slept? + Matara was shaking me by the shoulder, and the fire of the sun was drying + the grass, the bushes, the leaves. It was day. Shreds of white mist hung + between the branches of trees. + </p> + <p> + “Was it night or day? I saw nothing again till I heard Matara breathe + quickly where he lay, and then outside the house I saw her. I saw them + both. They had come out. She sat on a bench under the wall, and twigs + laden with flowers crept high above her head, hung over her hair. She had + a box on her lap, and gazed into it, counting the increase of her pearls. + The Dutchman stood by looking on; he smiled down at her; his white teeth + flashed; the hair on his lip was like two twisted flames. He was big and + fat, and joyous, and without fear. Matara tipped fresh priming from the + hollow of his palm, scraped the flint with his thumb-nail, and gave the + gun to me. To me! I took it . . . O fate! + </p> + <p> + “He whispered into my ear, lying on his stomach, ‘I shall creep close and + then amok . . . let her die by my hand. You take aim at the fat swine + there. Let him see me strike my shame off the face of the earth—and + then . . . you are my friend—kill with a sure shot.’ I said nothing; + there was no air in my chest—there was no air in the world. Matara + had gone suddenly from my side. The grass nodded. Then a bush rustled. She + lifted her head. + </p> + <p> + “I saw her! The consoler of sleepless nights, of weary days; the companion + of troubled years! I saw her! She looked straight at the place where I + crouched. She was there as I had seen her for years—a faithful + wanderer by my side. She looked with sad eyes and had smiling lips; she + looked at me . . . Smiling lips! Had I not promised that she should not + die! + </p> + <p> + “She was far off and I felt her near. Her touch caressed me, and her voice + murmured, whispered above me, around me. ‘Who shall be thy companion, who + shall console thee if I die?’ I saw a flowering thicket to the left of her + stir a little . . . Matara was ready . . . I cried aloud—‘Return!’ + </p> + <p> + “She leaped up; the box fell; the pearls streamed at her feet. The big + Dutchman by her side rolled menacing eyes through the still sunshine. The + gun went up to my shoulder. I was kneeling and I was firm—firmer + than the trees, the rocks, the mountains. But in front of the steady long + barrel the fields, the house, the earth, the sky swayed to and fro like + shadows in a forest on a windy day. Matara burst out of the thicket; + before him the petals of torn flowers whirled high as if driven by a + tempest. I heard her cry; I saw her spring with open arms in front of the + white man. She was a woman of my country and of noble blood. They are so! + I heard her shriek of anguish and fear—and all stood still! The + fields, the house, the earth, the sky stood still—while Matara + leaped at her with uplifted arm. I pulled the trigger, saw a spark, heard + nothing; the smoke drove back into my face, and then I could see Matara + roll over head first and lie with stretched arms at her feet. Ha! A sure + shot! The sunshine fell on my back colder than the running water. A sure + shot! I flung the gun after the shot. Those two stood over the dead man as + though they had been bewitched by a charm. I shouted at her, ‘Live and + remember!’ Then for a time I stumbled about in a cold darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Behind me there were great shouts, the running of many feet; strange men + surrounded me, cried meaningless words into my face, pushed me, dragged + me, supported me . . . I stood before the big Dutchman: he stared as if + bereft of his reason. He wanted to know, he talked fast, he spoke of + gratitude, he offered me food, shelter, gold—he asked many + questions. I laughed in his face. I said, ‘I am a Korinchi traveller from + Perak over there, and know nothing of that dead man. I was passing along + the path when I heard a shot, and your senseless people rushed out and + dragged me here.’ He lifted his arms, he wondered, he could not believe, + he could not understand, he clamoured in his own tongue! She had her arms + clasped round his neck, and over her shoulder stared back at me with wide + eyes. I smiled and looked at her; I smiled and waited to hear the sound of + her voice. The white man asked her suddenly. ‘Do you know him?’ I listened—my + life was in my ears! She looked at me long, she looked at me with + unflinching eyes, and said aloud, ‘No! I never saw him before.’ . . . + What! Never before? Had she forgotten already? Was it possible? Forgotten + already—after so many years—so many years of wandering, of + companionship, of trouble, of tender words! Forgotten already! . . . I + tore myself out from the hands that held me and went away without a word . + . . They let me go. + </p> + <p> + “I was weary. Did I sleep? I do not know. I remember walking upon a broad + path under a clear starlight; and that strange country seemed so big, the + rice-fields so vast, that, as I looked around, my head swam with the fear + of space. Then I saw a forest. The joyous starlight was heavy upon me. I + turned off the path and entered the forest, which was very sombre and very + sad.” + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + Karain’s tone had been getting lower and lower, as though he had been + going away from us, till the last words sounded faint but clear, as if + shouted on a calm day from a very great distance. He moved not. He stared + fixedly past the motionless head of Hollis, who faced him, as still as + himself. Jackson had turned sideways, and with elbow on the table shaded + his eyes with the palm of his hand. And I looked on, surprised and moved; + I looked at that man, loyal to a vision, betrayed by his dream, spurned by + his illusion, and coming to us unbelievers for help—against a + thought. The silence was profound; but it seemed full of noiseless + phantoms, of things sorrowful, shadowy, and mute, in whose invisible + presence the firm, pulsating beat of the two ship’s chronometers ticking + off steadily the seconds of Greenwich Time seemed to me a protection and a + relief. Karain stared stonily; and looking at his rigid figure, I thought + of his wanderings, of that obscure Odyssey of revenge, of all the men that + wander amongst illusions faithful, faithless; of the illusions that give + joy, that give sorrow, that give pain, that give peace; of the invincible + illusions that can make life and death appear serene, inspiring, + tormented, or ignoble. + </p> + <p> + A murmur was heard; that voice from outside seemed to flow out of a + dreaming world into the lamp-light of the cabin. Karain was speaking. + </p> + <p> + “I lived in the forest. + </p> + <p> + “She came no more. Never! Never once! I lived alone. She had forgotten. It + was well. I did not want her; I wanted no one. I found an abandoned house + in an old clearing. Nobody came near. Sometimes I heard in the distance + the voices of people going along a path. I slept; I rested; there was wild + rice, water from a running stream—and peace! Every night I sat alone + by my small fire before the hut. Many nights passed over my head. + </p> + <p> + “Then, one evening, as I sat by my fire after having eaten, I looked down + on the ground and began to remember my wanderings. I lifted my head. I had + heard no sound, no rustle, no footsteps—but I lifted my head. A man + was coming towards me across the small clearing. I waited. He came up + without a greeting and squatted down into the firelight. Then he turned + his face to me. It was Matara. He stared at me fiercely with his big + sunken eyes. The night was cold; the heat died suddenly out of the fire, + and he stared at me. I rose and went away from there, leaving him by the + fire that had no heat. + </p> + <p> + “I walked all that night, all next day, and in the evening made up a big + blaze and sat down—to wait for him. He had not come into the light. + I heard him in the bushes here and there, whispering, whispering. I + understood at last—I had heard the words before, ‘You are my friend—kill + with a sure shot.’ + </p> + <p> + “I bore it as long as I could—then leaped away, as on this very + night I leaped from my stockade and swam to you. I ran—I ran crying + like a child left alone and far from the houses. He ran by my side, + without footsteps, whispering, whispering—invisible and heard. I + sought people—I wanted men around me! Men who had not died! And + again we two wandered. I sought danger, violence, and death. I fought in + the Atjeh war, and a brave people wondered at the valiance of a stranger. + But we were two; he warded off the blows . . . Why? I wanted peace, not + life. And no one could see him; no one knew—I dared tell no one. At + times he would leave me, but not for long; then he would return and + whisper or stare. My heart was torn with a strange fear, but could not + die. Then I met an old man. + </p> + <p> + “You all knew him. People here called him my sorcerer, my servant and + sword-bearer; but to me he was father, mother, protection, refuge and + peace. When I met him he was returning from a pilgrimage, and I heard him + intoning the prayer of sunset. He had gone to the holy place with his son, + his son’s wife, and a little child; and on their return, by the favour of + the Most High, they all died: the strong man, the young mother, the little + child—they died; and the old man reached his country alone. He was a + pilgrim serene and pious, very wise and very lonely. I told him all. For a + time we lived together. He said over me words of compassion, of wisdom, of + prayer. He warded from me the shade of the dead. I begged him for a charm + that would make me safe. For a long time he refused; but at last, with a + sigh and a smile, he gave me one. Doubtless he could command a spirit + stronger than the unrest of my dead friend, and again I had peace; but I + had become restless, and a lover of turmoil and danger. The old man never + left me. We travelled together. We were welcomed by the great; his wisdom + and my courage are remembered where your strength, O white men, is + forgotten! We served the Sultan of Sula. We fought the Spaniards. There + were victories, hopes, defeats, sorrow, blood, women’s tears . . . What + for? . . . We fled. We collected wanderers of a warlike race and came here + to fight again. The rest you know. I am the ruler of a conquered land, a + lover of war and danger, a fighter and a plotter. But the old man has + died, and I am again the slave of the dead. He is not here now to drive + away the reproachful shade—to silence the lifeless voice! The power + of his charm has died with him. And I know fear; and I hear the whisper, + ‘Kill! kill! kill!’ . . . Have I not killed enough? . . .” + </p> + <p> + For the first time that night a sudden convulsion of madness and rage + passed over his face. His wavering glances darted here and there like + scared birds in a thunderstorm. He jumped up, shouting— + </p> + <p> + “By the spirits that drink blood: by the spirits that cry in the night: by + all the spirits of fury, misfortune, and death, I swear—some day I + will strike into every heart I meet—I . . .” + </p> + <p> + He looked so dangerous that we all three leaped to our feet, and Hollis, + with the back of his hand, sent the kriss flying off the table. I believe + we shouted together. It was a short scare, and the next moment he was + again composed in his chair, with three white men standing over him in + rather foolish attitudes. We felt a little ashamed of ourselves. Jackson + picked up the kriss, and, after an inquiring glance at me, gave it to him. + He received it with a stately inclination of the head and stuck it in the + twist of his sarong, with punctilious care to give his weapon a pacific + position. Then he looked up at us with an austere smile. We were abashed + and reproved. Hollis sat sideways on the table and, holding his chin in + his hand, scrutinized him in pensive silence. I said— + </p> + <p> + “You must abide with your people. They need you. And there is + forgetfulness in life. Even the dead cease to speak in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I a woman, to forget long years before an eyelid has had the time to + beat twice?” he exclaimed, with bitter resentment. He startled me. It was + amazing. To him his life—that cruel mirage of love and peace—seemed + as real, as undeniable, as theirs would be to any saint, philosopher, or + fool of us all. Hollis muttered— + </p> + <p> + “You won’t soothe him with your platitudes.” + </p> + <p> + Karain spoke to me. + </p> + <p> + “You know us. You have lived with us. Why?—we cannot know; but you + understand our sorrows and our thoughts. You have lived with my people, + and you understand our desires and our fears. With you I will go. To your + land—to your people. To your people, who live in unbelief; to whom + day is day, and night is night—nothing more, because you understand + all things seen, and despise all else! To your land of unbelief, where the + dead do not speak, where every man is wise, and alone—and at peace!” + </p> + <p> + “Capital description,” murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile. + </p> + <p> + Karain hung his head. + </p> + <p> + “I can toil, and fight—and be faithful,” he whispered, in a weary + tone, “but I cannot go back to him who waits for me on the shore. No! Take + me with you . . . Or else give me some of your strength—of your + unbelief. . . . A charm! . . .” + </p> + <p> + He seemed utterly exhausted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, take him home,” said Hollis, very low, as if debating with himself. + “That would be one way. The ghosts there are in society, and talk affably + to ladies and gentlemen, but would scorn a naked human being—like + our princely friend. . . . Naked . . . Flayed! I should say. I am sorry + for him. Impossible—of course. The end of all this shall be,” he + went on, looking up at us—“the end of this shall be, that some day + he will run amuck amongst his faithful subjects and send ‘ad patres’ ever + so many of them before they make up their minds to the disloyalty of + knocking him on the head.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. I thought it more than probable that such would be the end of + Karain. It was evident that he had been hunted by his thought along the + very limit of human endurance, and very little more pressing was needed to + make him swerve over into the form of madness peculiar to his race. The + respite he had during the old man’s life made the return of the torment + unbearable. That much was clear. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had been + dozing. + </p> + <p> + “Give me your protection—or your strength!” he cried. “A charm . . . + a weapon!” + </p> + <p> + Again his chin fell on his breast. We looked at him, then looked at one + another with suspicious awe in our eyes, like men who come unexpectedly + upon the scene of some mysterious disaster. He had given himself up to us; + he had thrust into our hands his errors and his torment, his life and his + peace; and we did not know what to do with that problem from the outer + darkness. We three white men, looking at the Malay, could not find one + word to the purpose amongst us—if indeed there existed a word that + could solve that problem. We pondered, and our hearts sank. We felt as + though we three had been called to the very gate of Infernal Regions to + judge, to decide the fate of a wanderer coming suddenly from a world of + sunshine and illusions. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, he seems to have a great idea of our power,” whispered Hollis, + hopelessly. And then again there was a silence, the feeble plash of water, + the steady tick of chronometers. Jackson, with bare arms crossed, leaned + his shoulders against the bulkhead of the cabin. He was bending his head + under the deck beam; his fair beard spread out magnificently over his + chest; he looked colossal, ineffectual, and mild. There was something + lugubrious in the aspect of the cabin; the air in it seemed to become + slowly charged with the cruel chill of helplessness, with the pitiless + anger of egoism against the incomprehensible form of an intruding pain. We + had no idea what to do; we began to resent bitterly the hard necessity to + get rid of him. + </p> + <p> + Hollis mused, muttered suddenly with a short laugh, “Strength . . . + Protection . . . Charm.” He slipped off the table and left the cuddy + without a look at us. It seemed a base desertion. Jackson and I exchanged + indignant glances. We could hear him rummaging in his pigeon-hole of a + cabin. Was the fellow actually going to bed? Karain sighed. It was + intolerable! + </p> + <p> + Then Hollis reappeared, holding in both hands a small leather box. He put + it down gently on the table and looked at us with a queer gasp, we + thought, as though he had from some cause become speechless for a moment, + or were ethically uncertain about producing that box. But in an instant + the insolent and unerring wisdom of his youth gave him the needed courage. + He said, as he unlocked the box with a very small key, “Look as solemn as + you can, you fellows.” + </p> + <p> + Probably we looked only surprised and stupid, for he glanced over his + shoulder, and said angrily— + </p> + <p> + “This is no play; I am going to do something for him. Look serious. + Confound it! . . . Can’t you lie a little . . . for a friend!” + </p> + <p> + Karain seemed to take no notice of us, but when Hollis threw open the lid + of the box his eyes flew to it—and so did ours. The quilted crimson + satin of the inside put a violent patch of colour into the sombre + atmosphere; it was something positive to look at—it was fascinating. + </p> + <p> + VI + </p> + <p> + Hollis looked smiling into the box. He had lately made a dash home through + the Canal. He had been away six months, and only joined us again just in + time for this last trip. We had never seen the box before. His hands + hovered above it; and he talked to us ironically, but his face became as + grave as though he were pronouncing a powerful incantation over the things + inside. + </p> + <p> + “Every one of us,” he said, with pauses that somehow were more offensive + than his words—“every one of us, you’ll admit, has been haunted by + some woman . . . And . . . as to friends . . . dropped by the way . . . + Well! . . . ask yourselves . . .” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the deck. + Jackson spoke seriously— + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be so beastly cynical.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You are without guile,” said Hollis, sadly. “You will learn . . . + Meantime this Malay has been our friend . . .” + </p> + <p> + He repeated several times thoughtfully, “Friend . . . Malay. Friend, + Malay,” as though weighing the words against one another, then went on + more briskly— + </p> + <p> + “A good fellow—a gentleman in his way. We can’t, so to speak, turn + our backs on his confidence and belief in us. Those Malays are easily + impressed—all nerves, you know—therefore . . .” + </p> + <p> + He turned to me sharply. + </p> + <p> + “You know him best,” he said, in a practical tone. “Do you think he is + fanatical—I mean very strict in his faith?” + </p> + <p> + I stammered in profound amazement that “I did not think so.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s on account of its being a likeness—an engraved image,” + muttered Hollis, enigmatically, turning to the box. He plunged his fingers + into it. Karain’s lips were parted and his eyes shone. We looked into the + box. + </p> + <p> + There were there a couple of reels of cotton, a packet of needles, a bit + of silk ribbon, dark blue; a cabinet photograph, at which Hollis stole a + glance before laying it on the table face downwards. A girl’s portrait, I + could see. There were, amongst a lot of various small objects, a bunch of + flowers, a narrow white glove with many buttons, a slim packet of letters + carefully tied up. Amulets of white men! Charms and talismans! Charms that + keep them straight, that drive them crooked, that have the power to make a + young man sigh, an old man smile. Potent things that procure dreams of + joy, thoughts of regret; that soften hard hearts, and can temper a soft + one to the hardness of steel. Gifts of heaven—things of earth . . . + </p> + <p> + Hollis rummaged in the box. + </p> + <p> + And it seemed to me, during that moment of waiting, that the cabin of the + schooner was becoming filled with a stir invisible and living as of subtle + breaths. All the ghosts driven out of the unbelieving West by men who + pretend to be wise and alone and at peace—all the homeless ghosts of + an unbelieving world—appeared suddenly round the figure of Hollis + bending over the box; all the exiled and charming shades of loved women; + all the beautiful and tender ghosts of ideals, remembered, forgotten, + cherished, execrated; all the cast-out and reproachful ghosts of friends + admired, trusted, traduced, betrayed, left dead by the way—they all + seemed to come from the inhospitable regions of the earth to crowd into + the gloomy cabin, as though it had been a refuge and, in all the + unbelieving world, the only place of avenging belief. . . . It lasted a + second—all disappeared. Hollis was facing us alone with something + small that glittered between his fingers. It looked like a coin. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! here it is,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He held it up. It was a sixpence—a Jubilee sixpence. It was gilt; it + had a hole punched near the rim. Hollis looked towards Karain. + </p> + <p> + “A charm for our friend,” he said to us. “The thing itself is of great + power—money, you know—and his imagination is struck. A loyal + vagabond; if only his puritanism doesn’t shy at a likeness . . .” + </p> + <p> + We said nothing. We did not know whether to be scandalized, amused, or + relieved. Hollis advanced towards Karain, who stood up as if startled, and + then, holding the coin up, spoke in Malay. + </p> + <p> + “This is the image of the Great Queen, and the most powerful thing the + white men know,” he said, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + Karain covered the handle of his kriss in sign of respect, and stared at + the crowned head. + </p> + <p> + “The Invincible, the Pious,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “She is more powerful than Suleiman the Wise, who commanded the genii, as + you know,” said Hollis, gravely. “I shall give this to you.” + </p> + <p> + He held the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and looking at it + thoughtfully, spoke to us in English. + </p> + <p> + “She commands a spirit, too—the spirit of her nation; a masterful, + conscientious, unscrupulous, unconquerable devil . . . that does a lot of + good—incidentally . . . a lot of good . . . at times—and + wouldn’t stand any fuss from the best ghost out for such a little thing as + our friend’s shot. Don’t look thunderstruck, you fellows. Help me to make + him believe—everything’s in that.” + </p> + <p> + “His people will be shocked,” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + Hollis looked fixedly at Karain, who was the incarnation of the very + essence of still excitement. He stood rigid, with head thrown back; his + eyes rolled wildly, flashing; the dilated nostrils quivered. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all!” said Hollis at last, “he is a good fellow. I’ll give him + something that I shall really miss.” + </p> + <p> + He took the ribbon out of the box, smiled at it scornfully, then with a + pair of scissors cut out a piece from the palm of the glove. + </p> + <p> + “I shall make him a thing like those Italian peasants wear, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He sewed the coin in the delicate leather, sewed the leather to the + ribbon, tied the ends together. He worked with haste. Karain watched his + fingers all the time. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” he said—then stepped up to Karain. They looked close + into one another’s eyes. Those of Karain stared in a lost glance, but + Hollis’s seemed to grow darker and looked out masterful and compelling. + They were in violent contrast together—one motionless and the colour + of bronze, the other dazzling white and lifting his arms, where the + powerful muscles rolled slightly under a skin that gleamed like satin. + Jackson moved near with the air of a man closing up to a chum in a tight + place. I said impressively, pointing to Hollis— + </p> + <p> + “He is young, but he is wise. Believe him!” + </p> + <p> + Karain bent his head: Hollis threw lightly over it the dark-blue ribbon + and stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “Forget, and be at peace!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + Karain seemed to wake up from a dream. He said, “Ha!” shook himself as if + throwing off a burden. He looked round with assurance. Someone on deck + dragged off the skylight cover, and a flood of light fell into the cabin. + It was morning already. + </p> + <p> + “Time to go on deck,” said Jackson. + </p> + <p> + Hollis put on a coat, and we went up, Karain leading. + </p> + <p> + The sun had risen beyond the hills, and their long shadows stretched far + over the bay in the pearly light. The air was clear, stainless, and cool. + I pointed at the curved line of yellow sands. + </p> + <p> + “He is not there,” I said, emphatically, to Karain. “He waits no more. He + has departed forever.” + </p> + <p> + A shaft of bright hot rays darted into the bay between the summits of two + hills, and the water all round broke out as if by magic into a dazzling + sparkle. + </p> + <p> + “No! He is not there waiting,” said Karain, after a long look over the + beach. “I do not hear him,” he went on, slowly. “No!” + </p> + <p> + He turned to us. + </p> + <p> + “He has departed again—forever!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + We assented vigorously, repeatedly, and without compunction. The great + thing was to impress him powerfully; to suggest absolute safety—the + end of all trouble. We did our best; and I hope we affirmed our faith in + the power of Hollis’s charm efficiently enough to put the matter beyond + the shadow of a doubt. Our voices rang around him joyously in the still + air, and above his head the sky, pellucid, pure, stainless, arched its + tender blue from shore to shore and over the bay, as if to envelop the + water, the earth, and the man in the caress of its light. + </p> + <p> + The anchor was up, the sails hung still, and half-a-dozen big boats were + seen sweeping over the bay to give us a tow out. The paddlers in the first + one that came alongside lifted their heads and saw their ruler standing + amongst us. A low murmur of surprise arose—then a shout of greeting. + </p> + <p> + He left us, and seemed straightway to step into the glorious splendour of + his stage, to wrap himself in the illusion of unavoidable success. For a + moment he stood erect, one foot over the gangway, one hand on the hilt of + his kriss, in a martial pose; and, relieved from the fear of outer + darkness, he held his head high, he swept a serene look over his conquered + foothold on the earth. The boats far off took up the cry of greeting; a + great clamour rolled on the water; the hills echoed it, and seemed to toss + back at him the words invoking long life and victories. + </p> + <p> + He descended into a canoe, and as soon as he was clear of the side we gave + him three cheers. They sounded faint and orderly after the wild tumult of + his loyal subjects, but it was the best we could do. He stood up in the + boat, lifted up both his arms, then pointed to the infallible charm. We + cheered again; and the Malays in the boats stared—very much puzzled + and impressed. I wondered what they thought; what he thought; . . . what + the reader thinks? + </p> + <p> + We towed out slowly. We saw him land and watch us from the beach. A figure + approached him humbly but openly—not at all like a ghost with a + grievance. We could see other men running towards him. Perhaps he had been + missed? At any rate there was a great stir. A group formed itself rapidly + near him, and he walked along the sands, followed by a growing cortege and + kept nearly abreast of the schooner. With our glasses we could see the + blue ribbon on his neck and a patch of white on his brown chest. The bay + was waking up. The smokes of morning fires stood in faint spirals higher + than the heads of palms; people moved between the houses; a herd of + buffaloes galloped clumsily across a green slope; the slender figures of + boys brandishing sticks appeared black and leaping in the long grass; a + coloured line of women, with water bamboos on their heads, moved swaying + through a thin grove of fruit-trees. Karain stopped in the midst of his + men and waved his hand; then, detaching himself from the splendid group, + walked alone to the water’s edge and waved his hand again. The schooner + passed out to sea between the steep headlands that shut in the bay, and at + the same instant Karain passed out of our life forever. + </p> + <p> + But the memory remains. Some years afterwards I met Jackson, in the + Strand. He was magnificent as ever. His head was high above the crowd. His + beard was gold, his face red, his eyes blue; he had a wide-brimmed gray + hat and no collar or waistcoat; he was inspiring; he had just come home—had + landed that very day! Our meeting caused an eddy in the current of + humanity. Hurried people would run against us, then walk round us, and + turn back to look at that giant. We tried to compress seven years of life + into seven exclamations; then, suddenly appeased, walked sedately along, + giving one another the news of yesterday. Jackson gazed about him, like a + man who looks for landmarks, then stopped before Bland’s window. He always + had a passion for firearms; so he stopped short and contemplated the row + of weapons, perfect and severe, drawn up in a line behind the black-framed + panes. I stood by his side. Suddenly he said— + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember Karain?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “The sight of all this made me think of him,” he went on, with his face + near the glass . . . and I could see another man, powerful and bearded, + peering at him intently from amongst the dark and polished tubes that can + cure so many illusions. “Yes; it made me think of him,” he continued, + slowly. “I saw a paper this morning; they are fighting over there again. + He’s sure to be in it. He will make it hot for the caballeros. Well, good + luck to him, poor devil! He was perfectly stunning.” + </p> + <p> + We walked on. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether the charm worked—you remember Hollis’s charm, of + course. If it did . . . Never was a sixpence wasted to better advantage! + Poor devil! I wonder whether he got rid of that friend of his. Hope so. . + . . Do you know, I sometimes think that—” + </p> + <p> + I stood still and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes . . . I mean, whether the thing was so, you know . . . whether it + really happened to him. . . . What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear chap,” I cried, “you have been too long away from home. What a + question to ask! Only look at all this.” + </p> + <p> + A watery gleam of sunshine flashed from the west and went out between two + long lines of walls; and then the broken confusion of roofs, the + chimney-stacks, the gold letters sprawling over the fronts of houses, the + sombre polish of windows, stood resigned and sullen under the falling + gloom. The whole length of the street, deep as a well and narrow like a + corridor, was full of a sombre and ceaseless stir. Our ears were filled by + a headlong shuffle and beat of rapid footsteps and by an underlying rumour—a + rumour vast, faint, pulsating, as of panting breaths, of beating hearts, + of gasping voices. Innumerable eyes stared straight in front, feet moved + hurriedly, blank faces flowed, arms swung. Over all, a narrow ragged strip + of smoky sky wound about between the high roofs, extended and motionless, + like a soiled streamer flying above the rout of a mob. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-e-e-s,” said Jackson, meditatively. + </p> + <p> + The big wheels of hansoms turned slowly along the edge of side-walks; a + pale-faced youth strolled, overcome by weariness, by the side of his stick + and with the tails of his overcoat flapping gently near his heels; horses + stepped gingerly on the greasy pavement, tossing their heads; two young + girls passed by, talking vivaciously and with shining eyes; a fine old + fellow strutted, red-faced, stroking a white moustache; and a line of + yellow boards with blue letters on them approached us slowly, tossing on + high behind one another like some queer wreckage adrift upon a river of + hats. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-e-es,” repeated Jackson. His clear blue eyes looked about, + contemptuous, amused and hard, like the eyes of a boy. A clumsy string of + red, yellow, and green omnibuses rolled swaying, monstrous and gaudy; two + shabby children ran across the road; a knot of dirty men with red + neckerchiefs round their bare throats lurched along, discussing filthily; + a ragged old man with a face of despair yelled horribly in the mud the + name of a paper; while far off, amongst the tossing heads of horses, the + dull flash of harnesses, the jumble of lustrous panels and roofs of + carriages, we could see a policeman, helmeted and dark, stretching out a + rigid arm at the crossing of the streets. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I see it,” said Jackson, slowly. “It is there; it pants, it runs, it + rolls; it is strong and alive; it would smash you if you didn’t look out; + but I’ll be hanged if it is yet as real to me as . . . as the other thing + . . . say, Karain’s story.” + </p> + <p> + I think that, decidedly, he had been too long away from home. + </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> + THE IDIOTS + </h2> + <p> + We were driving along the road from Treguier to Kervanda. We passed at a + smart trot between the hedges topping an earth wall on each side of the + road; then at the foot of the steep ascent before Ploumar the horse + dropped into a walk, and the driver jumped down heavily from the box. He + flicked his whip and climbed the incline, stepping clumsily uphill by the + side of the carriage, one hand on the footboard, his eyes on the ground. + After a while he lifted his head, pointed up the road with the end of the + whip, and said— + </p> + <p> + “The idiot!” + </p> + <p> + The sun was shining violently upon the undulating surface of the land. The + rises were topped by clumps of meagre trees, with their branches showing + high on the sky as if they had been perched upon stilts. The small fields, + cut up by hedges and stone walls that zig-zagged over the slopes, lay in + rectangular patches of vivid greens and yellows, resembling the unskilful + daubs of a naive picture. And the landscape was divided in two by the + white streak of a road stretching in long loops far away, like a river of + dust crawling out of the hills on its way to the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is,” said the driver, again. + </p> + <p> + In the long grass bordering the road a face glided past the carriage at + the level of the wheels as we drove slowly by. The imbecile face was red, + and the bullet head with close-cropped hair seemed to lie alone, its chin + in the dust. The body was lost in the bushes growing thick along the + bottom of the deep ditch. + </p> + <p> + It was a boy’s face. He might have been sixteen, judging from the size—perhaps + less, perhaps more. Such creatures are forgotten by time, and live + untouched by years till death gathers them up into its compassionate + bosom; the faithful death that never forgets in the press of work the most + insignificant of its children. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there’s another,” said the man, with a certain satisfaction in his + tone, as if he had caught sight of something expected. + </p> + <p> + There was another. That one stood nearly in the middle of the road in the + blaze of sunshine at the end of his own short shadow. And he stood with + hands pushed into the opposite sleeves of his long coat, his head sunk + between the shoulders, all hunched up in the flood of heat. From a + distance he had the aspect of one suffering from intense cold. + </p> + <p> + “Those are twins,” explained the driver. + </p> + <p> + The idiot shuffled two paces out of the way and looked at us over his + shoulder when we brushed past him. The glance was unseeing and staring, a + fascinated glance; but he did not turn to look after us. Probably the + image passed before the eyes without leaving any trace on the misshapen + brain of the creature. When we had topped the ascent I looked over the + hood. He stood in the road just where we had left him. + </p> + <p> + The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went + downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he + eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box— + </p> + <p> + “We shall see some more of them by-and-by.” + </p> + <p> + “More idiots? How many of them are there, then?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “There’s four of them—children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . + The parents are dead now,” he added, after a while. “The grandmother lives + on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come + home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It’s a good farm.” + </p> + <p> + We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were + dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. + The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at + us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks + of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall + of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of + yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation + of old people’s voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane. + </p> + <p> + I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on + that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the + inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to + the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and + purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their + parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my + questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the + very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and + sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together + over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping + seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the + story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as + they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant + hearts. + </p> + <p> + When he returned from his military service Jean-Pierre Bacadou found the + old people very much aged. He remarked with pain that the work of the farm + was not satisfactorily done. The father had not the energy of old days. + The hands did not feel over them the eye of the master. Jean-Pierre noted + with sorrow that the heap of manure in the courtyard before the only + entrance to the house was not so large as it should have been. The fences + were out of repair, and the cattle suffered from neglect. At home the + mother was practically bedridden, and the girls chattered loudly in the + big kitchen, unrebuked, from morning to night. He said to himself: “We + must change all this.” He talked the matter over with his father one + evening when the rays of the setting sun entering the yard between the + outhouses ruled the heavy shadows with luminous streaks. Over the manure + heap floated a mist, opal-tinted and odorous, and the marauding hens would + stop in their scratching to examine with a sudden glance of their round + eye the two men, both lean and tall, talking in hoarse tones. The old man, + all twisted with rheumatism and bowed with years of work, the younger bony + and straight, spoke without gestures in the indifferent manner of + peasants, grave and slow. But before the sun had set the father had + submitted to the sensible arguments of the son. “It is not for me that I + am speaking,” insisted Jean-Pierre. “It is for the land. It’s a pity to + see it badly used. I am not impatient for myself.” The old fellow nodded + over his stick. “I dare say; I dare say,” he muttered. “You may be right. + Do what you like. It’s the mother that will be pleased.” + </p> + <p> + The mother was pleased with her daughter-in-law. Jean-Pierre brought the + two-wheeled spring-cart with a rush into the yard. The gray horse galloped + clumsily, and the bride and bridegroom, sitting side by side, were jerked + backwards and forwards by the up and down motion of the shafts, in a + manner regular and brusque. On the road the distanced wedding guests + straggled in pairs and groups. The men advanced with heavy steps, swinging + their idle arms. They were clad in town clothes; jackets cut with clumsy + smartness, hard black hats, immense boots, polished highly. Their women + all in simple black, with white caps and shawls of faded tints folded + triangularly on the back, strolled lightly by their side. In front the + violin sang a strident tune, and the biniou snored and hummed, while the + player capered solemnly, lifting high his heavy clogs. The sombre + procession drifted in and out of the narrow lanes, through sunshine and + through shade, between fields and hedgerows, scaring the little birds that + darted away in troops right and left. In the yard of Bacadou’s farm the + dark ribbon wound itself up into a mass of men and women pushing at the + door with cries and greetings. The wedding dinner was remembered for + months. It was a splendid feast in the orchard. Farmers of considerable + means and excellent repute were to be found sleeping in ditches, all along + the road to Treguier, even as late as the afternoon of the next day. All + the countryside participated in the happiness of Jean-Pierre. He remained + sober, and, together with his quiet wife, kept out of the way, letting + father and mother reap their due of honour and thanks. But the next day he + took hold strongly, and the old folks felt a shadow—precursor of the + grave—fall upon them finally. The world is to the young. + </p> + <p> + When the twins were born there was plenty of room in the house, for the + mother of Jean-Pierre had gone away to dwell under a heavy stone in the + cemetery of Ploumar. On that day, for the first time since his son’s + marriage, the elder Bacadou, neglected by the cackling lot of strange + women who thronged the kitchen, left in the morning his seat under the + mantel of the fireplace, and went into the empty cow-house, shaking his + white locks dismally. Grandsons were all very well, but he wanted his soup + at midday. When shown the babies, he stared at them with a fixed gaze, and + muttered something like: “It’s too much.” Whether he meant too much + happiness, or simply commented upon the number of his descendants, it is + impossible to say. He looked offended—as far as his old wooden face + could express anything; and for days afterwards could be seen, almost any + time of the day, sitting at the gate, with his nose over his knees, a pipe + between his gums, and gathered up into a kind of raging concentrated + sulkiness. Once he spoke to his son, alluding to the newcomers with a + groan: “They will quarrel over the land.” “Don’t bother about that, + father,” answered Jean-Pierre, stolidly, and passed, bent double, towing a + recalcitrant cow over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + He was happy, and so was Susan, his wife. It was not an ethereal joy + welcoming new souls to struggle, perchance to victory. In fourteen years + both boys would be a help; and, later on, Jean-Pierre pictured two big + sons striding over the land from patch to patch, wringing tribute from the + earth beloved and fruitful. Susan was happy too, for she did not want to + be spoken of as the unfortunate woman, and now she had children no one + could call her that. Both herself and her husband had seen something of + the larger world—he during the time of his service; while she had + spent a year or so in Paris with a Breton family; but had been too + home-sick to remain longer away from the hilly and green country, set in a + barren circle of rocks and sands, where she had been born. She thought + that one of the boys ought perhaps to be a priest, but said nothing to her + husband, who was a republican, and hated the “crows,” as he called the + ministers of religion. The christening was a splendid affair. All the + commune came to it, for the Bacadous were rich and influential, and, now + and then, did not mind the expense. The grandfather had a new coat. + </p> + <p> + Some months afterwards, one evening when the kitchen had been swept, and + the door locked, Jean-Pierre, looking at the cot, asked his wife: “What’s + the matter with those children?” And, as if these words, spoken calmly, + had been the portent of misfortune, she answered with a loud wail that + must have been heard across the yard in the pig-sty; for the pigs (the + Bacadous had the finest pigs in the country) stirred and grunted + complainingly in the night. The husband went on grinding his bread and + butter slowly, gazing at the wall, the soup-plate smoking under his chin. + He had returned late from the market, where he had overheard (not for the + first time) whispers behind his back. He revolved the words in his mind as + he drove back. “Simple! Both of them. . . . Never any use! . . . Well! May + be, may be. One must see. Would ask his wife.” This was her answer. He + felt like a blow on his chest, but said only: “Go, draw me some cider. I + am thirsty!” + </p> + <p> + She went out moaning, an empty jug in her hand. Then he arose, took up the + light, and moved slowly towards the cradle. They slept. He looked at them + sideways, finished his mouthful there, went back heavily, and sat down + before his plate. When his wife returned he never looked up, but swallowed + a couple of spoonfuls noisily, and remarked, in a dull manner— + </p> + <p> + “When they sleep they are like other people’s children.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down suddenly on a stool near by, and shook with a silent tempest + of sobs, unable to speak. He finished his meal, and remained idly thrown + back in his chair, his eyes lost amongst the black rafters of the ceiling. + Before him the tallow candle flared red and straight, sending up a slender + thread of smoke. The light lay on the rough, sunburnt skin of his throat; + the sunk cheeks were like patches of darkness, and his aspect was + mournfully stolid, as if he had ruminated with difficulty endless ideas. + Then he said, deliberately— + </p> + <p> + “We must see . . . consult people. Don’t cry. . . . They won’t all be like + that . . . surely! We must sleep now.” + </p> + <p> + After the third child, also a boy, was born, Jean-Pierre went about his + work with tense hopefulness. His lips seemed more narrow, more tightly + compressed than before; as if for fear of letting the earth he tilled hear + the voice of hope that murmured within his breast. He watched the child, + stepping up to the cot with a heavy clang of sabots on the stone floor, + and glanced in, along his shoulder, with that indifference which is like a + deformity of peasant humanity. Like the earth they master and serve, those + men, slow of eye and speech, do not show the inner fire; so that, at last, + it becomes a question with them as with the earth, what there is in the + core: heat, violence, a force mysterious and terrible—or nothing but + a clod, a mass fertile and inert, cold and unfeeling, ready to bear a crop + of plants that sustain life or give death. + </p> + <p> + The mother watched with other eyes; listened with otherwise expectant + ears. Under the high hanging shelves supporting great sides of bacon + overhead, her body was busy by the great fireplace, attentive to the pot + swinging on iron gallows, scrubbing the long table where the field hands + would sit down directly to their evening meal. Her mind remained by the + cradle, night and day on the watch, to hope and suffer. That child, like + the other two, never smiled, never stretched its hands to her, never + spoke; never had a glance of recognition for her in its big black eyes, + which could only stare fixedly at any glitter, but failed hopelessly to + follow the brilliance of a sun-ray slipping slowly along the floor. When + the men were at work she spent long days between her three idiot children + and the childish grandfather, who sat grim, angular, and immovable, with + his feet near the warm ashes of the fire. The feeble old fellow seemed to + suspect that there was something wrong with his grandsons. Only once, + moved either by affection or by the sense of proprieties, he attempted to + nurse the youngest. He took the boy up from the floor, clicked his tongue + at him, and essayed a shaky gallop of his bony knees. Then he looked + closely with his misty eyes at the child’s face and deposited him down + gently on the floor again. And he sat, his lean shanks crossed, nodding at + the steam escaping from the cooking-pot with a gaze senile and worried. + </p> + <p> + Then mute affliction dwelt in Bacadou’s farmhouse, sharing the breath and + the bread of its inhabitants; and the priest of the Ploumar parish had + great cause for congratulation. He called upon the rich landowner, the + Marquis de Chavanes, on purpose to deliver himself with joyful unction of + solemn platitudes about the inscrutable ways of Providence. In the vast + dimness of the curtained drawing-room, the little man, resembling a black + bolster, leaned towards a couch, his hat on his knees, and gesticulated + with a fat hand at the elongated, gracefully-flowing lines of the clear + Parisian toilette from which the half-amused, half-bored marquise listened + with gracious languor. He was exulting and humble, proud and awed. The + impossible had come to pass. Jean-Pierre Bacadou, the enraged republican + farmer, had been to mass last Sunday—had proposed to entertain the + visiting priests at the next festival of Ploumar! It was a triumph for the + Church and for the good cause. “I thought I would come at once to tell + Monsieur le Marquis. I know how anxious he is for the welfare of our + country,” declared the priest, wiping his face. He was asked to stay to + dinner. + </p> + <p> + The Chavanes returning that evening, after seeing their guest to the main + gate of the park, discussed the matter while they strolled in the + moonlight, trailing their long shadows up the straight avenue of + chestnuts. The marquise, a royalist of course, had been mayor of the + commune which includes Ploumar, the scattered hamlets of the coast, and + the stony islands that fringe the yellow flatness of the sands. He had + felt his position insecure, for there was a strong republican element in + that part of the country; but now the conversion of Jean-Pierre made him + safe. He was very pleased. “You have no idea how influential those people + are,” he explained to his wife. “Now, I am sure, the next communal + election will go all right. I shall be re-elected.” “Your ambition is + perfectly insatiable, Charles,” exclaimed the marquise, gaily. “But, ma + chere amie,” argued the husband, seriously, “it’s most important that the + right man should be mayor this year, because of the elections to the + Chamber. If you think it amuses me . . .” + </p> + <p> + Jean-Pierre had surrendered to his wife’s mother. Madame Levaille was a + woman of business, known and respected within a radius of at least fifteen + miles. Thick-set and stout, she was seen about the country, on foot or in + an acquaintance’s cart, perpetually moving, in spite of her fifty-eight + years, in steady pursuit of business. She had houses in all the hamlets, + she worked quarries of granite, she freighted coasters with stone—even + traded with the Channel Islands. She was broad-cheeked, wide-eyed, + persuasive in speech: carrying her point with the placid and invincible + obstinacy of an old woman who knows her own mind. She very seldom slept + for two nights together in the same house; and the wayside inns were the + best places to inquire in as to her whereabouts. She had either passed, or + was expected to pass there at six; or somebody, coming in, had seen her in + the morning, or expected to meet her that evening. After the inns that + command the roads, the churches were the buildings she frequented most. + Men of liberal opinions would induce small children to run into sacred + edifices to see whether Madame Levaille was there, and to tell her that + so-and-so was in the road waiting to speak to her about potatoes, or + flour, or stones, or houses; and she would curtail her devotions, come out + blinking and crossing herself into the sunshine; ready to discuss business + matters in a calm, sensible way across a table in the kitchen of the inn + opposite. Latterly she had stayed for a few days several times with her + son-in-law, arguing against sorrow and misfortune with composed face and + gentle tones. Jean-Pierre felt the convictions imbibed in the regiment + torn out of his breast—not by arguments but by facts. Striding over + his fields he thought it over. There were three of them. Three! All alike! + Why? Such things did not happen to everybody—to nobody he ever heard + of. One—might pass. But three! All three. Forever useless, to be fed + while he lived and . . . What would become of the land when he died? This + must be seen to. He would sacrifice his convictions. One day he told his + wife— + </p> + <p> + “See what your God will do for us. Pay for some masses.” + </p> + <p> + Susan embraced her man. He stood unbending, then turned on his heels and + went out. But afterwards, when a black soutane darkened his doorway, he + did not object; even offered some cider himself to the priest. He listened + to the talk meekly; went to mass between the two women; accomplished what + the priest called “his religious duties” at Easter. That morning he felt + like a man who had sold his soul. In the afternoon he fought ferociously + with an old friend and neighbour who had remarked that the priests had the + best of it and were now going to eat the priest-eater. He came home + dishevelled and bleeding, and happening to catch sight of his children + (they were kept generally out of the way), cursed and swore incoherently, + banging the table. Susan wept. Madame Levaille sat serenely unmoved. She + assured her daughter that “It will pass;” and taking up her thick + umbrella, departed in haste to see after a schooner she was going to load + with granite from her quarry. + </p> + <p> + A year or so afterwards the girl was born. A girl. Jean-Pierre heard of it + in the fields, and was so upset by the news that he sat down on the + boundary wall and remained there till the evening, instead of going home + as he was urged to do. A girl! He felt half cheated. However, when he got + home he was partly reconciled to his fate. One could marry her to a good + fellow—not to a good for nothing, but to a fellow with some + understanding and a good pair of arms. Besides, the next may be a boy, he + thought. Of course they would be all right. His new credulity knew of no + doubt. The ill luck was broken. He spoke cheerily to his wife. She was + also hopeful. Three priests came to that christening, and Madame Levaille + was godmother. The child turned out an idiot too. + </p> + <p> + Then on market days Jean-Pierre was seen bargaining bitterly, quarrelsome + and greedy; then getting drunk with taciturn earnestness; then driving + home in the dusk at a rate fit for a wedding, but with a face gloomy + enough for a funeral. Sometimes he would insist on his wife coming with + him; and they would drive in the early morning, shaking side by side on + the narrow seat above the helpless pig, that, with tied legs, grunted a + melancholy sigh at every rut. The morning drives were silent; but in the + evening, coming home, Jean-Pierre, tipsy, was viciously muttering, and + growled at the confounded woman who could not rear children that were like + anybody else’s. Susan, holding on against the erratic swayings of the + cart, pretended not to hear. Once, as they were driving through Ploumar, + some obscure and drunken impulse caused him to pull up sharply opposite + the church. The moon swam amongst light white clouds. The tombstones + gleamed pale under the fretted shadows of the trees in the churchyard. + Even the village dogs slept. Only the nightingales, awake, spun out the + thrill of their song above the silence of graves. Jean-Pierre said thickly + to his wife— + </p> + <p> + “What do you think is there?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed his whip at the tower—in which the big dial of the clock + appeared high in the moonlight like a pallid face without eyes—and + getting out carefully, fell down at once by the wheel. He picked himself + up and climbed one by one the few steps to the iron gate of the + churchyard. He put his face to the bars and called out indistinctly— + </p> + <p> + “Hey there! Come out!” + </p> + <p> + “Jean! Return! Return!” entreated his wife in low tones. + </p> + <p> + He took no notice, and seemed to wait there. The song of nightingales beat + on all sides against the high walls of the church, and flowed back between + stone crosses and flat gray slabs, engraved with words of hope and sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! Come out!” shouted Jean-Pierre, loudly. + </p> + <p> + The nightingales ceased to sing. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody?” went on Jean-Pierre. “Nobody there. A swindle of the crows. + That’s what this is. Nobody anywhere. I despise it. <i>Allez! Houp!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He shook the gate with all his strength, and the iron bars rattled with a + frightful clanging, like a chain dragged over stone steps. A dog near by + barked hurriedly. Jean-Pierre staggered back, and after three successive + dashes got into his cart. Susan sat very quiet and still. He said to her + with drunken severity— + </p> + <p> + “See? Nobody. I’ve been made a fool! <i>Malheur!</i> Somebody will pay for + it. The next one I see near the house I will lay my whip on . . . on the + black spine . . . I will. I don’t want him in there . . . he only helps + the carrion crows to rob poor folk. I am a man. . . . We will see if I + can’t have children like anybody else . . . now you mind. . . . They won’t + be all . . . all . . . we see. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She burst out through the fingers that hid her face— + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that, Jean; don’t say that, my man!” + </p> + <p> + He struck her a swinging blow on the head with the back of his hand and + knocked her into the bottom of the cart, where she crouched, thrown about + lamentably by every jolt. He drove furiously, standing up, brandishing his + whip, shaking the reins over the gray horse that galloped ponderously, + making the heavy harness leap upon his broad quarters. The country rang + clamorous in the night with the irritated barking of farm dogs, that + followed the rattle of wheels all along the road. A couple of belated + wayfarers had only just time to step into the ditch. At his own gate he + caught the post and was shot out of the cart head first. The horse went on + slowly to the door. At Susan’s piercing cries the farm hands rushed out. + She thought him dead, but he was only sleeping where he fell, and cursed + his men, who hastened to him, for disturbing his slumbers. + </p> + <p> + Autumn came. The clouded sky descended low upon the black contours of the + hills; and the dead leaves danced in spiral whirls under naked trees, till + the wind, sighing profoundly, laid them to rest in the hollows of bare + valleys. And from morning till night one could see all over the land black + denuded boughs, the boughs gnarled and twisted, as if contorted with pain, + swaying sadly between the wet clouds and the soaked earth. The clear and + gentle streams of summer days rushed discoloured and raging at the stones + that barred the way to the sea, with the fury of madness bent upon + suicide. From horizon to horizon the great road to the sands lay between + the hills in a dull glitter of empty curves, resembling an unnavigable + river of mud. + </p> + <p> + Jean-Pierre went from field to field, moving blurred and tall in the + drizzle, or striding on the crests of rises, lonely and high upon the gray + curtain of drifting clouds, as if he had been pacing along the very edge + of the universe. He looked at the black earth, at the earth mute and + promising, at the mysterious earth doing its work of life in death-like + stillness under the veiled sorrow of the sky. And it seemed to him that to + a man worse than childless there was no promise in the fertility of + fields, that from him the earth escaped, defied him, frowned at him like + the clouds, sombre and hurried above his head. Having to face alone his + own fields, he felt the inferiority of man who passes away before the clod + that remains. Must he give up the hope of having by his side a son who + would look at the turned-up sods with a master’s eye? A man that would + think as he thought, that would feel as he felt; a man who would be part + of himself, and yet remain to trample masterfully on that earth when he + was gone? He thought of some distant relations, and felt savage enough to + curse them aloud. They! Never! He turned homewards, going straight at the + roof of his dwelling, visible between the enlaced skeletons of trees. As + he swung his legs over the stile a cawing flock of birds settled slowly on + the field; dropped down behind his back, noiseless and fluttering, like + flakes of soot. + </p> + <p> + That day Madame Levaille had gone early in the afternoon to the house she + had near Kervanion. She had to pay some of the men who worked in her + granite quarry there, and she went in good time because her little house + contained a shop where the workmen could spend their wages without the + trouble of going to town. The house stood alone amongst rocks. A lane of + mud and stones ended at the door. The sea-winds coming ashore on + Stonecutter’s point, fresh from the fierce turmoil of the waves, howled + violently at the unmoved heaps of black boulders holding up steadily + short-armed, high crosses against the tremendous rush of the invisible. In + the sweep of gales the sheltered dwelling stood in a calm resonant and + disquieting, like the calm in the centre of a hurricane. On stormy nights, + when the tide was out, the bay of Fougere, fifty feet below the house, + resembled an immense black pit, from which ascended mutterings and sighs + as if the sands down there had been alive and complaining. At high tide + the returning water assaulted the ledges of rock in short rushes, ending + in bursts of livid light and columns of spray, that flew inland, stinging + to death the grass of pastures. + </p> + <p> + The darkness came from the hills, flowed over the coast, put out the red + fires of sunset, and went on to seaward pursuing the retiring tide. The + wind dropped with the sun, leaving a maddened sea and a devastated sky. + The heavens above the house seemed to be draped in black rags, held up + here and there by pins of fire. Madame Levaille, for this evening the + servant of her own workmen, tried to induce them to depart. “An old woman + like me ought to be in bed at this late hour,” she good-humouredly + repeated. The quarrymen drank, asked for more. They shouted over the table + as if they had been talking across a field. At one end four of them played + cards, banging the wood with their hard knuckles, and swearing at every + lead. One sat with a lost gaze, humming a bar of some song, which he + repeated endlessly. Two others, in a corner, were quarrelling + confidentially and fiercely over some woman, looking close into one + another’s eyes as if they had wanted to tear them out, but speaking in + whispers that promised violence and murder discreetly, in a venomous + sibillation of subdued words. The atmosphere in there was thick enough to + slice with a knife. Three candles burning about the long room glowed red + and dull like sparks expiring in ashes. + </p> + <p> + The slight click of the iron latch was at that late hour as unexpected and + startling as a thunder-clap. Madame Levaille put down a bottle she held + above a liqueur glass; the players turned their heads; the whispered + quarrel ceased; only the singer, after darting a glance at the door, went + on humming with a stolid face. Susan appeared in the doorway, stepped in, + flung the door to, and put her back against it, saying, half aloud— + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Levaille, taking up the bottle again, said calmly: “Here you are, + my girl. What a state you are in!” The neck of the bottle rang on the rim + of the glass, for the old woman was startled, and the idea that the farm + had caught fire had entered her head. She could think of no other cause + for her daughter’s appearance. + </p> + <p> + Susan, soaked and muddy, stared the whole length of the room towards the + men at the far end. Her mother asked— + </p> + <p> + “What has happened? God guard us from misfortune!” + </p> + <p> + Susan moved her lips. No sound came. Madame Levaille stepped up to her + daughter, took her by the arm, looked into her face. + </p> + <p> + “In God’s name,” she said, shakily, “what’s the matter? You have been + rolling in mud. . . . Why did you come? . . . Where’s Jean?” + </p> + <p> + The men had all got up and approached slowly, staring with dull surprise. + Madame Levaille jerked her daughter away from the door, swung her round + upon a seat close to the wall. Then she turned fiercely to the men— + </p> + <p> + “Enough of this! Out you go—you others! I close.” + </p> + <p> + One of them observed, looking down at Susan collapsed on the seat: “She is—one + may say—half dead.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Levaille flung the door open. + </p> + <p> + “Get out! March!” she cried, shaking nervously. + </p> + <p> + They dropped out into the night, laughing stupidly. Outside, the two + Lotharios broke out into loud shouts. The others tried to soothe them, all + talking at once. The noise went away up the lane with the men, who + staggered together in a tight knot, remonstrating with one another + foolishly. + </p> + <p> + “Speak, Susan. What is it? Speak!” entreated Madame Levaille, as soon as + the door was shut. + </p> + <p> + Susan pronounced some incomprehensible words, glaring at the table. The + old woman clapped her hands above her head, let them drop, and stood + looking at her daughter with disconsolate eyes. Her husband had been + “deranged in his head” for a few years before he died, and now she began + to suspect her daughter was going mad. She asked, pressingly— + </p> + <p> + “Does Jean know where you are? Where is Jean?” + </p> + <p> + “He knows . . . he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the old woman. She came up near, and peering at her + daughter, repeated three times: “What do you say? What do you say? What do + you say?” + </p> + <p> + Susan sat dry-eyed and stony before Madame Levaille, who contemplated her, + feeling a strange sense of inexplicable horror creep into the silence of + the house. She had hardly realised the news, further than to understand + that she had been brought in one short moment face to face with something + unexpected and final. It did not even occur to her to ask for any + explanation. She thought: accident—terrible accident—blood to + the head—fell down a trap door in the loft. . . . She remained + there, distracted and mute, blinking her old eyes. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, Susan said— + </p> + <p> + “I have killed him.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the mother stood still, almost unbreathing, but with composed + face. The next second she burst out into a shout— + </p> + <p> + “You miserable madwoman . . . they will cut your neck. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She fancied the gendarmes entering the house, saying to her: “We want your + daughter; give her up:” the gendarmes with the severe, hard faces of men + on duty. She knew the brigadier well—an old friend, familiar and + respectful, saying heartily, “To your good health, Madame!” before lifting + to his lips the small glass of cognac—out of the special bottle she + kept for friends. And now! . . . She was losing her head. She rushed here + and there, as if looking for something urgently needed—gave that up, + stood stock still in the middle of the room, and screamed at her daughter— + </p> + <p> + “Why? Say! Say! Why?” + </p> + <p> + The other seemed to leap out of her strange apathy. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I am made of stone?” she shouted back, striding towards her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “No! It’s impossible . . .” said Madame Levaille, in a convinced tone. + </p> + <p> + “You go and see, mother,” retorted Susan, looking at her with blazing + eyes. “There’s no money in heaven—no justice. No! . . . I did not + know. . . . Do you think I have no heart? Do you think I have never heard + people jeering at me, pitying me, wondering at me? Do you know how some of + them were calling me? The mother of idiots—that was my nickname! And + my children never would know me, never speak to me. They would know + nothing; neither men—nor God. Haven’t I prayed! But the Mother of + God herself would not hear me. A mother! . . . Who is accursed—I, or + the man who is dead? Eh? Tell me. I took care of myself. Do you think I + would defy the anger of God and have my house full of those things—that + are worse than animals who know the hand that feeds them? Who blasphemed + in the night at the very church door? Was it I? . . . I only wept and + prayed for mercy . . . and I feel the curse at every moment of the day—I + see it round me from morning to night . . . I’ve got to keep them alive—to + take care of my misfortune and shame. And he would come. I begged him and + Heaven for mercy. . . . No! . . . Then we shall see. . . . He came this + evening. I thought to myself: ‘Ah! again!’ . . . I had my long scissors. I + heard him shouting . . . I saw him near. . . . I must—must I? . . . + Then take! . . . And I struck him in the throat above the breastbone. . . + . I never heard him even sigh. . . . I left him standing. . . . It was a + minute ago. How did I come here?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Levaille shivered. A wave of cold ran down her back, down her fat + arms under her tight sleeves, made her stamp gently where she stood. + Quivers ran over the broad cheeks, across the thin lips, ran amongst the + wrinkles at the corners of her steady old eyes. She stammered— + </p> + <p> + “You wicked woman—you disgrace me. But there! You always resembled + your father. What do you think will become of you . . . in the other + world? In this . . . Oh misery!” + </p> + <p> + She was very hot now. She felt burning inside. She wrung her perspiring + hands—and suddenly, starting in great haste, began to look for her + big shawl and umbrella, feverishly, never once glancing at her daughter, + who stood in the middle of the room following her with a gaze distracted + and cold. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing worse than in this,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + Her mother, umbrella in hand and trailing the shawl over the floor, + groaned profoundly. + </p> + <p> + “I must go to the priest,” she burst out passionately. “I do not know + whether you even speak the truth! You are a horrible woman. They will find + you anywhere. You may stay here—or go. There is no room for you in + this world.” + </p> + <p> + Ready now to depart, she yet wandered aimlessly about the room, putting + the bottles on the shelf, trying to fit with trembling hands the covers on + cardboard boxes. Whenever the real sense of what she had heard emerged for + a second from the haze of her thoughts she would fancy that something had + exploded in her brain without, unfortunately, bursting her head to pieces—which + would have been a relief. She blew the candles out one by one without + knowing it, and was horribly startled by the darkness. She fell on a bench + and began to whimper. After a while she ceased, and sat listening to the + breathing of her daughter, whom she could hardly see, still and upright, + giving no other sign of life. She was becoming old rapidly at last, during + those minutes. She spoke in tones unsteady, cut about by the rattle of + teeth, like one shaken by a deadly cold fit of ague. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had died little. I will never dare to show my old head in the + sunshine again. There are worse misfortunes than idiot children. I wish + you had been born to me simple—like your own. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She saw the figure of her daughter pass before the faint and livid + clearness of a window. Then it appeared in the doorway for a second, and + the door swung to with a clang. Madame Levaille, as if awakened by the + noise from a long nightmare, rushed out. + </p> + <p> + “Susan!” she shouted from the doorstep. + </p> + <p> + She heard a stone roll a long time down the declivity of the rocky beach + above the sands. She stepped forward cautiously, one hand on the wall of + the house, and peered down into the smooth darkness of the empty bay. Once + again she cried— + </p> + <p> + “Susan! You will kill yourself there.” + </p> + <p> + The stone had taken its last leap in the dark, and she heard nothing now. + A sudden thought seemed to strangle her, and she called no more. She + turned her back upon the black silence of the pit and went up the lane + towards Ploumar, stumbling along with sombre determination, as if she had + started on a desperate journey that would last, perhaps, to the end of her + life. A sullen and periodic clamour of waves rolling over reefs followed + her far inland between the high hedges sheltering the gloomy solitude of + the fields. + </p> + <p> + Susan had run out, swerving sharp to the left at the door, and on the edge + of the slope crouched down behind a boulder. A dislodged stone went on + downwards, rattling as it leaped. When Madame Levaille called out, Susan + could have, by stretching her hand, touched her mother’s skirt, had she + had the courage to move a limb. She saw the old woman go away, and she + remained still, closing her eyes and pressing her side to the hard and + rugged surface of the rock. After a while a familiar face with fixed eyes + and an open mouth became visible in the intense obscurity amongst the + boulders. She uttered a low cry and stood up. The face vanished, leaving + her to gasp and shiver alone in the wilderness of stone heaps. But as soon + as she had crouched down again to rest, with her head against the rock, + the face returned, came very near, appeared eager to finish the speech + that had been cut short by death, only a moment ago. She scrambled quickly + to her feet and said: “Go away, or I will do it again.” The thing wavered, + swung to the right, to the left. She moved this way and that, stepped + back, fancied herself screaming at it, and was appalled by the unbroken + stillness of the night. She tottered on the brink, felt the steep + declivity under her feet, and rushed down blindly to save herself from a + headlong fall. The shingle seemed to wake up; the pebbles began to roll + before her, pursued her from above, raced down with her on both sides, + rolling past with an increasing clatter. In the peace of the night the + noise grew, deepening to a rumour, continuous and violent, as if the whole + semicircle of the stony beach had started to tumble down into the bay. + Susan’s feet hardly touched the slope that seemed to run down with her. At + the bottom she stumbled, shot forward, throwing her arms out, and fell + heavily. She jumped up at once and turned swiftly to look back, her + clenched hands full of sand she had clutched in her fall. The face was + there, keeping its distance, visible in its own sheen that made a pale + stain in the night. She shouted, “Go away!”—she shouted at it with + pain, with fear, with all the rage of that useless stab that could not + keep him quiet, keep him out of her sight. What did he want now? He was + dead. Dead men have no children. Would he never leave her alone? She + shrieked at it—waved her outstretched hands. She seemed to feel the + breath of parted lips, and, with a long cry of discouragement, fled across + the level bottom of the bay. + </p> + <p> + She ran lightly, unaware of any effort of her body. High sharp rocks that, + when the bay is full, show above the glittering plain of blue water like + pointed towers of submerged churches, glided past her, rushing to the land + at a tremendous pace. To the left, in the distance, she could see + something shining: a broad disc of light in which narrow shadows pivoted + round the centre like the spokes of a wheel. She heard a voice calling, + “Hey! There!” and answered with a wild scream. So, he could call yet! He + was calling after her to stop. Never! . . . She tore through the night, + past the startled group of seaweed-gatherers who stood round their lantern + paralysed with fear at the unearthly screech coming from that fleeing + shadow. The men leaned on their pitchforks staring fearfully. A woman fell + on her knees, and, crossing herself, began to pray aloud. A little girl + with her ragged skirt full of slimy seaweed began to sob despairingly, + lugging her soaked burden close to the man who carried the light. Somebody + said: “The thing ran out towards the sea.” Another voice exclaimed: “And + the sea is coming back! Look at the spreading puddles. Do you hear—you + woman—there! Get up!” Several voices cried together. “Yes, let us be + off! Let the accursed thing go to the sea!” They moved on, keeping close + round the light. Suddenly a man swore loudly. He would go and see what was + the matter. It had been a woman’s voice. He would go. There were shrill + protests from women—but his high form detached itself from the group + and went off running. They sent an unanimous call of scared voices after + him. A word, insulting and mocking, came back, thrown at them through the + darkness. A woman moaned. An old man said gravely: “Such things ought to + be left alone.” They went on slower, shuffling in the yielding sand and + whispering to one another that Millot feared nothing, having no religion, + but that it would end badly some day. + </p> + <p> + Susan met the incoming tide by the Raven islet and stopped, panting, with + her feet in the water. She heard the murmur and felt the cold caress of + the sea, and, calmer now, could see the sombre and confused mass of the + Raven on one side and on the other the long white streak of Molene sands + that are left high above the dry bottom of Fougere Bay at every ebb. She + turned round and saw far away, along the starred background of the sky, + the ragged outline of the coast. Above it, nearly facing her, appeared the + tower of Ploumar Church; a slender and tall pyramid shooting up dark and + pointed into the clustered glitter of the stars. She felt strangely calm. + She knew where she was, and began to remember how she came there—and + why. She peered into the smooth obscurity near her. She was alone. There + was nothing there; nothing near her, either living or dead. + </p> + <p> + The tide was creeping in quietly, putting out long impatient arms of + strange rivulets that ran towards the land between ridges of sand. Under + the night the pools grew bigger with mysterious rapidity, while the great + sea, yet far off, thundered in a regular rhythm along the indistinct line + of the horizon. Susan splashed her way back for a few yards without being + able to get clear of the water that murmured tenderly all around and, + suddenly, with a spiteful gurgle, nearly took her off her feet. Her heart + thumped with fear. This place was too big and too empty to die in. + To-morrow they would do with her what they liked. But before she died she + must tell them—tell the gentlemen in black clothes that there are + things no woman can bear. She must explain how it happened. . . . She + splashed through a pool, getting wet to the waist, too preoccupied to + care. . . . She must explain. “He came in the same way as ever and said, + just so: ‘Do you think I am going to leave the land to those people from + Morbihan that I do not know? Do you? We shall see! Come along, you + creature of mischance!’ And he put his arms out. Then, Messieurs, I said: + ‘Before God—never!’ And he said, striding at me with open palms: + ‘There is no God to hold me! Do you understand, you useless carcase. I + will do what I like.’ And he took me by the shoulders. Then I, Messieurs, + called to God for help, and next minute, while he was shaking me, I felt + my long scissors in my hand. His shirt was unbuttoned, and, by the + candle-light, I saw the hollow of his throat. I cried: ‘Let go!’ He was + crushing my shoulders. He was strong, my man was! Then I thought: No! . . + . Must I? . . . Then take!—and I struck in the hollow place. I never + saw him fall. . . . The old father never turned his head. He is deaf and + childish, gentlemen. . . . Nobody saw him fall. I ran out . . . Nobody + saw. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She had been scrambling amongst the boulders of the Raven and now found + herself, all out of breath, standing amongst the heavy shadows of the + rocky islet. The Raven is connected with the main land by a natural pier + of immense and slippery stones. She intended to return home that way. Was + he still standing there? At home. Home! Four idiots and a corpse. She must + go back and explain. Anybody would understand. . . . + </p> + <p> + Below her the night or the sea seemed to pronounce distinctly— + </p> + <p> + “Aha! I see you at last!” + </p> + <p> + She started, slipped, fell; and without attempting to rise, listened, + terrified. She heard heavy breathing, a clatter of wooden clogs. It + stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Where the devil did you pass?” said an invisible man, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + She held her breath. She recognized the voice. She had not seen him fall. + Was he pursuing her there dead, or perhaps . . . alive? + </p> + <p> + She lost her head. She cried from the crevice where she lay huddled, + “Never, never!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You are still there. You led me a fine dance. Wait, my beauty, I must + see how you look after all this. You wait. . . .” + </p> + <p> + Millot was stumbling, laughing, swearing meaninglessly out of pure + satisfaction, pleased with himself for having run down that fly-by-night. + “As if there were such things as ghosts! Bah! It took an old African + soldier to show those clodhoppers. . . . But it was curious. Who the devil + was she?” + </p> + <p> + Susan listened, crouching. He was coming for her, this dead man. There was + no escape. What a noise he made amongst the stones. . . . She saw his head + rise up, then the shoulders. He was tall—her own man! His long arms + waved about, and it was his own voice sounding a little strange . . . + because of the scissors. She scrambled out quickly, rushed to the edge of + the causeway, and turned round. The man stood still on a high stone, + detaching himself in dead black on the glitter of the sky. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to?” he called, roughly. + </p> + <p> + She answered, “Home!” and watched him intensely. He made a striding, + clumsy leap on to another boulder, and stopped again, balancing himself, + then said— + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! Well, I am going with you. It’s the least I can do. Ha! ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + She stared at him till her eyes seemed to become glowing coals that burned + deep into her brain, and yet she was in mortal fear of making out the + well-known features. Below her the sea lapped softly against the rock with + a splash continuous and gentle. + </p> + <p> + The man said, advancing another step— + </p> + <p> + “I am coming for you. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + She trembled. Coming for her! There was no escape, no peace, no hope. She + looked round despairingly. Suddenly the whole shadowy coast, the blurred + islets, the heaven itself, swayed about twice, then came to a rest. She + closed her eyes and shouted— + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you wait till I am dead!” + </p> + <p> + She was shaken by a furious hate for that shade that pursued her in this + world, unappeased even by death in its longing for an heir that would be + like other people’s children. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! What?” said Millot, keeping his distance prudently. He was saying to + himself: “Look out! Some lunatic. An accident happens soon.” + </p> + <p> + She went on, wildly— + </p> + <p> + “I want to live. To live alone—for a week—for a day. I must + explain to them. . . . I would tear you to pieces, I would kill you twenty + times over rather than let you touch me while I live. How many times must + I kill you—you blasphemer! Satan sends you here. I am damned too!” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Millot, alarmed and conciliating. “I am perfectly alive! . . + . Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + She had screamed, “Alive!” and at once vanished before his eyes, as if the + islet itself had swerved aside from under her feet. Millot rushed forward, + and fell flat with his chin over the edge. Far below he saw the water + whitened by her struggles, and heard one shrill cry for help that seemed + to dart upwards along the perpendicular face of the rock, and soar past, + straight into the high and impassive heaven. + </p> + <p> + Madame Levaille sat, dry-eyed, on the short grass of the hill side, with + her thick legs stretched out, and her old feet turned up in their black + cloth shoes. Her clogs stood near by, and further off the umbrella lay on + the withered sward like a weapon dropped from the grasp of a vanquished + warrior. The Marquis of Chavanes, on horseback, one gloved hand on thigh, + looked down at her as she got up laboriously, with groans. On the narrow + track of the seaweed-carts four men were carrying inland Susan’s body on a + hand-barrow, while several others straggled listlessly behind. Madame + Levaille looked after the procession. “Yes, Monsieur le Marquis,” she said + dispassionately, in her usual calm tone of a reasonable old woman. “There + are unfortunate people on this earth. I had only one child. Only one! And + they won’t bury her in consecrated ground!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes filled suddenly, and a short shower of tears rolled down the + broad cheeks. She pulled the shawl close about her. The Marquis leaned + slightly over in his saddle, and said— + </p> + <p> + “It is very sad. You have all my sympathy. I shall speak to the Cure. She + was unquestionably insane, and the fall was accidental. Millot says so + distinctly. Good-day, Madame.” + </p> + <p> + And he trotted off, thinking to himself: “I must get this old woman + appointed guardian of those idiots, and administrator of the farm. It + would be much better than having here one of those other Bacadous, + probably a red republican, corrupting my commune.” + </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> + AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + There were two white men in charge of the trading station. Kayerts, the + chief, was short and fat; Carlier, the assistant, was tall, with a large + head and a very broad trunk perched upon a long pair of thin legs. The + third man on the staff was a Sierra Leone nigger, who maintained that his + name was Henry Price. However, for some reason or other, the natives down + the river had given him the name of Makola, and it stuck to him through + all his wanderings about the country. He spoke English and French with a + warbling accent, wrote a beautiful hand, understood bookkeeping, and + cherished in his innermost heart the worship of evil spirits. His wife was + a negress from Loanda, very large and very noisy. Three children rolled + about in sunshine before the door of his low, shed-like dwelling. Makola, + taciturn and impenetrable, despised the two white men. He had charge of a + small clay storehouse with a dried-grass roof, and pretended to keep a + correct account of beads, cotton cloth, red kerchiefs, brass wire, and + other trade goods it contained. Besides the storehouse and Makola’s hut, + there was only one large building in the cleared ground of the station. It + was built neatly of reeds, with a verandah on all the four sides. There + were three rooms in it. The one in the middle was the living-room, and had + two rough tables and a few stools in it. The other two were the bedrooms + for the white men. Each had a bedstead and a mosquito net for all + furniture. The plank floor was littered with the belongings of the white + men; open half-empty boxes, torn wearing apparel, old boots; all the + things dirty, and all the things broken, that accumulate mysteriously + round untidy men. There was also another dwelling-place some distance away + from the buildings. In it, under a tall cross much out of the + perpendicular, slept the man who had seen the beginning of all this; who + had planned and had watched the construction of this outpost of progress. + He had been, at home, an unsuccessful painter who, weary of pursuing fame + on an empty stomach, had gone out there through high protections. He had + been the first chief of that station. Makola had watched the energetic + artist die of fever in the just finished house with his usual kind of “I + told you so” indifference. Then, for a time, he dwelt alone with his + family, his account books, and the Evil Spirit that rules the lands under + the equator. He got on very well with his god. Perhaps he had propitiated + him by a promise of more white men to play with, by and by. At any rate + the director of the Great Trading Company, coming up in a steamer that + resembled an enormous sardine box with a flat-roofed shed erected on it, + found the station in good order, and Makola as usual quietly diligent. The + director had the cross put up over the first agent’s grave, and appointed + Kayerts to the post. Carlier was told off as second in charge. The + director was a man ruthless and efficient, who at times, but very + imperceptibly, indulged in grim humour. He made a speech to Kayerts and + Carlier, pointing out to them the promising aspect of their station. The + nearest trading-post was about three hundred miles away. It was an + exceptional opportunity for them to distinguish themselves and to earn + percentages on the trade. This appointment was a favour done to beginners. + Kayerts was moved almost to tears by his director’s kindness. He would, he + said, by doing his best, try to justify the flattering confidence, &c., + &c. Kayerts had been in the Administration of the Telegraphs, and knew + how to express himself correctly. Carlier, an ex-non-commissioned officer + of cavalry in an army guaranteed from harm by several European Powers, was + less impressed. If there were commissions to get, so much the better; and, + trailing a sulky glance over the river, the forests, the impenetrable bush + that seemed to cut off the station from the rest of the world, he muttered + between his teeth, “We shall see, very soon.” + </p> + <p> + Next day, some bales of cotton goods and a few cases of provisions having + been thrown on shore, the sardine-box steamer went off, not to return for + another six months. On the deck the director touched his cap to the two + agents, who stood on the bank waving their hats, and turning to an old + servant of the Company on his passage to headquarters, said, “Look at + those two imbeciles. They must be mad at home to send me such specimens. I + told those fellows to plant a vegetable garden, build new storehouses and + fences, and construct a landing-stage. I bet nothing will be done! They + won’t know how to begin. I always thought the station on this river + useless, and they just fit the station!” + </p> + <p> + “They will form themselves there,” said the old stager with a quiet smile. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, I am rid of them for six months,” retorted the director. + </p> + <p> + The two men watched the steamer round the bend, then, ascending arm in arm + the slope of the bank, returned to the station. They had been in this vast + and dark country only a very short time, and as yet always in the midst of + other white men, under the eye and guidance of their superiors. And now, + dull as they were to the subtle influences of surroundings, they felt + themselves very much alone, when suddenly left unassisted to face the + wilderness; a wilderness rendered more strange, more incomprehensible by + the mysterious glimpses of the vigorous life it contained. They were two + perfectly insignificant and incapable individuals, whose existence is only + rendered possible through the high organization of civilized crowds. Few + men realize that their life, the very essence of their character, their + capabilities and their audacities, are only the expression of their belief + in the safety of their surroundings. The courage, the composure, the + confidence; the emotions and principles; every great and every + insignificant thought belongs not to the individual but to the crowd: to + the crowd that believes blindly in the irresistible force of its + institutions and of its morals, in the power of its police and of its + opinion. But the contact with pure unmitigated savagery, with primitive + nature and primitive man, brings sudden and profound trouble into the + heart. To the sentiment of being alone of one’s kind, to the clear + perception of the loneliness of one’s thoughts, of one’s sensations—to + the negation of the habitual, which is safe, there is added the + affirmation of the unusual, which is dangerous; a suggestion of things + vague, uncontrollable, and repulsive, whose discomposing intrusion excites + the imagination and tries the civilized nerves of the foolish and the wise + alike. + </p> + <p> + Kayerts and Carlier walked arm in arm, drawing close to one another as + children do in the dark; and they had the same, not altogether unpleasant, + sense of danger which one half suspects to be imaginary. They chatted + persistently in familiar tones. “Our station is prettily situated,” said + one. The other assented with enthusiasm, enlarging volubly on the beauties + of the situation. Then they passed near the grave. “Poor devil!” said + Kayerts. “He died of fever, didn’t he?” muttered Carlier, stopping short. + “Why,” retorted Kayerts, with indignation, “I’ve been told that the fellow + exposed himself recklessly to the sun. The climate here, everybody says, + is not at all worse than at home, as long as you keep out of the sun. Do + you hear that, Carlier? I am chief here, and my orders are that you should + not expose yourself to the sun!” He assumed his superiority jocularly, but + his meaning was serious. The idea that he would, perhaps, have to bury + Carlier and remain alone, gave him an inward shiver. He felt suddenly that + this Carlier was more precious to him here, in the centre of Africa, than + a brother could be anywhere else. Carlier, entering into the spirit of the + thing, made a military salute and answered in a brisk tone, “Your orders + shall be attended to, chief!” Then he burst out laughing, slapped Kayerts + on the back and shouted, “We shall let life run easily here! Just sit + still and gather in the ivory those savages will bring. This country has + its good points, after all!” They both laughed loudly while Carlier + thought: “That poor Kayerts; he is so fat and unhealthy. It would be awful + if I had to bury him here. He is a man I respect.” . . . Before they + reached the verandah of their house they called one another “my dear + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + The first day they were very active, pottering about with hammers and + nails and red calico, to put up curtains, make their house habitable and + pretty; resolved to settle down comfortably to their new life. For them an + impossible task. To grapple effectually with even purely material problems + requires more serenity of mind and more lofty courage than people + generally imagine. No two beings could have been more unfitted for such a + struggle. Society, not from any tenderness, but because of its strange + needs, had taken care of those two men, forbidding them all independent + thought, all initiative, all departure from routine; and forbidding it + under pain of death. They could only live on condition of being machines. + And now, released from the fostering care of men with pens behind the + ears, or of men with gold lace on the sleeves, they were like those + lifelong prisoners who, liberated after many years, do not know what use + to make of their freedom. They did not know what use to make of their + faculties, being both, through want of practice, incapable of independent + thought. + </p> + <p> + At the end of two months Kayerts often would say, “If it was not for my + Melie, you wouldn’t catch me here.” Melie was his daughter. He had thrown + up his post in the Administration of the Telegraphs, though he had been + for seventeen years perfectly happy there, to earn a dowry for his girl. + His wife was dead, and the child was being brought up by his sisters. He + regretted the streets, the pavements, the cafes, his friends of many + years; all the things he used to see, day after day; all the thoughts + suggested by familiar things—the thoughts effortless, monotonous, + and soothing of a Government clerk; he regretted all the gossip, the small + enmities, the mild venom, and the little jokes of Government offices. “If + I had had a decent brother-in-law,” Carlier would remark, “a fellow with a + heart, I would not be here.” He had left the army and had made himself so + obnoxious to his family by his laziness and impudence, that an exasperated + brother-in-law had made superhuman efforts to procure him an appointment + in the Company as a second-class agent. Having not a penny in the world he + was compelled to accept this means of livelihood as soon as it became + quite clear to him that there was nothing more to squeeze out of his + relations. He, like Kayerts, regretted his old life. He regretted the + clink of sabre and spurs on a fine afternoon, the barrack-room witticisms, + the girls of garrison towns; but, besides, he had also a sense of + grievance. He was evidently a much ill-used man. This made him moody, at + times. But the two men got on well together in the fellowship of their + stupidity and laziness. Together they did nothing, absolutely nothing, and + enjoyed the sense of the idleness for which they were paid. And in time + they came to feel something resembling affection for one another. + </p> + <p> + They lived like blind men in a large room, aware only of what came in + contact with them (and of that only imperfectly), but unable to see the + general aspect of things. The river, the forest, all the great land + throbbing with life, were like a great emptiness. Even the brilliant + sunshine disclosed nothing intelligible. Things appeared and disappeared + before their eyes in an unconnected and aimless kind of way. The river + seemed to come from nowhere and flow nowhither. It flowed through a void. + Out of that void, at times, came canoes, and men with spears in their + hands would suddenly crowd the yard of the station. They were naked, + glossy black, ornamented with snowy shells and glistening brass wire, + perfect of limb. They made an uncouth babbling noise when they spoke, + moved in a stately manner, and sent quick, wild glances out of their + startled, never-resting eyes. Those warriors would squat in long rows, + four or more deep, before the verandah, while their chiefs bargained for + hours with Makola over an elephant tusk. Kayerts sat on his chair and + looked down on the proceedings, understanding nothing. He stared at them + with his round blue eyes, called out to Carlier, “Here, look! look at that + fellow there—and that other one, to the left. Did you ever such a + face? Oh, the funny brute!” + </p> + <p> + Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger up + twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty + indulgence, would say— + </p> + <p> + “Fine animals. Brought any bone? Yes? It’s not any too soon. Look at the + muscles of that fellow third from the end. I wouldn’t care to get a punch + on the nose from him. Fine arms, but legs no good below the knee. Couldn’t + make cavalry men of them.” And after glancing down complacently at his own + shanks, he always concluded: “Pah! Don’t they stink! You, Makola! Take + that herd over to the fetish” (the storehouse was in every station called + the fetish, perhaps because of the spirit of civilization it contained) + “and give them up some of the rubbish you keep there. I’d rather see it + full of bone than full of rags.” + </p> + <p> + Kayerts approved. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! Go and finish that palaver over there, Mr. Makola. I will come + round when you are ready, to weigh the tusk. We must be careful.” Then + turning to his companion: “This is the tribe that lives down the river; + they are rather aromatic. I remember, they had been once before here. D’ye + hear that row? What a fellow has got to put up with in this dog of a + country! My head is split.” + </p> + <p> + Such profitable visits were rare. For days the two pioneers of trade and + progress would look on their empty courtyard in the vibrating brilliance + of vertical sunshine. Below the high bank, the silent river flowed on + glittering and steady. On the sands in the middle of the stream, hippos + and alligators sunned themselves side by side. And stretching away in all + directions, surrounding the insignificant cleared spot of the trading + post, immense forests, hiding fateful complications of fantastic life, lay + in the eloquent silence of mute greatness. The two men understood nothing, + cared for nothing but for the passage of days that separated them from the + steamer’s return. Their predecessor had left some torn books. They took up + these wrecks of novels, and, as they had never read anything of the kind + before, they were surprised and amused. Then during long days there were + interminable and silly discussions about plots and personages. In the + centre of Africa they made acquaintance of Richelieu and of d’Artagnan, of + Hawk’s Eye and of Father Goriot, and of many other people. All these + imaginary personages became subjects for gossip as if they had been living + friends. They discounted their virtues, suspected their motives, decried + their successes; were scandalized at their duplicity or were doubtful + about their courage. The accounts of crimes filled them with indignation, + while tender or pathetic passages moved them deeply. Carlier cleared his + throat and said in a soldierly voice, “What nonsense!” Kayerts, his round + eyes suffused with tears, his fat cheeks quivering, rubbed his bald head, + and declared. “This is a splendid book. I had no idea there were such + clever fellows in the world.” They also found some old copies of a home + paper. That print discussed what it was pleased to call “Our Colonial + Expansion” in high-flown language. It spoke much of the rights and duties + of civilization, of the sacredness of the civilizing work, and extolled + the merits of those who went about bringing light, and faith and commerce + to the dark places of the earth. Carlier and Kayerts read, wondered, and + began to think better of themselves. Carlier said one evening, waving his + hand about, “In a hundred years, there will be perhaps a town here. Quays, + and warehouses, and barracks, and—and—billiard-rooms. + Civilization, my boy, and virtue—and all. And then, chaps will read + that two good fellows, Kayerts and Carlier, were the first civilized men + to live in this very spot!” Kayerts nodded, “Yes, it is a consolation to + think of that.” They seemed to forget their dead predecessor; but, early + one day, Carlier went out and replanted the cross firmly. “It used to make + me squint whenever I walked that way,” he explained to Kayerts over the + morning coffee. “It made me squint, leaning over so much. So I just + planted it upright. And solid, I promise you! I suspended myself with both + hands to the cross-piece. Not a move. Oh, I did that properly.” + </p> + <p> + At times Gobila came to see them. Gobila was the chief of the neighbouring + villages. He was a gray-headed savage, thin and black, with a white cloth + round his loins and a mangy panther skin hanging over his back. He came up + with long strides of his skeleton legs, swinging a staff as tall as + himself, and, entering the common room of the station, would squat on his + heels to the left of the door. There he sat, watching Kayerts, and now and + then making a speech which the other did not understand. Kayerts, without + interrupting his occupation, would from time to time say in a friendly + manner: “How goes it, you old image?” and they would smile at one another. + The two whites had a liking for that old and incomprehensible creature, + and called him Father Gobila. Gobila’s manner was paternal, and he seemed + really to love all white men. They all appeared to him very young, + indistinguishably alike (except for stature), and he knew that they were + all brothers, and also immortal. The death of the artist, who was the + first white man whom he knew intimately, did not disturb this belief, + because he was firmly convinced that the white stranger had pretended to + die and got himself buried for some mysterious purpose of his own, into + which it was useless to inquire. Perhaps it was his way of going home to + his own country? At any rate, these were his brothers, and he transferred + his absurd affection to them. They returned it in a way. Carlier slapped + him on the back, and recklessly struck off matches for his amusement. + Kayerts was always ready to let him have a sniff at the ammonia bottle. In + short, they behaved just like that other white creature that had hidden + itself in a hole in the ground. Gobila considered them attentively. + Perhaps they were the same being with the other—or one of them was. + He couldn’t decide—clear up that mystery; but he remained always + very friendly. In consequence of that friendship the women of Gobila’s + village walked in single file through the reedy grass, bringing every + morning to the station, fowls, and sweet potatoes, and palm wine, and + sometimes a goat. The Company never provisions the stations fully, and the + agents required those local supplies to live. They had them through the + good-will of Gobila, and lived well. Now and then one of them had a bout + of fever, and the other nursed him with gentle devotion. They did not + think much of it. It left them weaker, and their appearance changed for + the worse. Carlier was hollow-eyed and irritable. Kayerts showed a drawn, + flabby face above the rotundity of his stomach, which gave him a weird + aspect. But being constantly together, they did not notice the change that + took place gradually in their appearance, and also in their dispositions. + </p> + <p> + Five months passed in that way. + </p> + <p> + Then, one morning, as Kayerts and Carlier, lounging in their chairs under + the verandah, talked about the approaching visit of the steamer, a knot of + armed men came out of the forest and advanced towards the station. They + were strangers to that part of the country. They were tall, slight, draped + classically from neck to heel in blue fringed cloths, and carried + percussion muskets over their bare right shoulders. Makola showed signs of + excitement, and ran out of the storehouse (where he spent all his days) to + meet these visitors. They came into the courtyard and looked about them + with steady, scornful glances. Their leader, a powerful and + determined-looking negro with bloodshot eyes, stood in front of the + verandah and made a long speech. He gesticulated much, and ceased very + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + There was something in his intonation, in the sounds of the long sentences + he used, that startled the two whites. It was like a reminiscence of + something not exactly familiar, and yet resembling the speech of civilized + men. It sounded like one of those impossible languages which sometimes we + hear in our dreams. + </p> + <p> + “What lingo is that?” said the amazed Carlier. “In the first moment I + fancied the fellow was going to speak French. Anyway, it is a different + kind of gibberish to what we ever heard.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Kayerts. “Hey, Makola, what does he say? Where do they come + from? Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + But Makola, who seemed to be standing on hot bricks, answered hurriedly, + “I don’t know. They come from very far. Perhaps Mrs. Price will + understand. They are perhaps bad men.” + </p> + <p> + The leader, after waiting for a while, said something sharply to Makola, + who shook his head. Then the man, after looking round, noticed Makola’s + hut and walked over there. The next moment Mrs. Makola was heard speaking + with great volubility. The other strangers—they were six in all—strolled + about with an air of ease, put their heads through the door of the + storeroom, congregated round the grave, pointed understandingly at the + cross, and generally made themselves at home. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like those chaps—and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from the + coast; they’ve got firearms,” observed the sagacious Carlier. + </p> + <p> + Kayerts also did not like those chaps. They both, for the first time, + became aware that they lived in conditions where the unusual may be + dangerous, and that there was no power on earth outside of themselves to + stand between them and the unusual. They became uneasy, went in and loaded + their revolvers. Kayerts said, “We must order Makola to tell them to go + away before dark.” + </p> + <p> + The strangers left in the afternoon, after eating a meal prepared for them + by Mrs. Makola. The immense woman was excited, and talked much with the + visitors. She rattled away shrilly, pointing here and there at the forests + and at the river. Makola sat apart and watched. At times he got up and + whispered to his wife. He accompanied the strangers across the ravine at + the back of the station-ground, and returned slowly looking very + thoughtful. When questioned by the white men he was very strange, seemed + not to understand, seemed to have forgotten French—seemed to have + forgotten how to speak altogether. Kayerts and Carlier agreed that the + nigger had had too much palm wine. + </p> + <p> + There was some talk about keeping a watch in turn, but in the evening + everything seemed so quiet and peaceful that they retired as usual. All + night they were disturbed by a lot of drumming in the villages. A deep, + rapid roll near by would be followed by another far off—then all + ceased. Soon short appeals would rattle out here and there, then all + mingle together, increase, become vigorous and sustained, would spread out + over the forest, roll through the night, unbroken and ceaseless, near and + far, as if the whole land had been one immense drum booming out steadily + an appeal to heaven. And through the deep and tremendous noise sudden + yells that resembled snatches of songs from a madhouse darted shrill and + high in discordant jets of sound which seemed to rush far above the earth + and drive all peace from under the stars. + </p> + <p> + Carlier and Kayerts slept badly. They both thought they had heard shots + fired during the night—but they could not agree as to the direction. + In the morning Makola was gone somewhere. He returned about noon with one + of yesterday’s strangers, and eluded all Kayerts’ attempts to close with + him: had become deaf apparently. Kayerts wondered. Carlier, who had been + fishing off the bank, came back and remarked while he showed his catch, + “The niggers seem to be in a deuce of a stir; I wonder what’s up. I saw + about fifteen canoes cross the river during the two hours I was there + fishing.” Kayerts, worried, said, “Isn’t this Makola very queer to-day?” + Carlier advised, “Keep all our men together in case of some trouble.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + There were ten station men who had been left by the Director. Those + fellows, having engaged themselves to the Company for six months (without + having any idea of a month in particular and only a very faint notion of + time in general), had been serving the cause of progress for upwards of + two years. Belonging to a tribe from a very distant part of the land of + darkness and sorrow, they did not run away, naturally supposing that as + wandering strangers they would be killed by the inhabitants of the + country; in which they were right. They lived in straw huts on the slope + of a ravine overgrown with reedy grass, just behind the station buildings. + They were not happy, regretting the festive incantations, the sorceries, + the human sacrifices of their own land; where they also had parents, + brothers, sisters, admired chiefs, respected magicians, loved friends, and + other ties supposed generally to be human. Besides, the rice rations + served out by the Company did not agree with them, being a food unknown to + their land, and to which they could not get used. Consequently they were + unhealthy and miserable. Had they been of any other tribe they would have + made up their minds to die—for nothing is easier to certain savages + than suicide—and so have escaped from the puzzling difficulties of + existence. But belonging, as they did, to a warlike tribe with filed + teeth, they had more grit, and went on stupidly living through disease and + sorrow. They did very little work, and had lost their splendid physique. + Carlier and Kayerts doctored them assiduously without being able to bring + them back into condition again. They were mustered every morning and told + off to different tasks—grass-cutting, fence-building, tree-felling, + &c., &c., which no power on earth could induce them to execute + efficiently. The two whites had practically very little control over them. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon Makola came over to the big house and found Kayerts + watching three heavy columns of smoke rising above the forests. “What is + that?” asked Kayerts. “Some villages burn,” answered Makola, who seemed to + have regained his wits. Then he said abruptly: “We have got very little + ivory; bad six months’ trading. Do you like get a little more ivory?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kayerts, eagerly. He thought of percentages which were low. + </p> + <p> + “Those men who came yesterday are traders from Loanda who have got more + ivory than they can carry home. Shall I buy? I know their camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Kayerts. “What are those traders?” + </p> + <p> + “Bad fellows,” said Makola, indifferently. “They fight with people, and + catch women and children. They are bad men, and got guns. There is a great + disturbance in the country. Do you want ivory?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kayerts. Makola said nothing for a while. Then: “Those workmen + of ours are no good at all,” he muttered, looking round. “Station in very + bad order, sir. Director will growl. Better get a fine lot of ivory, then + he say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help it; the men won’t work,” said Kayerts. “When will you get + that ivory?” + </p> + <p> + “Very soon,” said Makola. “Perhaps to-night. You leave it to me, and keep + indoors, sir. I think you had better give some palm wine to our men to + make a dance this evening. Enjoy themselves. Work better to-morrow. + There’s plenty palm wine—gone a little sour.” + </p> + <p> + Kayerts said “yes,” and Makola, with his own hands carried big calabashes + to the door of his hut. They stood there till the evening, and Mrs. Makola + looked into every one. The men got them at sunset. When Kayerts and + Carlier retired, a big bonfire was flaring before the men’s huts. They + could hear their shouts and drumming. Some men from Gobila’s village had + joined the station hands, and the entertainment was a great success. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night, Carlier waking suddenly, heard a man shout + loudly; then a shot was fired. Only one. Carlier ran out and met Kayerts + on the verandah. They were both startled. As they went across the yard to + call Makola, they saw shadows moving in the night. One of them cried, + “Don’t shoot! It’s me, Price.” Then Makola appeared close to them. “Go + back, go back, please,” he urged, “you spoil all.” “There are strange men + about,” said Carlier. “Never mind; I know,” said Makola. Then he + whispered, “All right. Bring ivory. Say nothing! I know my business.” The + two white men reluctantly went back to the house, but did not sleep. They + heard footsteps, whispers, some groans. It seemed as if a lot of men came + in, dumped heavy things on the ground, squabbled a long time, then went + away. They lay on their hard beds and thought: “This Makola is + invaluable.” In the morning Carlier came out, very sleepy, and pulled at + the cord of the big bell. The station hands mustered every morning to the + sound of the bell. That morning nobody came. Kayerts turned out also, + yawning. Across the yard they saw Makola come out of his hut, a tin basin + of soapy water in his hand. Makola, a civilized nigger, was very neat in + his person. He threw the soapsuds skilfully over a wretched little yellow + cur he had, then turning his face to the agent’s house, he shouted from + the distance, “All the men gone last night!” + </p> + <p> + They heard him plainly, but in their surprise they both yelled out + together: “What!” Then they stared at one another. “We are in a proper fix + now,” growled Carlier. “It’s incredible!” muttered Kayerts. “I will go to + the huts and see,” said Carlier, striding off. Makola coming up found + Kayerts standing alone. + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly believe it,” said Kayerts, tearfully. “We took care of them + as if they had been our children.” + </p> + <p> + “They went with the coast people,” said Makola after a moment of + hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “What do I care with whom they went—the ungrateful brutes!” + exclaimed the other. Then with sudden suspicion, and looking hard at + Makola, he added: “What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + Makola moved his shoulders, looking down on the ground. “What do I know? I + think only. Will you come and look at the ivory I’ve got there? It is a + fine lot. You never saw such.” + </p> + <p> + He moved towards the store. Kayerts followed him mechanically, thinking + about the incredible desertion of the men. On the ground before the door + of the fetish lay six splendid tusks. + </p> + <p> + “What did you give for it?” asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot with + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “No regular trade,” said Makola. “They brought the ivory and gave it to + me. I told them to take what they most wanted in the station. It is a + beautiful lot. No station can show such tusks. Those traders wanted + carriers badly, and our men were no good here. No trade, no entry in + books: all correct.” + </p> + <p> + Kayerts nearly burst with indignation. “Why!” he shouted, “I believe you + have sold our men for these tusks!” Makola stood impassive and silent. “I—I—will—I,” + stuttered Kayerts. “You fiend!” he yelled out. + </p> + <p> + “I did the best for you and the Company,” said Makola, imperturbably. “Why + you shout so much? Look at this tusk.” + </p> + <p> + “I dismiss you! I will report you—I won’t look at the tusk. I forbid + you to touch them. I order you to throw them into the river. You—you!” + </p> + <p> + “You very red, Mr. Kayerts. If you are so irritable in the sun, you will + get fever and die—like the first chief!” pronounced Makola + impressively. + </p> + <p> + They stood still, contemplating one another with intense eyes, as if they + had been looking with effort across immense distances. Kayerts shivered. + Makola had meant no more than he said, but his words seemed to Kayerts + full of ominous menace! He turned sharply and went away to the house. + Makola retired into the bosom of his family; and the tusks, left lying + before the store, looked very large and valuable in the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + Carlier came back on the verandah. “They’re all gone, hey?” asked Kayerts + from the far end of the common room in a muffled voice. “You did not find + anybody?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Carlier, “I found one of Gobila’s people lying dead before + the huts—shot through the body. We heard that shot last night.” + </p> + <p> + Kayerts came out quickly. He found his companion staring grimly over the + yard at the tusks, away by the store. They both sat in silence for a + while. Then Kayerts related his conversation with Makola. Carlier said + nothing. At the midday meal they ate very little. They hardly exchanged a + word that day. A great silence seemed to lie heavily over the station and + press on their lips. Makola did not open the store; he spent the day + playing with his children. He lay full-length on a mat outside his door, + and the youngsters sat on his chest and clambered all over him. It was a + touching picture. Mrs. Makola was busy cooking all day, as usual. The + white men made a somewhat better meal in the evening. Afterwards, Carlier + smoking his pipe strolled over to the store; he stood for a long time over + the tusks, touched one or two with his foot, even tried to lift the + largest one by its small end. He came back to his chief, who had not + stirred from the verandah, threw himself in the chair and said— + </p> + <p> + “I can see it! They were pounced upon while they slept heavily after + drinking all that palm wine you’ve allowed Makola to give them. A put-up + job! See? The worst is, some of Gobila’s people were there, and got + carried off too, no doubt. The least drunk woke up, and got shot for his + sobriety. This is a funny country. What will you do now?” + </p> + <p> + “We can’t touch it, of course,” said Kayerts. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” assented Carlier. + </p> + <p> + “Slavery is an awful thing,” stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady voice. + </p> + <p> + “Frightful—the sufferings,” grunted Carlier with conviction. + </p> + <p> + They believed their words. Everybody shows a respectful deference to + certain sounds that he and his fellows can make. But about feelings people + really know nothing. We talk with indignation or enthusiasm; we talk about + oppression, cruelty, crime, devotion, self-sacrifice, virtue, and we know + nothing real beyond the words. Nobody knows what suffering or sacrifice + mean—except, perhaps the victims of the mysterious purpose of these + illusions. + </p> + <p> + Next morning they saw Makola very busy setting up in the yard the big + scales used for weighing ivory. By and by Carlier said: “What’s that + filthy scoundrel up to?” and lounged out into the yard. Kayerts followed. + They stood watching. Makola took no notice. When the balance was swung + true, he tried to lift a tusk into the scale. It was too heavy. He looked + up helplessly without a word, and for a minute they stood round that + balance as mute and still as three statues. Suddenly Carlier said: “Catch + hold of the other end, Makola—you beast!” and together they swung + the tusk up. Kayerts trembled in every limb. He muttered, “I say! O! I + say!” and putting his hand in his pocket found there a dirty bit of paper + and the stump of a pencil. He turned his back on the others, as if about + to do something tricky, and noted stealthily the weights which Carlier + shouted out to him with unnecessary loudness. When all was over Makola + whispered to himself: “The sun’s very strong here for the tusks.” Carlier + said to Kayerts in a careless tone: “I say, chief, I might just as well + give him a lift with this lot into the store.” + </p> + <p> + As they were going back to the house Kayerts observed with a sigh: “It had + to be done.” And Carlier said: “It’s deplorable, but, the men being + Company’s men the ivory is Company’s ivory. We must look after it.” “I + will report to the Director, of course,” said Kayerts. “Of course; let him + decide,” approved Carlier. + </p> + <p> + At midday they made a hearty meal. Kayerts sighed from time to time. + Whenever they mentioned Makola’s name they always added to it an + opprobrious epithet. It eased their conscience. Makola gave himself a + half-holiday, and bathed his children in the river. No one from Gobila’s + villages came near the station that day. No one came the next day, and the + next, nor for a whole week. Gobila’s people might have been dead and + buried for any sign of life they gave. But they were only mourning for + those they had lost by the witchcraft of white men, who had brought wicked + people into their country. The wicked people were gone, but fear remained. + Fear always remains. A man may destroy everything within himself, love and + hate and belief, and even doubt; but as long as he clings to life he + cannot destroy fear: the fear, subtle, indestructible, and terrible, that + pervades his being; that tinges his thoughts; that lurks in his heart; + that watches on his lips the struggle of his last breath. In his fear, the + mild old Gobila offered extra human sacrifices to all the Evil Spirits + that had taken possession of his white friends. His heart was heavy. Some + warriors spoke about burning and killing, but the cautious old savage + dissuaded them. Who could foresee the woe those mysterious creatures, if + irritated, might bring? They should be left alone. Perhaps in time they + would disappear into the earth as the first one had disappeared. His + people must keep away from them, and hope for the best. + </p> + <p> + Kayerts and Carlier did not disappear, but remained above on this earth, + that, somehow, they fancied had become bigger and very empty. It was not + the absolute and dumb solitude of the post that impressed them so much as + an inarticulate feeling that something from within them was gone, + something that worked for their safety, and had kept the wilderness from + interfering with their hearts. The images of home; the memory of people + like them, of men that thought and felt as they used to think and feel, + receded into distances made indistinct by the glare of unclouded sunshine. + And out of the great silence of the surrounding wilderness, its very + hopelessness and savagery seemed to approach them nearer, to draw them + gently, to look upon them, to envelop them with a solicitude irresistible, + familiar, and disgusting. + </p> + <p> + Days lengthened into weeks, then into months. Gobila’s people drummed and + yelled to every new moon, as of yore, but kept away from the station. + Makola and Carlier tried once in a canoe to open communications, but were + received with a shower of arrows, and had to fly back to the station for + dear life. That attempt set the country up and down the river into an + uproar that could be very distinctly heard for days. The steamer was late. + At first they spoke of delay jauntily, then anxiously, then gloomily. The + matter was becoming serious. Stores were running short. Carlier cast his + lines off the bank, but the river was low, and the fish kept out in the + stream. They dared not stroll far away from the station to shoot. + Moreover, there was no game in the impenetrable forest. Once Carlier shot + a hippo in the river. They had no boat to secure it, and it sank. When it + floated up it drifted away, and Gobila’s people secured the carcase. It + was the occasion for a national holiday, but Carlier had a fit of rage + over it and talked about the necessity of exterminating all the niggers + before the country could be made habitable. Kayerts mooned about silently; + spent hours looking at the portrait of his Melie. It represented a little + girl with long bleached tresses and a rather sour face. His legs were much + swollen, and he could hardly walk. Carlier, undermined by fever, could not + swagger any more, but kept tottering about, still with a devil-may-care + air, as became a man who remembered his crack regiment. He had become + hoarse, sarcastic, and inclined to say unpleasant things. He called it + “being frank with you.” They had long ago reckoned their percentages on + trade, including in them that last deal of “this infamous Makola.” They + had also concluded not to say anything about it. Kayerts hesitated at + first—was afraid of the Director. + </p> + <p> + “He has seen worse things done on the quiet,” maintained Carlier, with a + hoarse laugh. “Trust him! He won’t thank you if you blab. He is no better + than you or me. Who will talk if we hold our tongues? There is nobody + here.” + </p> + <p> + That was the root of the trouble! There was nobody there; and being left + there alone with their weakness, they became daily more like a pair of + accomplices than like a couple of devoted friends. They had heard nothing + from home for eight months. Every evening they said, “To-morrow we shall + see the steamer.” But one of the Company’s steamers had been wrecked, and + the Director was busy with the other, relieving very distant and important + stations on the main river. He thought that the useless station, and the + useless men, could wait. Meantime Kayerts and Carlier lived on rice boiled + without salt, and cursed the Company, all Africa, and the day they were + born. One must have lived on such diet to discover what ghastly trouble + the necessity of swallowing one’s food may become. There was literally + nothing else in the station but rice and coffee; they drank the coffee + without sugar. The last fifteen lumps Kayerts had solemnly locked away in + his box, together with a half-bottle of Cognac, “in case of sickness,” he + explained. Carlier approved. “When one is sick,” he said, “any little + extra like that is cheering.” + </p> + <p> + They waited. Rank grass began to sprout over the courtyard. The bell never + rang now. Days passed, silent, exasperating, and slow. When the two men + spoke, they snarled; and their silences were bitter, as if tinged by the + bitterness of their thoughts. + </p> + <p> + One day after a lunch of boiled rice, Carlier put down his cup untasted, + and said: “Hang it all! Let’s have a decent cup of coffee for once. Bring + out that sugar, Kayerts!” + </p> + <p> + “For the sick,” muttered Kayerts, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “For the sick,” mocked Carlier. “Bosh! . . . Well! I am sick.” + </p> + <p> + “You are no more sick than I am, and I go without,” said Kayerts in a + peaceful tone. + </p> + <p> + “Come! out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer.” + </p> + <p> + Kayerts looked up quickly. Carlier was smiling with marked insolence. And + suddenly it seemed to Kayerts that he had never seen that man before. Who + was he? He knew nothing about him. What was he capable of? There was a + surprising flash of violent emotion within him, as if in the presence of + something undreamt-of, dangerous, and final. But he managed to pronounce + with composure— + </p> + <p> + “That joke is in very bad taste. Don’t repeat it.” + </p> + <p> + “Joke!” said Carlier, hitching himself forward on his seat. “I am hungry—I + am sick—I don’t joke! I hate hypocrites. You are a hypocrite. You + are a slave-dealer. I am a slave-dealer. There’s nothing but slave-dealers + in this cursed country. I mean to have sugar in my coffee to-day, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “I forbid you to speak to me in that way,” said Kayerts with a fair show + of resolution. + </p> + <p> + “You!—What?” shouted Carlier, jumping up. + </p> + <p> + Kayerts stood up also. “I am your chief,” he began, trying to master the + shakiness of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “What?” yelled the other. “Who’s chief? There’s no chief here. There’s + nothing here: there’s nothing but you and I. Fetch the sugar—you + pot-bellied ass.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue. Go out of this room,” screamed Kayerts. “I dismiss you—you + scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + Carlier swung a stool. All at once he looked dangerously in earnest. “You + flabby, good-for-nothing civilian—take that!” he howled. + </p> + <p> + Kayerts dropped under the table, and the stool struck the grass inner wall + of the room. Then, as Carlier was trying to upset the table, Kayerts in + desperation made a blind rush, head low, like a cornered pig would do, and + over-turning his friend, bolted along the verandah, and into his room. He + locked the door, snatched his revolver, and stood panting. In less than a + minute Carlier was kicking at the door furiously, howling, “If you don’t + bring out that sugar, I will shoot you at sight, like a dog. Now then—one—two—three. + You won’t? I will show you who’s the master.” + </p> + <p> + Kayerts thought the door would fall in, and scrambled through the square + hole that served for a window in his room. There was then the whole + breadth of the house between them. But the other was apparently not strong + enough to break in the door, and Kayerts heard him running round. Then he + also began to run laboriously on his swollen legs. He ran as quickly as he + could, grasping the revolver, and unable yet to understand what was + happening to him. He saw in succession Makola’s house, the store, the + river, the ravine, and the low bushes; and he saw all those things again + as he ran for the second time round the house. Then again they flashed + past him. That morning he could not have walked a yard without a groan. + </p> + <p> + And now he ran. He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the other man. + </p> + <p> + Then as, weak and desperate, he thought, “Before I finish the next round I + shall die,” he heard the other man stumble heavily, then stop. He stopped + also. He had the back and Carlier the front of the house, as before. He + heard him drop into a chair cursing, and suddenly his own legs gave way, + and he slid down into a sitting posture with his back to the wall. His + mouth was as dry as a cinder, and his face was wet with perspiration—and + tears. What was it all about? He thought it must be a horrible illusion; + he thought he was dreaming; he thought he was going mad! After a while he + collected his senses. What did they quarrel about? That sugar! How absurd! + He would give it to him—didn’t want it himself. And he began + scrambling to his feet with a sudden feeling of security. But before he + had fairly stood upright, a commonsense reflection occurred to him and + drove him back into despair. He thought: “If I give way now to that brute + of a soldier, he will begin this horror again to-morrow—and the day + after—every day—raise other pretensions, trample on me, + torture me, make me his slave—and I will be lost! Lost! The steamer + may not come for days—may never come.” He shook so that he had to + sit down on the floor again. He shivered forlornly. He felt he could not, + would not move any more. He was completely distracted by the sudden + perception that the position was without issue—that death and life + had in a moment become equally difficult and terrible. + </p> + <p> + All at once he heard the other push his chair back; and he leaped to his + feet with extreme facility. He listened and got confused. Must run again! + Right or left? He heard footsteps. He darted to the left, grasping his + revolver, and at the very same instant, as it seemed to him, they came + into violent collision. Both shouted with surprise. A loud explosion took + place between them; a roar of red fire, thick smoke; and Kayerts, deafened + and blinded, rushed back thinking: “I am hit—it’s all over.” He + expected the other to come round—to gloat over his agony. He caught + hold of an upright of the roof—“All over!” Then he heard a crashing + fall on the other side of the house, as if somebody had tumbled headlong + over a chair—then silence. Nothing more happened. He did not die. + Only his shoulder felt as if it had been badly wrenched, and he had lost + his revolver. He was disarmed and helpless! He waited for his fate. The + other man made no sound. It was a stratagem. He was stalking him now! + Along what side? Perhaps he was taking aim this very minute! + </p> + <p> + After a few moments of an agony frightful and absurd, he decided to go and + meet his doom. He was prepared for every surrender. He turned the corner, + steadying himself with one hand on the wall; made a few paces, and nearly + swooned. He had seen on the floor, protruding past the other corner, a + pair of turned-up feet. A pair of white naked feet in red slippers. He + felt deadly sick, and stood for a time in profound darkness. Then Makola + appeared before him, saying quietly: “Come along, Mr. Kayerts. He is + dead.” He burst into tears of gratitude; a loud, sobbing fit of crying. + After a time he found himself sitting in a chair and looking at Carlier, + who lay stretched on his back. Makola was kneeling over the body. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your revolver?” asked Makola, getting up. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kayerts; then he added very quickly, “He ran after me to shoot + me—you saw!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw,” said Makola. “There is only one revolver; where’s his?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know,” whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly very + faint. + </p> + <p> + “I will go and look for it,” said the other, gently. He made the round + along the verandah, while Kayerts sat still and looked at the corpse. + Makola came back empty-handed, stood in deep thought, then stepped quietly + into the dead man’s room, and came out directly with a revolver, which he + held up before Kayerts. Kayerts shut his eyes. Everything was going round. + He found life more terrible and difficult than death. He had shot an + unarmed man. + </p> + <p> + After meditating for a while, Makola said softly, pointing at the dead man + who lay there with his right eye blown out— + </p> + <p> + “He died of fever.” Kayerts looked at him with a stony stare. “Yes,” + repeated Makola, thoughtfully, stepping over the corpse, “I think he died + of fever. Bury him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + And he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white men + alone on the verandah. + </p> + <p> + Night came, and Kayerts sat unmoving on his chair. He sat quiet as if he + had taken a dose of opium. The violence of the emotions he had passed + through produced a feeling of exhausted serenity. He had plumbed in one + short afternoon the depths of horror and despair, and now found repose in + the conviction that life had no more secrets for him: neither had death! + He sat by the corpse thinking; thinking very actively, thinking very new + thoughts. He seemed to have broken loose from himself altogether. His old + thoughts, convictions, likes and dislikes, things he respected and things + he abhorred, appeared in their true light at last! Appeared contemptible + and childish, false and ridiculous. He revelled in his new wisdom while he + sat by the man he had killed. He argued with himself about all things + under heaven with that kind of wrong-headed lucidity which may be observed + in some lunatics. Incidentally he reflected that the fellow dead there had + been a noxious beast anyway; that men died every day in thousands; perhaps + in hundreds of thousands—who could tell?—and that in the + number, that one death could not possibly make any difference; couldn’t + have any importance, at least to a thinking creature. He, Kayerts, was a + thinking creature. He had been all his life, till that moment, a believer + in a lot of nonsense like the rest of mankind—who are fools; but now + he thought! He knew! He was at peace; he was familiar with the highest + wisdom! Then he tried to imagine himself dead, and Carlier sitting in his + chair watching him; and his attempt met with such unexpected success, that + in a very few moments he became not at all sure who was dead and who was + alive. This extraordinary achievement of his fancy startled him, however, + and by a clever and timely effort of mind he saved himself just in time + from becoming Carlier. His heart thumped, and he felt hot all over at the + thought of that danger. Carlier! What a beastly thing! To compose his now + disturbed nerves—and no wonder!—he tried to whistle a little. + Then, suddenly, he fell asleep, or thought he had slept; but at any rate + there was a fog, and somebody had whistled in the fog. + </p> + <p> + He stood up. The day had come, and a heavy mist had descended upon the + land: the mist penetrating, enveloping, and silent; the morning mist of + tropical lands; the mist that clings and kills; the mist white and deadly, + immaculate and poisonous. He stood up, saw the body, and threw his arms + above his head with a cry like that of a man who, waking from a trance, + finds himself immured forever in a tomb. “Help! . . . . My God!” + </p> + <p> + A shriek inhuman, vibrating and sudden, pierced like a sharp dart the + white shroud of that land of sorrow. Three short, impatient screeches + followed, and then, for a time, the fog-wreaths rolled on, undisturbed, + through a formidable silence. Then many more shrieks, rapid and piercing, + like the yells of some exasperated and ruthless creature, rent the air. + Progress was calling to Kayerts from the river. Progress and civilization + and all the virtues. Society was calling to its accomplished child to + come, to be taken care of, to be instructed, to be judged, to be + condemned; it called him to return to that rubbish heap from which he had + wandered away, so that justice could be done. + </p> + <p> + Kayerts heard and understood. He stumbled out of the verandah, leaving the + other man quite alone for the first time since they had been thrown there + together. He groped his way through the fog, calling in his ignorance upon + the invisible heaven to undo its work. Makola flitted by in the mist, + shouting as he ran— + </p> + <p> + “Steamer! Steamer! They can’t see. They whistle for the station. I go ring + the bell. Go down to the landing, sir. I ring.” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared. Kayerts stood still. He looked upwards; the fog rolled low + over his head. He looked round like a man who has lost his way; and he saw + a dark smudge, a cross-shaped stain, upon the shifting purity of the mist. + As he began to stumble towards it, the station bell rang in a tumultuous + peal its answer to the impatient clamour of the steamer. + </p> + <p> + The Managing Director of the Great Civilizing Company (since we know that + civilization follows trade) landed first, and incontinently lost sight of + the steamer. The fog down by the river was exceedingly dense; above, at + the station, the bell rang unceasing and brazen. + </p> + <p> + The Director shouted loudly to the steamer: + </p> + <p> + “There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, though + they are ringing. You had better come, too!” + </p> + <p> + And he began to toil up the steep bank. The captain and the engine-driver + of the boat followed behind. As they scrambled up the fog thinned, and + they could see their Director a good way ahead. Suddenly they saw him + start forward, calling to them over his shoulder:—“Run! Run to the + house! I’ve found one of them. Run, look for the other!” + </p> + <p> + He had found one of them! And even he, the man of varied and startling + experience, was somewhat discomposed by the manner of this finding. He + stood and fumbled in his pockets (for a knife) while he faced Kayerts, who + was hanging by a leather strap from the cross. He had evidently climbed + the grave, which was high and narrow, and after tying the end of the strap + to the arm, had swung himself off. His toes were only a couple of inches + above the ground; his arms hung stiffly down; he seemed to be standing + rigidly at attention, but with one purple cheek playfully posed on the + shoulder. And, irreverently, he was putting out a swollen tongue at his + Managing Director. + </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> + THE RETURN + </h2> + <p> + The inner circle train from the City rushed impetuously out of a black + hole and pulled up with a discordant, grinding racket in the smirched + twilight of a West-End station. A line of doors flew open and a lot of men + stepped out headlong. They had high hats, healthy pale faces, dark + overcoats and shiny boots; they held in their gloved hands thin umbrellas + and hastily folded evening papers that resembled stiff, dirty rags of + greenish, pinkish, or whitish colour. Alvan Hervey stepped out with the + rest, a smouldering cigar between his teeth. A disregarded little woman in + rusty black, with both arms full of parcels, ran along in distress, bolted + suddenly into a third-class compartment and the train went on. The + slamming of carriage doors burst out sharp and spiteful like a fusillade; + an icy draught mingled with acrid fumes swept the whole length of the + platform and made a tottering old man, wrapped up to his ears in a woollen + comforter, stop short in the moving throng to cough violently over his + stick. No one spared him a glance. + </p> + <p> + Alvan Hervey passed through the ticket gate. Between the bare walls of a + sordid staircase men clambered rapidly; their backs appeared alike—almost + as if they had been wearing a uniform; their indifferent faces were varied + but somehow suggested kinship, like the faces of a band of brothers who + through prudence, dignity, disgust, or foresight would resolutely ignore + each other; and their eyes, quick or slow; their eyes gazing up the dusty + steps; their eyes brown, black, gray, blue, had all the same stare, + concentrated and empty, satisfied and unthinking. + </p> + <p> + Outside the big doorway of the street they scattered in all directions, + walking away fast from one another with the hurried air of men fleeing + from something compromising; from familiarity or confidences; from + something suspected and concealed—like truth or pestilence. Alvan + Hervey hesitated, standing alone in the doorway for a moment; then decided + to walk home. + </p> + <p> + He strode firmly. A misty rain settled like silvery dust on clothes, on + moustaches; wetted the faces, varnished the flagstones, darkened the + walls, dripped from umbrellas. And he moved on in the rain with careless + serenity, with the tranquil ease of someone successful and disdainful, + very sure of himself—a man with lots of money and friends. He was + tall, well set-up, good-looking and healthy; and his clear pale face had + under its commonplace refinement that slight tinge of overbearing + brutality which is given by the possession of only partly difficult + accomplishments; by excelling in games, or in the art of making money; by + the easy mastery over animals and over needy men. + </p> + <p> + He was going home much earlier than usual, straight from the City and + without calling at his club. He considered himself well connected, well + educated and intelligent. Who doesn’t? But his connections, education and + intelligence were strictly on a par with those of the men with whom he did + business or amused himself. He had married five years ago. At the time all + his acquaintances had said he was very much in love; and he had said so + himself, frankly, because it is very well understood that every man falls + in love once in his life—unless his wife dies, when it may be quite + praiseworthy to fall in love again. The girl was healthy, tall, fair, and + in his opinion was well connected, well educated and intelligent. She was + also intensely bored with her home where, as if packed in a tight box, her + individuality—of which she was very conscious—had no play. She + strode like a grenadier, was strong and upright like an obelisk, had a + beautiful face, a candid brow, pure eyes, and not a thought of her own in + her head. He surrendered quickly to all those charms, and she appeared to + him so unquestionably of the right sort that he did not hesitate for a + moment to declare himself in love. Under the cover of that sacred and + poetical fiction he desired her masterfully, for various reasons; but + principally for the satisfaction of having his own way. He was very dull + and solemn about it—for no earthly reason, unless to conceal his + feelings—which is an eminently proper thing to do. Nobody, however, + would have been shocked had he neglected that duty, for the feeling he + experienced really was a longing—a longing stronger and a little + more complex no doubt, but no more reprehensible in its nature than a + hungry man’s appetite for his dinner. + </p> + <p> + After their marriage they busied themselves, with marked success, in + enlarging the circle of their acquaintance. Thirty people knew them by + sight; twenty more with smiling demonstrations tolerated their occasional + presence within hospitable thresholds; at least fifty others became aware + of their existence. They moved in their enlarged world amongst perfectly + delightful men and women who feared emotion, enthusiasm, or failure, more + than fire, war, or mortal disease; who tolerated only the commonest + formulas of commonest thoughts, and recognized only profitable facts. It + was an extremely charming sphere, the abode of all the virtues, where + nothing is realized and where all joys and sorrows are cautiously toned + down into pleasures and annoyances. In that serene region, then, where + noble sentiments are cultivated in sufficient profusion to conceal the + pitiless materialism of thoughts and aspirations Alvan Hervey and his wife + spent five years of prudent bliss unclouded by any doubt as to the moral + propriety of their existence. She, to give her individuality fair play, + took up all manner of philanthropic work and became a member of various + rescuing and reforming societies patronized or presided over by ladies of + title. He took an active interest in politics; and having met quite by + chance a literary man—who nevertheless was related to an earl—he + was induced to finance a moribund society paper. It was a semi-political, + and wholly scandalous publication, redeemed by excessive dulness; and as + it was utterly faithless, as it contained no new thought, as it never by + any chance had a flash of wit, satire, or indignation in its pages, he + judged it respectable enough, at first sight. Afterwards, when it paid, he + promptly perceived that upon the whole it was a virtuous undertaking. It + paved the way of his ambition; and he enjoyed also the special kind of + importance he derived from this connection with what he imagined to be + literature. + </p> + <p> + This connection still further enlarged their world. Men who wrote or drew + prettily for the public came at times to their house, and his editor came + very often. He thought him rather an ass because he had such big front + teeth (the proper thing is to have small, even teeth) and wore his hair a + trifle longer than most men do. However, some dukes wear their hair long, + and the fellow indubitably knew his business. The worst was that his + gravity, though perfectly portentous, could not be trusted. He sat, + elegant and bulky, in the drawing-room, the head of his stick hovering in + front of his big teeth, and talked for hours with a thick-lipped smile (he + said nothing that could be considered objectionable and not quite the + thing) talked in an unusual manner—not obviously irritatingly. His + forehead was too lofty—unusually so—and under it there was a + straight nose, lost between the hairless cheeks, that in a smooth curve + ran into a chin shaped like the end of a snow-shoe. And in this face that + resembled the face of a fat and fiendishly knowing baby there glittered a + pair of clever, peering, unbelieving black eyes. He wrote verses too. + Rather an ass. But the band of men who trailed at the skirts of his + monumental frock-coat seemed to perceive wonderful things in what he said. + Alvan Hervey put it down to affectation. Those artist chaps, upon the + whole, were so affected. Still, all this was highly proper—very + useful to him—and his wife seemed to like it—as if she also + had derived some distinct and secret advantage from this intellectual + connection. She received her mixed and decorous guests with a kind of + tall, ponderous grace, peculiarly her own and which awakened in the mind + of intimidated strangers incongruous and improper reminiscences of an + elephant, a giraffe, a gazelle; of a gothic tower—of an overgrown + angel. Her Thursdays were becoming famous in their world; and their world + grew steadily, annexing street after street. It included also Somebody’s + Gardens, a Crescent—a couple of Squares. + </p> + <p> + Thus Alvan Hervey and his wife for five prosperous years lived by the side + of one another. In time they came to know each other sufficiently well for + all the practical purposes of such an existence, but they were no more + capable of real intimacy than two animals feeding at the same manger, + under the same roof, in a luxurious stable. His longing was appeased and + became a habit; and she had her desire—the desire to get away from + under the paternal roof, to assert her individuality, to move in her own + set (so much smarter than the parental one); to have a home of her own, + and her own share of the world’s respect, envy, and applause. They + understood each other warily, tacitly, like a pair of cautious + conspirators in a profitable plot; because they were both unable to look + at a fact, a sentiment, a principle, or a belief otherwise than in the + light of their own dignity, of their own glorification, of their own + advantage. They skimmed over the surface of life hand in hand, in a pure + and frosty atmosphere—like two skilful skaters cutting figures on + thick ice for the admiration of the beholders, and disdainfully ignoring + the hidden stream, the stream restless and dark; the stream of life, + profound and unfrozen. + </p> + <p> + Alvan Hervey turned twice to the left, once to the right, walked along two + sides of a square, in the middle of which groups of tame-looking trees + stood in respectable captivity behind iron railings, and rang at his door. + A parlour-maid opened. A fad of his wife’s, this, to have only women + servants. That girl, while she took his hat and overcoat, said something + which made him look at his watch. It was five o’clock, and his wife not at + home. There was nothing unusual in that. He said, “No; no tea,” and went + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + He ascended without footfalls. Brass rods glimmered all up the red carpet. + On the first-floor landing a marble woman, decently covered from neck to + instep with stone draperies, advanced a row of lifeless toes to the edge + of the pedestal, and thrust out blindly a rigid white arm holding a + cluster of lights. He had artistic tastes—at home. Heavy curtains + caught back, half concealed dark corners. On the rich, stamped paper of + the walls hung sketches, water-colours, engravings. His tastes were + distinctly artistic. Old church towers peeped above green masses of + foliage; the hills were purple, the sands yellow, the seas sunny, the + skies blue. A young lady sprawled with dreamy eyes in a moored boat, in + company of a lunch basket, a champagne bottle, and an enamoured man in a + blazer. Bare-legged boys flirted sweetly with ragged maidens, slept on + stone steps, gambolled with dogs. A pathetically lean girl flattened + against a blank wall, turned up expiring eyes and tendered a flower for + sale; while, near by, the large photographs of some famous and mutilated + bas-reliefs seemed to represent a massacre turned into stone. + </p> + <p> + He looked, of course, at nothing, ascended another flight of stairs and + went straight into the dressing room. A bronze dragon nailed by the tail + to a bracket writhed away from the wall in calm convolutions, and held, + between the conventional fury of its jaws, a crude gas flame that + resembled a butterfly. The room was empty, of course; but, as he stepped + in, it became filled all at once with a stir of many people; because the + strips of glass on the doors of wardrobes and his wife’s large pier-glass + reflected him from head to foot, and multiplied his image into a crowd of + gentlemanly and slavish imitators, who were dressed exactly like himself; + had the same restrained and rare gestures; who moved when he moved, stood + still with him in an obsequious immobility, and had just such appearances + of life and feeling as he thought it dignified and safe for any man to + manifest. And like real people who are slaves of common thoughts, that are + not even their own, they affected a shadowy independence by the + superficial variety of their movements. They moved together with him; but + they either advanced to meet him, or walked away from him; they appeared, + disappeared; they seemed to dodge behind walnut furniture, to be seen + again, far within the polished panes, stepping about distinct and unreal + in the convincing illusion of a room. And like the men he respected they + could be trusted to do nothing individual, original, or startling—nothing + unforeseen and nothing improper. + </p> + <p> + He moved for a time aimlessly in that good company, humming a popular but + refined tune, and thinking vaguely of a business letter from abroad, which + had to be answered on the morrow with cautious prevarication. Then, as he + walked towards a wardrobe, he saw appearing at his back, in the high + mirror, the corner of his wife’s dressing-table, and amongst the glitter + of silver-mounted objects on it, the square white patch of an envelope. It + was such an unusual thing to be seen there that he spun round almost + before he realized his surprise; and all the sham men about him pivoted on + their heels; all appeared surprised; and all moved rapidly towards + envelopes on dressing-tables. + </p> + <p> + He recognized his wife’s handwriting and saw that the envelope was + addressed to himself. He muttered, “How very odd,” and felt annoyed. Apart + from any odd action being essentially an indecent thing in itself, the + fact of his wife indulging in it made it doubly offensive. That she should + write to him at all, when she knew he would be home for dinner, was + perfectly ridiculous; but that she should leave it like this—in + evidence for chance discovery—struck him as so outrageous that, + thinking of it, he experienced suddenly a staggering sense of insecurity, + an absurd and bizarre flash of a notion that the house had moved a little + under his feet. He tore the envelope open, glanced at the letter, and sat + down in a chair near by. + </p> + <p> + He held the paper before his eyes and looked at half a dozen lines + scrawled on the page, while he was stunned by a noise meaningless and + violent, like the clash of gongs or the beating of drums; a great aimless + uproar that, in a manner, prevented him from hearing himself think and + made his mind an absolute blank. This absurd and distracting tumult seemed + to ooze out of the written words, to issue from between his very fingers + that trembled, holding the paper. And suddenly he dropped the letter as + though it had been something hot, or venomous, or filthy; and rushing to + the window with the unreflecting precipitation of a man anxious to raise + an alarm of fire or murder, he threw it up and put his head out. + </p> + <p> + A chill gust of wind, wandering through the damp and sooty obscurity over + the waste of roofs and chimney-pots, touched his face with a clammy flick. + He saw an illimitable darkness, in which stood a black jumble of walls, + and, between them, the many rows of gaslights stretched far away in long + lines, like strung-up beads of fire. A sinister loom as of a hidden + conflagration lit up faintly from below the mist, falling upon a billowy + and motionless sea of tiles and bricks. At the rattle of the opened window + the world seemed to leap out of the night and confront him, while floating + up to his ears there came a sound vast and faint; the deep mutter of + something immense and alive. It penetrated him with a feeling of dismay + and he gasped silently. From the cab-stand in the square came distinct + hoarse voices and a jeering laugh which sounded ominously harsh and cruel. + It sounded threatening. He drew his head in, as if before an aimed blow, + and flung the window down quickly. He made a few steps, stumbled against a + chair, and with a great effort, pulled himself together to lay hold of a + certain thought that was whizzing about loose in his head. + </p> + <p> + He got it at last, after more exertion than he expected; he was flushed + and puffed a little as though he had been catching it with his hands, but + his mental hold on it was weak, so weak that he judged it necessary to + repeat it aloud—to hear it spoken firmly—in order to insure a + perfect measure of possession. But he was unwilling to hear his own voice—to + hear any sound whatever—owing to a vague belief, shaping itself + slowly within him, that solitude and silence are the greatest felicities + of mankind. The next moment it dawned upon him that they are perfectly + unattainable—that faces must be seen, words spoken, thoughts heard. + All the words—all the thoughts! + </p> + <p> + He said very distinctly, and looking at the carpet, “She’s gone.” + </p> + <p> + It was terrible—not the fact but the words; the words charged with + the shadowy might of a meaning, that seemed to possess the tremendous + power to call Fate down upon the earth, like those strange and appalling + words that sometimes are heard in sleep. They vibrated round him in a + metallic atmosphere, in a space that had the hardness of iron and the + resonance of a bell of bronze. Looking down between the toes of his boots + he seemed to listen thoughtfully to the receding wave of sound; to the + wave spreading out in a widening circle, embracing streets, roofs, + church-steeples, fields—and travelling away, widening endlessly, + far, very far, where he could not hear—where he could not imagine + anything—where . . . + </p> + <p> + “And—with that . . . ass,” he said again without stirring in the + least. And there was nothing but humiliation. Nothing else. He could + derive no moral solace from any aspect of the situation, which radiated + pain only on every side. Pain. What kind of pain? It occurred to him that + he ought to be heart-broken; but in an exceedingly short moment he + perceived that his suffering was nothing of so trifling and dignified a + kind. It was altogether a more serious matter, and partook rather of the + nature of those subtle and cruel feelings which are awakened by a kick or + a horse-whipping. + </p> + <p> + He felt very sick—physically sick—as though he had bitten + through something nauseous. Life, that to a well-ordered mind should be a + matter of congratulation, appeared to him, for a second or so, perfectly + intolerable. He picked up the paper at his feet, and sat down with the + wish to think it out, to understand why his wife—his wife!—should + leave him, should throw away respect, comfort, peace, decency, position + throw away everything for nothing! He set himself to think out the hidden + logic of her action—a mental undertaking fit for the leisure hours + of a madhouse, though he couldn’t see it. And he thought of his wife in + every relation except the only fundamental one. He thought of her as a + well-bred girl, as a wife, as a cultured person, as the mistress of a + house, as a lady; but he never for a moment thought of her simply as a + woman. + </p> + <p> + Then a fresh wave, a raging wave of humiliation, swept through his mind, + and left nothing there but a personal sense of undeserved abasement. Why + should he be mixed up with such a horrid exposure! It annihilated all the + advantages of his well-ordered past, by a truth effective and unjust like + a calumny—and the past was wasted. Its failure was disclosed—a + distinct failure, on his part, to see, to guard, to understand. It could + not be denied; it could not be explained away, hustled out of sight. He + could not sit on it and look solemn. Now—if she had only died! + </p> + <p> + If she had only died! He was driven to envy such a respectable + bereavement, and one so perfectly free from any taint of misfortune that + even his best friend or his best enemy would not have felt the slightest + thrill of exultation. No one would have cared. He sought comfort in + clinging to the contemplation of the only fact of life that the resolute + efforts of mankind had never failed to disguise in the clatter and glamour + of phrases. And nothing lends itself more to lies than death. If she had + only died! Certain words would have been said to him in a sad tone, and + he, with proper fortitude, would have made appropriate answers. There were + precedents for such an occasion. And no one would have cared. If she had + only died! The promises, the terrors, the hopes of eternity, are the + concern of the corrupt dead; but the obvious sweetness of life belongs to + living, healthy men. And life was his concern: that sane and gratifying + existence untroubled by too much love or by too much regret. She had + interfered with it; she had defaced it. And suddenly it occurred to him he + must have been mad to marry. It was too much in the nature of giving + yourself away, of wearing—if for a moment—your heart on your + sleeve. But every one married. Was all mankind mad! + </p> + <p> + In the shock of that startling thought he looked up, and saw to the left, + to the right, in front, men sitting far off in chairs and looking at him + with wild eyes—emissaries of a distracted mankind intruding to spy + upon his pain and his humiliation. It was not to be borne. He rose + quickly, and the others jumped up, too, on all sides. He stood still in + the middle of the room as if discouraged by their vigilance. No escape! He + felt something akin to despair. Everybody must know. The servants must + know to-night. He ground his teeth . . . And he had never noticed, never + guessed anything. Every one will know. He thought: “The woman’s a monster, + but everybody will think me a fool”; and standing still in the midst of + severe walnut-wood furniture, he felt such a tempest of anguish within him + that he seemed to see himself rolling on the carpet, beating his head + against the wall. He was disgusted with himself, with the loathsome rush + of emotion breaking through all the reserves that guarded his manhood. + Something unknown, withering and poisonous, had entered his life, passed + near him, touched him, and he was deteriorating. He was appalled. What was + it? She was gone. Why? His head was ready to burst with the endeavour to + understand her act and his subtle horror of it. Everything was changed. + Why? Only a woman gone, after all; and yet he had a vision, a vision quick + and distinct as a dream: the vision of everything he had thought + indestructible and safe in the world crashing down about him, like solid + walls do before the fierce breath of a hurricane. He stared, shaking in + every limb, while he felt the destructive breath, the mysterious breath, + the breath of passion, stir the profound peace of the house. He looked + round in fear. Yes. Crime may be forgiven; uncalculating sacrifice, blind + trust, burning faith, other follies, may be turned to account; suffering, + death itself, may with a grin or a frown be explained away; but passion is + the unpardonable and secret infamy of our hearts, a thing to curse, to + hide and to deny; a shameless and forlorn thing that tramples upon the + smiling promises, that tears off the placid mask, that strips the body of + life. And it had come to him! It had laid its unclean hand upon the + spotless draperies of his existence, and he had to face it alone with all + the world looking on. All the world! And he thought that even the bare + suspicion of such an adversary within his house carried with it a taint + and a condemnation. He put both his hands out as if to ward off the + reproach of a defiling truth; and, instantly, the appalled conclave of + unreal men, standing about mutely beyond the clear lustre of mirrors, made + at him the same gesture of rejection and horror. + </p> + <p> + He glanced vainly here and there, like a man looking in desperation for a + weapon or for a hiding place, and understood at last that he was disarmed + and cornered by the enemy that, without any squeamishness, would strike so + as to lay open his heart. He could get help nowhere, or even take counsel + with himself, because in the sudden shock of her desertion the sentiments + which he knew that in fidelity to his bringing up, to his prejudices and + his surroundings, he ought to experience, were so mixed up with the + novelty of real feelings, of fundamental feelings that know nothing of + creed, class, or education, that he was unable to distinguish clearly + between what is and what ought to be; between the inexcusable truth and + the valid pretences. And he knew instinctively that truth would be of no + use to him. Some kind of concealment seemed a necessity because one cannot + explain. Of course not! Who would listen? One had simply to be without + stain and without reproach to keep one’s place in the forefront of life. + </p> + <p> + He said to himself, “I must get over it the best I can,” and began to walk + up and down the room. What next? What ought to be done? He thought: “I + will travel—no I won’t. I shall face it out.” And after that resolve + he was greatly cheered by the reflection that it would be a mute and an + easy part to play, for no one would be likely to converse with him about + the abominable conduct of—that woman. He argued to himself that + decent people—and he knew no others—did not care to talk about + such indelicate affairs. She had gone off—with that unhealthy, fat + ass of a journalist. Why? He had been all a husband ought to be. He had + given her a good position—she shared his prospects—he had + treated her invariably with great consideration. He reviewed his conduct + with a kind of dismal pride. It had been irreproachable. Then, why? For + love? Profanation! There could be no love there. A shameful impulse of + passion. Yes, passion. His own wife! Good God! . . . And the indelicate + aspect of his domestic misfortune struck him with such shame that, next + moment, he caught himself in the act of pondering absurdly over the notion + whether it would not be more dignified for him to induce a general belief + that he had been in the habit of beating his wife. Some fellows do . . . + and anything would be better than the filthy fact; for it was clear he had + lived with the root of it for five years—and it was too shameful. + Anything! Anything! Brutality . . . But he gave it up directly, and began + to think of the Divorce Court. It did not present itself to him, + notwithstanding his respect for law and usage, as a proper refuge for + dignified grief. It appeared rather as an unclean and sinister cavern + where men and women are haled by adverse fate to writhe ridiculously in + the presence of uncompromising truth. It should not be allowed. That + woman! Five . . . years . . . married five years . . . and never to see + anything. Not to the very last day . . . not till she coolly went off. And + he pictured to himself all the people he knew engaged in speculating as to + whether all that time he had been blind, foolish, or infatuated. What a + woman! Blind! . . . Not at all. Could a clean-minded man imagine such + depravity? Evidently not. He drew a free breath. That was the attitude to + take; it was dignified enough; it gave him the advantage, and he could not + help perceiving that it was moral. He yearned unaffectedly to see morality + (in his person) triumphant before the world. As to her she would be + forgotten. Let her be forgotten—buried in oblivion—lost! No + one would allude . . . Refined people—and every man and woman he + knew could be so described—had, of course, a horror of such topics. + Had they? Oh, yes. No one would allude to her . . . in his hearing. He + stamped his foot, tore the letter across, then again and again. The + thought of sympathizing friends excited in him a fury of mistrust. He + flung down the small bits of paper. They settled, fluttering at his feet, + and looked very white on the dark carpet, like a scattered handful of + snow-flakes. + </p> + <p> + This fit of hot anger was succeeded by a sudden sadness, by the darkening + passage of a thought that ran over the scorched surface of his heart, like + upon a barren plain, and after a fiercer assault of sunrays, the + melancholy and cooling shadow of a cloud. He realized that he had had a + shock—not a violent or rending blow, that can be seen, resisted, + returned, forgotten, but a thrust, insidious and penetrating, that had + stirred all those feelings, concealed and cruel, which the arts of the + devil, the fears of mankind—God’s infinite compassion, perhaps—keep + chained deep down in the inscrutable twilight of our breasts. A dark + curtain seemed to rise before him, and for less than a second he looked + upon the mysterious universe of moral suffering. As a landscape is seen + complete, and vast, and vivid, under a flash of lightning, so he could see + disclosed in a moment all the immensity of pain that can be contained in + one short moment of human thought. Then the curtain fell again, but his + rapid vision left in Alvan Hervey’s mind a trail of invincible sadness, a + sense of loss and bitter solitude, as though he had been robbed and + exiled. For a moment he ceased to be a member of society with a position, + a career, and a name attached to all this, like a descriptive label of + some complicated compound. He was a simple human being removed from the + delightful world of crescents and squares. He stood alone, naked and + afraid, like the first man on the first day of evil. There are in life + events, contacts, glimpses, that seem brutally to bring all the past to a + close. There is a shock and a crash, as of a gate flung to behind one by + the perfidious hand of fate. Go and seek another paradise, fool or sage. + There is a moment of dumb dismay, and the wanderings must begin again; the + painful explaining away of facts, the feverish raking up of illusions, the + cultivation of a fresh crop of lies in the sweat of one’s brow, to sustain + life, to make it supportable, to make it fair, so as to hand intact to + another generation of blind wanderers the charming legend of a heartless + country, of a promised land, all flowers and blessings . . . + </p> + <p> + He came to himself with a slight start, and became aware of an oppressive, + crushing desolation. It was only a feeling, it is true, but it produced on + him a physical effect, as though his chest had been squeezed in a vice. He + perceived himself so extremely forlorn and lamentable, and was moved so + deeply by the oppressive sorrow, that another turn of the screw, he felt, + would bring tears out of his eyes. He was deteriorating. Five years of + life in common had appeased his longing. Yes, long-time ago. The first + five months did that—but . . . There was the habit—the habit + of her person, of her smile, of her gestures, of her voice, of her + silence. She had a pure brow and good hair. How utterly wretched all this + was. Good hair and fine eyes—remarkably fine. He was surprised by + the number of details that intruded upon his unwilling memory. He could + not help remembering her footsteps, the rustle of her dress, her way of + holding her head, her decisive manner of saying “Alvan,” the quiver of her + nostrils when she was annoyed. All that had been so much his property, so + intimately and specially his! He raged in a mournful, silent way, as he + took stock of his losses. He was like a man counting the cost of an + unlucky speculation—irritated, depressed—exasperated with + himself and with others, with the fortunate, with the indifferent, with + the callous; yet the wrong done him appeared so cruel that he would + perhaps have dropped a tear over that spoliation if it had not been for + his conviction that men do not weep. Foreigners do; they also kill + sometimes in such circumstances. And to his horror he felt himself driven + to regret almost that the usages of a society ready to forgive the + shooting of a burglar forbade him, under the circumstances, even as much + as a thought of murder. Nevertheless, he clenched his fists and set his + teeth hard. And he was afraid at the same time. He was afraid with that + penetrating faltering fear that seems, in the very middle of a beat, to + turn one’s heart into a handful of dust. The contamination of her crime + spread out, tainted the universe, tainted himself; woke up all the dormant + infamies of the world; caused a ghastly kind of clairvoyance in which he + could see the towns and fields of the earth, its sacred places, its + temples and its houses, peopled by monsters—by monsters of + duplicity, lust, and murder. She was a monster—he himself was + thinking monstrous thoughts . . . and yet he was like other people. How + many men and women at this very moment were plunged in abominations—meditated + crimes. It was frightful to think of. He remembered all the streets—the + well-to-do streets he had passed on his way home; all the innumerable + houses with closed doors and curtained windows. Each seemed now an abode + of anguish and folly. And his thought, as if appalled, stood still, + recalling with dismay the decorous and frightful silence that was like a + conspiracy; the grim, impenetrable silence of miles of walls concealing + passions, misery, thoughts of crime. Surely he was not the only man; his + was not the only house . . . and yet no one knew—no one guessed. But + he knew. He knew with unerring certitude that could not be deceived by the + correct silence of walls, of closed doors, of curtained windows. He was + beside himself with a despairing agitation, like a man informed of a + deadly secret—the secret of a calamity threatening the safety of + mankind—the sacredness, the peace of life. + </p> + <p> + He caught sight of himself in one of the looking-glasses. It was a relief. + The anguish of his feeling had been so powerful that he more than half + expected to see some distorted wild face there, and he was pleasantly + surprised to see nothing of the kind. His aspect, at any rate, would let + no one into the secret of his pain. He examined himself with attention. + His trousers were turned up, and his boots a little muddy, but he looked + very much as usual. Only his hair was slightly ruffled, and that disorder, + somehow, was so suggestive of trouble that he went quickly to the table, + and began to use the brushes, in an anxious desire to obliterate the + compromising trace, that only vestige of his emotion. He brushed with + care, watching the effect of his smoothing; and another face, slightly + pale and more tense than was perhaps desirable, peered back at him from + the toilet glass. He laid the brushes down, and was not satisfied. He took + them up again and brushed, brushed mechanically—forgot himself in + that occupation. The tumult of his thoughts ended in a sluggish flow of + reflection, such as, after the outburst of a volcano, the almost + imperceptible progress of a stream of lava, creeping languidly over a + convulsed land and pitilessly obliterating any landmark left by the shock + of the earthquake. It is a destructive but, by comparison, it is a + peaceful phenomenon. Alvan Hervey was almost soothed by the deliberate + pace of his thoughts. His moral landmarks were going one by one, consumed + in the fire of his experience, buried in hot mud, in ashes. He was cooling—on + the surface; but there was enough heat left somewhere to make him slap the + brushes on the table, and turning away, say in a fierce whisper: “I wish + him joy . . . Damn the woman.” + </p> + <p> + He felt himself utterly corrupted by her wickedness, and the most + significant symptom of his moral downfall was the bitter, acrid + satisfaction with which he recognized it. He, deliberately, swore in his + thoughts; he meditated sneers; he shaped in profound silence words of + cynical unbelief, and his most cherished convictions stood revealed + finally as the narrow prejudices of fools. A crowd of shapeless, unclean + thoughts crossed his mind in a stealthy rush, like a band of veiled + malefactors hastening to a crime. He put his hands deep into his pockets. + He heard a faint ringing somewhere, and muttered to himself: “I am not the + only one . . . not the only one.” There was another ring. Front door! + </p> + <p> + His heart leaped up into his throat, and forthwith descended as low as his + boots. A call! Who? Why? He wanted to rush out on the landing and shout to + the servant: “Not at home! Gone away abroad!” . . . Any excuse. He could + not face a visitor. Not this evening. No. To-morrow. . . . Before he could + break out of the numbness that enveloped him like a sheet of lead, he + heard far below, as if in the entrails of the earth, a door close heavily. + The house vibrated to it more than to a clap of thunder. He stood still, + wishing himself invisible. The room was very chilly. He did not think he + would ever feel like that. But people must be met—they must be faced—talked + to—smiled at. He heard another door, much nearer—the door of + the drawing-room—being opened and flung to again. He imagined for a + moment he would faint. How absurd! That kind of thing had to be gone + through. A voice spoke. He could not catch the words. Then the voice spoke + again, and footsteps were heard on the first floor landing. Hang it all! + Was he to hear that voice and those footsteps whenever any one spoke or + moved? He thought: “This is like being haunted—I suppose it will + last for a week or so, at least. Till I forget. Forget! Forget!” Someone + was coming up the second flight of stairs. Servant? He listened, then, + suddenly, as though an incredible, frightful revelation had been shouted + to him from a distance, he bellowed out in the empty room: “What! What!” + in such a fiendish tone as to astonish himself. The footsteps stopped + outside the door. He stood openmouthed, maddened and still, as if in the + midst of a catastrophe. The door-handle rattled lightly. It seemed to him + that the walls were coming apart, that the furniture swayed at him; the + ceiling slanted queerly for a moment, a tall wardrobe tried to topple + over. He caught hold of something and it was the back of a chair. So he + had reeled against a chair! Oh! Confound it! He gripped hard. + </p> + <p> + The flaming butterfly poised between the jaws of the bronze dragon + radiated a glare, a glare that seemed to leap up all at once into a crude, + blinding fierceness, and made it difficult for him to distinguish plainly + the figure of his wife standing upright with her back to the closed door. + He looked at her and could not detect her breathing. The harsh and violent + light was beating on her, and he was amazed to see her preserve so well + the composure of her upright attitude in that scorching brilliance which, + to his eyes, enveloped her like a hot and consuming mist. He would not + have been surprised if she had vanished in it as suddenly as she had + appeared. He stared and listened; listened for some sound, but the silence + round him was absolute—as though he had in a moment grown completely + deaf as well as dim-eyed. Then his hearing returned, preternaturally + sharp. He heard the patter of a rain-shower on the window panes behind the + lowered blinds, and below, far below, in the artificial abyss of the + square, the deadened roll of wheels and the splashy trotting of a horse. + He heard a groan also—very distinct—in the room—close to + his ear. + </p> + <p> + He thought with alarm: “I must have made that noise myself;” and at the + same instant the woman left the door, stepped firmly across the floor + before him, and sat down in a chair. He knew that step. There was no doubt + about it. She had come back! And he very nearly said aloud “Of course!”—such + was his sudden and masterful perception of the indestructible character of + her being. Nothing could destroy her—and nothing but his own + destruction could keep her away. She was the incarnation of all the short + moments which every man spares out of his life for dreams, for precious + dreams that concrete the most cherished, the most profitable of his + illusions. He peered at her with inward trepidation. She was mysterious, + significant, full of obscure meaning —like a symbol. He peered, + bending forward, as though he had been discovering about her things he had + never seen before. Unconsciously he made a step towards her—then + another. He saw her arm make an ample, decided movement and he stopped. + She had lifted her veil. It was like the lifting of a vizor. + </p> + <p> + The spell was broken. He experienced a shock as though he had been called + out of a trance by the sudden noise of an explosion. It was even more + startling and more distinct; it was an infinitely more intimate change, + for he had the sensation of having come into this room only that very + moment; of having returned from very far; he was made aware that some + essential part of himself had in a flash returned into his body, returned + finally from a fierce and lamentable region, from the dwelling-place of + unveiled hearts. He woke up to an amazing infinity of contempt, to a droll + bitterness of wonder, to a disenchanted conviction of safety. He had a + glimpse of the irresistible force, and he saw also the barrenness of his + convictions—of her convictions. It seemed to him that he could never + make a mistake as long as he lived. It was morally impossible to go wrong. + He was not elated by that certitude; he was dimly uneasy about its price; + there was a chill as of death in this triumph of sound principles, in this + victory snatched under the very shadow of disaster. + </p> + <p> + The last trace of his previous state of mind vanished, as the + instantaneous and elusive trail of a bursting meteor vanishes on the + profound blackness of the sky; it was the faint flicker of a painful + thought, gone as soon as perceived, that nothing but her presence—after + all—had the power to recall him to himself. He stared at her. She + sat with her hands on her lap, looking down; and he noticed that her boots + were dirty, her skirts wet and splashed, as though she had been driven + back there by a blind fear through a waste of mud. He was indignant, + amazed and shocked, but in a natural, healthy way now; so that he could + control those unprofitable sentiments by the dictates of cautious + self-restraint. The light in the room had no unusual brilliance now; it + was a good light in which he could easily observe the expression of her + face. It was that of dull fatigue. And the silence that surrounded them + was the normal silence of any quiet house, hardly disturbed by the faint + noises of a respectable quarter of the town. He was very cool—and it + was quite coolly that he thought how much better it would be if neither of + them ever spoke again. She sat with closed lips, with an air of lassitude + in the stony forgetfulness of her pose, but after a moment she lifted her + drooping eyelids and met his tense and inquisitive stare by a look that + had all the formless eloquence of a cry. It penetrated, it stirred without + informing; it was the very essence of anguish stripped of words that can + be smiled at, argued away, shouted down, disdained. It was anguish naked + and unashamed, the bare pain of existence let loose upon the world in the + fleeting unreserve of a look that had in it an immensity of fatigue, the + scornful sincerity, the black impudence of an extorted confession. Alvan + Hervey was seized with wonder, as though he had seen something + inconceivable; and some obscure part of his being was ready to exclaim + with him: “I would never have believed it!” but an instantaneous revulsion + of wounded susceptibilities checked the unfinished thought. + </p> + <p> + He felt full of rancorous indignation against the woman who could look + like this at one. This look probed him; it tampered with him. It was + dangerous to one as would be a hint of unbelief whispered by a priest in + the august decorum of a temple; and at the same time it was impure, it was + disturbing, like a cynical consolation muttered in the dark, tainting the + sorrow, corroding the thought, poisoning the heart. He wanted to ask her + furiously: “Who do you take me for? How dare you look at me like this?” He + felt himself helpless before the hidden meaning of that look; he resented + it with pained and futile violence as an injury so secret that it could + never, never be redressed. His wish was to crush her by a single sentence. + He was stainless. Opinion was on his side; morality, men and gods were on + his side; law, conscience—all the world! She had nothing but that + look. And he could only say: + </p> + <p> + “How long do you intend to stay here?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes did not waver, her lips remained closed; and for any effect of + his words he might have spoken to a dead woman, only that this one + breathed quickly. He was profoundly disappointed by what he had said. It + was a great deception, something in the nature of treason. He had deceived + himself. It should have been altogether different—other words—another + sensation. And before his eyes, so fixed that at times they saw nothing, + she sat apparently as unconscious as though she had been alone, sending + that look of brazen confession straight at him—with an air of + staring into empty space. He said significantly: + </p> + <p> + “Must I go then?” And he knew he meant nothing of what he implied. + </p> + <p> + One of her hands on her lap moved slightly as though his words had fallen + there and she had thrown them off on the floor. But her silence encouraged + him. Possibly it meant remorse—perhaps fear. Was she thunderstruck + by his attitude? . . . Her eyelids dropped. He seemed to understand ever + so much—everything! Very well—but she must be made to suffer. + It was due to him. He understood everything, yet he judged it + indispensable to say with an obvious affectation of civility: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand—be so good as to . . .” + </p> + <p> + She stood up. For a second he believed she intended to go away, and it was + as though someone had jerked a string attached to his heart. It hurt. He + remained open-mouthed and silent. But she made an irresolute step towards + him, and instinctively he moved aside. They stood before one another, and + the fragments of the torn letter lay between them—at their feet—like + an insurmountable obstacle, like a sign of eternal separation! Around them + three other couples stood still and face to face, as if waiting for a + signal to begin some action—a struggle, a dispute, or a dance. + </p> + <p> + She said: “Don’t—Alvan!” and there was something that resembled a + warning in the pain of her tone. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to + pierce her with his gaze. Her voice touched him. He had aspirations after + magnanimity, generosity, superiority—interrupted, however, by + flashes of indignation and anxiety—frightful anxiety to know how far + she had gone. She looked down at the torn paper. Then she looked up, and + their eyes met again, remained fastened together, like an unbreakable + bond, like a clasp of eternal complicity; and the decorous silence, the + pervading quietude of the house which enveloped this meeting of their + glances became for a moment inexpressibly vile, for he was afraid she + would say too much and make magnanimity impossible, while behind the + profound mournfulness of her face there was a regret—a regret of + things done—the regret of delay—the thought that if she had + only turned back a week sooner—a day sooner—only an hour + sooner. . . . They were afraid to hear again the sound of their voices; + they did not know what they might say—perhaps something that could + not be recalled; and words are more terrible than facts. But the tricky + fatality that lurks in obscure impulses spoke through Alvan Hervey’s lips + suddenly; and he heard his own voice with the excited and sceptical + curiosity with which one listens to actors’ voices speaking on the stage + in the strain of a poignant situation. + </p> + <p> + “If you have forgotten anything . . . of course . . . I . . .” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes blazed at him for an instant; her lips trembled—and then + she also became the mouth-piece of the mysterious force forever hovering + near us; of that perverse inspiration, wandering capricious and + uncontrollable, like a gust of wind. + </p> + <p> + “What is the good of this, Alvan? . . . You know why I came back. . . . + You know that I could not . . .” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted her with irritation. + </p> + <p> + “Then! what’s this?” he asked, pointing downwards at the torn letter. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a mistake,” she said hurriedly, in a muffled voice. + </p> + <p> + This answer amazed him. He remained speechless, staring at her. He had + half a mind to burst into a laugh. It ended in a smile as involuntary as a + grimace of pain. + </p> + <p> + “A mistake . . .” he began, slowly, and then found himself unable to say + another word. + </p> + <p> + “Yes . . . it was honest,” she said very low, as if speaking to the memory + of a feeling in a remote past. + </p> + <p> + He exploded. + </p> + <p> + “Curse your honesty! . . . Is there any honesty in all this! . . . When + did you begin to be honest? Why are you here? What are you now? . . . + Still honest? . . .” + </p> + <p> + He walked at her, raging, as if blind; during these three quick strides he + lost touch of the material world and was whirled interminably through a + kind of empty universe made up of nothing but fury and anguish, till he + came suddenly upon her face—very close to his. He stopped short, and + all at once seemed to remember something heard ages ago. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + She did not flinch. He perceived with fear that everything around him was + still. She did not move a hair’s breadth; his own body did not stir. An + imperturbable calm enveloped their two motionless figures, the house, the + town, all the world—and the trifling tempest of his feelings. The + violence of the short tumult within him had been such as could well have + shattered all creation; and yet nothing was changed. He faced his wife in + the familiar room in his own house. It had not fallen. And right and left + all the innumerable dwellings, standing shoulder to shoulder, had resisted + the shock of his passion, had presented, unmoved, to the loneliness of his + trouble, the grim silence of walls, the impenetrable and polished + discretion of closed doors and curtained windows. Immobility and silence + pressed on him, assailed him, like two accomplices of the immovable and + mute woman before his eyes. He was suddenly vanquished. He was shown his + impotence. He was soothed by the breath of a corrupt resignation coming to + him through the subtle irony of the surrounding peace. + </p> + <p> + He said with villainous composure: + </p> + <p> + “At any rate it isn’t enough for me. I want to know more—if you’re + going to stay.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing more to tell,” she answered, sadly. + </p> + <p> + It struck him as so very true that he did not say anything. She went on: + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t understand. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “No?” he said, quietly. He held himself tight not to burst into howls and + imprecations. + </p> + <p> + “I tried to be faithful . . .” she began again. + </p> + <p> + “And this?” he exclaimed, pointing at the fragments of her letter. + </p> + <p> + “This—this is a failure,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I should think so,” he muttered, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “I tried to be faithful to myself—Alvan—and . . . and honest + to you. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “If you had tried to be faithful to me it would have been more to the + purpose,” he interrupted, angrily. “I’ve been faithful to you and you have + spoiled my life—both our lives . . .” Then after a pause the + unconquerable preoccupation of self came out, and he raised his voice to + ask resentfully, “And, pray, for how long have you been making a fool of + me?” + </p> + <p> + She seemed horribly shocked by that question. He did not wait for an + answer, but went on moving about all the time; now and then coming up to + her, then wandering off restlessly to the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself—and that’s + your honesty!” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you there is nothing to know,” she said, speaking unsteadily + as if in pain. “Nothing of what you suppose. You don’t understand me. This + letter is the beginning—and the end.” + </p> + <p> + “The end—this thing has no end,” he clamoured, unexpectedly. “Can’t + you understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . .” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and looked into her eyes with concentrated intensity, with a + desire to see, to penetrate, to understand, that made him positively hold + his breath till he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “By Heavens!” he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude and + within less than a foot from her. + </p> + <p> + “By Heavens!” he repeated, slowly, and in a tone whose involuntary + strangeness was a complete mystery to himself. “By Heavens—I could + believe you—I could believe anything—now!” + </p> + <p> + He turned short on his heel and began to walk up and down the room with an + air of having disburdened himself of the final pronouncement of his life—of + having said something on which he would not go back, even if he could. She + remained as if rooted to the carpet. Her eyes followed the restless + movements of the man, who avoided looking at her. Her wide stare clung to + him, inquiring, wondering and doubtful. + </p> + <p> + “But the fellow was forever sticking in here,” he burst out, distractedly. + “He made love to you, I suppose—and, and . . .” He lowered his + voice. “And—you let him.” + </p> + <p> + “And I let him,” she murmured, catching his intonation, so that her voice + sounded unconscious, sounded far off and slavish, like an echo. + </p> + <p> + He said twice, “You! You!” violently, then calmed down. “What could you + see in the fellow?” he asked, with unaffected wonder. “An effeminate, fat + ass. What could you . . . Weren’t you happy? Didn’t you have all you + wanted? Now—frankly; did I deceive your expectations in any way? + Were you disappointed with our position—or with our prospects—perhaps? + You know you couldn’t be—they are much better than you could hope + for when you married me. . . .” + </p> + <p> + He forgot himself so far as to gesticulate a little while he went on with + animation: + </p> + <p> + “What could you expect from such a fellow? He’s an outsider—a rank + outsider. . . . If it hadn’t been for my money . . . do you hear? . . . + for my money, he wouldn’t know where to turn. His people won’t have + anything to do with him. The fellow’s no class—no class at all. He’s + useful, certainly, that’s why I . . . I thought you had enough + intelligence to see it. . . . And you . . . No! It’s incredible! What did + he tell you? Do you care for no one’s opinion—is there no + restraining influence in the world for you—women? Did you ever give + me a thought? I tried to be a good husband. Did I fail? Tell me—what + have I done?” + </p> + <p> + Carried away by his feelings he took his head in both his hands and + repeated wildly: + </p> + <p> + “What have I done? . . . Tell me! What? . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You see . . . you can’t . . .” he began, triumphantly, walking away; + then suddenly, as though he had been flung back at her by something + invisible he had met, he spun round and shouted with exasperation: + </p> + <p> + “What on earth did you expect me to do?” + </p> + <p> + Without a word she moved slowly towards the table, and, sitting down, + leaned on her elbow, shading her eyes with her hand. All that time he + glared at her watchfully as if expecting every moment to find in her + deliberate movements an answer to his question. But he could not read + anything, he could gather no hint of her thought. He tried to suppress his + desire to shout, and after waiting awhile, said with incisive scorn: + </p> + <p> + “Did you want me to write absurd verses; to sit and look at you for hours—to + talk to you about your soul? You ought to have known I wasn’t that sort. . + . . I had something better to do. But if you think I was totally blind . . + .” + </p> + <p> + He perceived in a flash that he could remember an infinity of enlightening + occurrences. He could recall ever so many distinct occasions when he came + upon them; he remembered the absurdly interrupted gesture of his fat, + white hand, the rapt expression of her face, the glitter of unbelieving + eyes; snatches of incomprehensible conversations not worth listening to, + silences that had meant nothing at the time and seemed now illuminating + like a burst of sunshine. He remembered all that. He had not been blind. + Oh! No! And to know this was an exquisite relief: it brought back all his + composure. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it beneath me to suspect you,” he said, loftily. + </p> + <p> + The sound of that sentence evidently possessed some magical power, + because, as soon as he had spoken, he felt wonderfully at ease; and + directly afterwards he experienced a flash of joyful amazement at the + discovery that he could be inspired to such noble and truthful utterance. + He watched the effect of his words. They caused her to glance to him + quickly over her shoulder. He caught a glimpse of wet eyelashes, of a red + cheek with a tear running down swiftly; and then she turned away again and + sat as before, covering her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be perfectly frank with me,” he said, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “You know everything,” she answered, indistinctly, through her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “This letter. . . . Yes . . . but . . .” + </p> + <p> + “And I came back,” she exclaimed in a stifled voice; “you know + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of it—for your sake,” he said with impressive gravity. He + listened to himself with solemn emotion. It seemed to him that something + inexpressibly momentous was in progress within the room, that every word + and every gesture had the importance of events preordained from the + beginning of all things, and summing up in their finality the whole + purpose of creation. + </p> + <p> + “For your sake,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + Her shoulders shook as though she had been sobbing, and he forgot himself + in the contemplation of her hair. Suddenly he gave a start, as if waking + up, and asked very gently and not much above a whisper— + </p> + <p> + “Have you been meeting him often?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” she cried into the palms of her hands. + </p> + <p> + This answer seemed for a moment to take from him the power of speech. His + lips moved for some time before any sound came. + </p> + <p> + “You preferred to make love here—under my very nose,” he said, + furiously. He calmed down instantly, and felt regretfully uneasy, as + though he had let himself down in her estimation by that outburst. She + rose, and with her hand on the back of the chair confronted him with eyes + that were perfectly dry now. There was a red spot on each of her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “When I made up my mind to go to him—I wrote,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But you didn’t go to him,” he took up in the same tone. “How far did you + go? What made you come back?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know myself,” she murmured. Nothing of her moved but her lips. + He fixed her sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Did he expect this? Was he waiting for you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She answered him by an almost imperceptible nod, and he continued to look + at her for a good while without making a sound. Then, at last— + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose he is waiting yet?” he asked, quickly. + </p> + <p> + Again she seemed to nod at him. For some reason he felt he must know the + time. He consulted his watch gloomily. Half-past seven. + </p> + <p> + “Is he?” he muttered, putting the watch in his pocket. He looked up at + her, and, as if suddenly overcome by a sense of sinister fun, gave a + short, harsh laugh, directly repressed. + </p> + <p> + “No! It’s the most unheard! . . .” he mumbled while she stood before him + biting her lower lip, as if plunged in deep thought. He laughed again in + one low burst that was as spiteful as an imprecation. He did not know why + he felt such an overpowering and sudden distaste for the facts of + existence—for facts in general—such an immense disgust at the + thought of all the many days already lived through. He was wearied. + Thinking seemed a labour beyond his strength. He said— + </p> + <p> + “You deceived me—now you make a fool of him . . . It’s awful! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I deceived myself!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Nonsense!” he said, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready to go if you wish it,” she went on, quickly. “It was due to + you—to be told—to know. No! I could not!” she cried, and stood + still wringing her hands stealthily. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you repented before it was too late,” he said in a dull tone + and looking at his boots. “I am glad . . . some spark of better feeling,” + he muttered, as if to himself. He lifted up his head after a moment of + brooding silence. “I am glad to see that there is some sense of decency + left in you,” he added a little louder. Looking at her he appeared to + hesitate, as if estimating the possible consequences of what he wished to + say, and at last blurted out— + </p> + <p> + “After all, I loved you. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” he cried. “Why do you imagine I married you?” + </p> + <p> + The indelicacy of his obtuseness angered her. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—why?” she said through her teeth. + </p> + <p> + He appeared overcome with horror, and watched her lips intently as though + in fear. + </p> + <p> + “I imagined many things,” she said, slowly, and paused. He watched, + holding his breath. At last she went on musingly, as if thinking aloud, “I + tried to understand. I tried honestly. . . . Why? . . . To do the usual + thing—I suppose. . . . To please yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away smartly, and when he came back, close to her, he had a + flushed face. + </p> + <p> + “You seemed pretty well pleased, too—at the time,” he hissed, with + scathing fury. “I needn’t ask whether you loved me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know now I was perfectly incapable of such a thing,” she said, calmly, + “If I had, perhaps you would not have married me.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very clear I would not have done it if I had known you—as I + know you now.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to see himself proposing to her—ages ago. They were + strolling up the slope of a lawn. Groups of people were scattered in + sunshine. The shadows of leafy boughs lay still on the short grass. The + coloured sunshades far off, passing between trees, resembled deliberate + and brilliant butterflies moving without a flutter. Men smiling amiably, + or else very grave, within the impeccable shelter of their black coats, + stood by the side of women who, clustered in clear summer toilettes, + recalled all the fabulous tales of enchanted gardens where animated + flowers smile at bewitched knights. There was a sumptuous serenity in it + all, a thin, vibrating excitement, the perfect security, as of an + invincible ignorance, that evoked within him a transcendent belief in + felicity as the lot of all mankind, a recklessly picturesque desire to get + promptly something for himself only, out of that splendour unmarred by any + shadow of a thought. The girl walked by his side across an open space; no + one was near, and suddenly he stood still, as if inspired, and spoke. He + remembered looking at her pure eyes, at her candid brow; he remembered + glancing about quickly to see if they were being observed, and thinking + that nothing could go wrong in a world of so much charm, purity, and + distinction. He was proud of it. He was one of its makers, of its + possessors, of its guardians, of its extollers. He wanted to grasp it + solidly, to get as much gratification as he could out of it; and in view + of its incomparable quality, of its unstained atmosphere, of its nearness + to the heaven of its choice, this gust of brutal desire seemed the most + noble of aspirations. In a second he lived again through all these + moments, and then all the pathos of his failure presented itself to him + with such vividness that there was a suspicion of tears in his tone when + he said almost unthinkingly, “My God! I did love you!” + </p> + <p> + She seemed touched by the emotion of his voice. Her lips quivered a + little, and she made one faltering step towards him, putting out her hands + in a beseeching gesture, when she perceived, just in time, that being + absorbed by the tragedy of his life he had absolutely forgotten her very + existence. She stopped, and her outstretched arms fell slowly. He, with + his features distorted by the bitterness of his thought, saw neither her + movement nor her gesture. He stamped his foot in vexation, rubbed his head—then + exploded. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil am I to do now?” + </p> + <p> + He was still again. She seemed to understand, and moved to the door + firmly. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very simple—I’m going,” she said aloud. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of her voice he gave a start of surprise, looked at her + wildly, and asked in a piercing tone— + </p> + <p> + “You. . . . Where? To him?” + </p> + <p> + “No—alone—good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + The door-handle rattled under her groping hand as though she had been + trying to get out of some dark place. + </p> + <p> + “No—stay!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + She heard him faintly. He saw her shoulder touch the lintel of the door. + She swayed as if dazed. There was less than a second of suspense while + they both felt as if poised on the very edge of moral annihilation, ready + to fall into some devouring nowhere. Then, almost simultaneously, he + shouted, “Come back!” and she let go the handle of the door. She turned + round in peaceful desperation like one who deliberately has thrown away + the last chance of life; and, for a moment, the room she faced appeared + terrible, and dark, and safe—like a grave. + </p> + <p> + He said, very hoarse and abrupt: “It can’t end like this. . . . Sit down;” + and while she crossed the room again to the low-backed chair before the + dressing-table, he opened the door and put his head out to look and + listen. The house was quiet. He came back pacified, and asked— + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak the truth?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You have lived a lie, though,” he said, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You made it so easy,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “You reproach me—me!” + </p> + <p> + “How could I?” she said; “I would have you no other—now.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by . . .” he began, then checked himself, and without + waiting for an answer went on, “I won’t ask any questions. Is this letter + the worst of it?” + </p> + <p> + She had a nervous movement of her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I must have a plain answer,” he said, hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Then, no! The worst is my coming back.” + </p> + <p> + There followed a period of dead silence, during which they exchanged + searching glances. + </p> + <p> + He said authoritatively— + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know what you are saying. Your mind is unhinged. You are beside + yourself, or you would not say such things. You can’t control yourself. + Even in your remorse . . .” He paused a moment, then said with a doctoral + air: “Self-restraint is everything in life, you know. It’s happiness, it’s + dignity . . . it’s everything.” + </p> + <p> + She was pulling nervously at her handkerchief while he went on watching + anxiously to see the effect of his words. Nothing satisfactory happened. + Only, as he began to speak again, she covered her face with both her + hands. + </p> + <p> + “You see where the want of self-restraint leads to. Pain—humiliation—loss + of respect—of friends, of everything that ennobles life, that . . . + All kinds of horrors,” he concluded, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + She made no stir. He looked at her pensively for some time as though he + had been concentrating the melancholy thoughts evoked by the sight of that + abased woman. His eyes became fixed and dull. He was profoundly penetrated + by the solemnity of the moment; he felt deeply the greatness of the + occasion. And more than ever the walls of his house seemed to enclose the + sacredness of ideals to which he was about to offer a magnificent + sacrifice. He was the high priest of that temple, the severe guardian of + formulas, of rites, of the pure ceremonial concealing the black doubts of + life. And he was not alone. Other men, too—the best of them—kept + watch and ward by the hearthstones that were the altars of that profitable + persuasion. He understood confusedly that he was part of an immense and + beneficent power, which had a reward ready for every discretion. He dwelt + within the invincible wisdom of silence; he was protected by an + indestructible faith that would last forever, that would withstand + unshaken all the assaults—the loud execrations of apostates, and the + secret weariness of its confessors! He was in league with a universe of + untold advantages. He represented the moral strength of a beautiful + reticence that could vanquish all the deplorable crudities of life—fear, + disaster, sin—even death itself. It seemed to him he was on the + point of sweeping triumphantly away all the illusory mysteries of + existence. It was simplicity itself. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you see now the folly—the utter folly of wickedness,” he + began in a dull, solemn manner. “You must respect the conditions of your + life or lose all it can give you. All! Everything!” + </p> + <p> + He waved his arm once, and three exact replicas of his face, of his + clothes, of his dull severity, of his solemn grief, repeated the wide + gesture that in its comprehensive sweep indicated an infinity of moral + sweetness, embraced the walls, the hangings, the whole house, all the + crowd of houses outside, all the flimsy and inscrutable graves of the + living, with their doors numbered like the doors of prison-cells, and as + impenetrable as the granite of tombstones. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Restraint, duty, fidelity—unswerving fidelity to what is + expected of you. This—only this—secures the reward, the peace. + Everything else we should labour to subdue—to destroy. It’s + misfortune; it’s disease. It is terrible—terrible. We must not know + anything about it—we needn’t. It is our duty to ourselves—to + others. You do not live all alone in the world—and if you have no + respect for the dignity of life, others have. Life is a serious matter. If + you don’t conform to the highest standards you are no one—it’s a + kind of death. Didn’t this occur to you? You’ve only to look round you to + see the truth of what I am saying. Did you live without noticing anything, + without understanding anything? From a child you had examples before your + eyes—you could see daily the beauty, the blessings of morality, of + principles. . . .” + </p> + <p> + His voice rose and fell pompously in a strange chant. His eyes were still, + his stare exalted and sullen; his face was set, was hard, was woodenly + exulting over the grim inspiration that secretly possessed him, seethed + within him, lifted him up into a stealthy frenzy of belief. Now and then + he would stretch out his right arm over her head, as it were, and he spoke + down at that sinner from a height, and with a sense of avenging virtue, + with a profound and pure joy as though he could from his steep pinnacle + see every weighty word strike and hurt like a punishing stone. + </p> + <p> + “Rigid principles—adherence to what is right,” he finished after a + pause. + </p> + <p> + “What is right?” she said, distinctly, without uncovering her face. + </p> + <p> + “Your mind is diseased!” he cried, upright and austere. “Such a question + is rot—utter rot. Look round you—there’s your answer, if you + only care to see. Nothing that outrages the received beliefs can be right. + Your conscience tells you that. They are the received beliefs because they + are the best, the noblest, the only possible. They survive. . . .” + </p> + <p> + He could not help noticing with pleasure the philosophic breadth of his + view, but he could not pause to enjoy it, for his inspiration, the call of + august truth, carried him on. + </p> + <p> + “You must respect the moral foundations of a society that has made you + what you are. Be true to it. That’s duty—that’s honour—that’s + honesty.” + </p> + <p> + He felt a great glow within him, as though he had swallowed something hot. + He made a step nearer. She sat up and looked at him with an ardour of + expectation that stimulated his sense of the supreme importance of that + moment. And as if forgetting himself he raised his voice very much. + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s right?’ you ask me. Think only. What would you have been if you + had gone off with that infernal vagabond? . . . What would you have been? + . . . You! My wife! . . .” + </p> + <p> + He caught sight of himself in the pier glass, drawn up to his full height, + and with a face so white that his eyes, at the distance, resembled the + black cavities in a skull. He saw himself as if about to launch + imprecations, with arms uplifted above her bowed head. He was ashamed of + that unseemly posture, and put his hands in his pockets hurriedly. She + murmured faintly, as if to herself— + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What am I now?” + </p> + <p> + “As it happens you are still Mrs. Alvan Hervey—uncommonly lucky for + you, let me tell you,” he said in a conversational tone. He walked up to + the furthest corner of the room, and, turning back, saw her sitting very + upright, her hands clasped on her lap, and with a lost, unswerving gaze of + her eyes which stared unwinking like the eyes of the blind, at the crude + gas flame, blazing and still, between the jaws of the bronze dragon. + </p> + <p> + He came up quite close to her, and straddling his legs a little, stood + looking down at her face for some time without taking his hands out of his + pockets. He seemed to be turning over in his mind a heap of words, piecing + his next speech out of an overpowering abundance of thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve tried me to the utmost,” he said at last; and as soon as he said + these words he lost his moral footing, and felt himself swept away from + his pinnacle by a flood of passionate resentment against the bungling + creature that had come so near to spoiling his life. “Yes; I’ve been tried + more than any man ought to be,” he went on with righteous bitterness. “It + was unfair. What possessed you to? . . . What possessed you? . . . Write + such a . . . After five years of perfect happiness! ‘Pon my word, no one + would believe. . . . Didn’t you feel you couldn’t? Because you couldn’t . + . . it was impossible—you know. Wasn’t it? Think. Wasn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “It was impossible,” she whispered, obediently. + </p> + <p> + This submissive assent given with such readiness did not soothe him, did + not elate him; it gave him, inexplicably, that sense of terror we + experience when in the midst of conditions we had learned to think + absolutely safe we discover all at once the presence of a near and + unsuspected danger. It was impossible, of course! He knew it. She knew it. + She confessed it. It was impossible! That man knew it, too—as well + as any one; couldn’t help knowing it. And yet those two had been engaged + in a conspiracy against his peace—in a criminal enterprise for which + there could be no sanction of belief within themselves. There could not + be! There could not be! And yet how near to . . . With a short thrill he + saw himself an exiled forlorn figure in a realm of ungovernable, of + unrestrained folly. Nothing could be foreseen, foretold—guarded + against. And the sensation was intolerable, had something of the withering + horror that may be conceived as following upon the utter extinction of all + hope. In the flash of thought the dishonouring episode seemed to disengage + itself from everything actual, from earthly conditions, and even from + earthly suffering; it became purely a terrifying knowledge, an + annihilating knowledge of a blind and infernal force. Something desperate + and vague, a flicker of an insane desire to abase himself before the + mysterious impulses of evil, to ask for mercy in some way, passed through + his mind; and then came the idea, the persuasion, the certitude, that the + evil must be forgotten—must be resolutely ignored to make life + possible; that the knowledge must be kept out of mind, out of sight, like + the knowledge of certain death is kept out of the daily existence of men. + He stiffened himself inwardly for the effort, and next moment it appeared + very easy, amazingly feasible, if one only kept strictly to facts, gave + one’s mind to their perplexities and not to their meaning. Becoming + conscious of a long silence, he cleared his throat warningly, and said in + a steady voice— + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you feel this . . . uncommonly glad . . . you felt this in + time. For, don’t you see . . .” Unexpectedly he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes . . . I see,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you would,” he said, looking at the carpet and speaking like + one who thinks of something else. He lifted his head. “I cannot believe—even + after this—even after this—that you are altogether—altogether + . . . other than what I thought you. It seems impossible—to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And to me,” she breathed out. + </p> + <p> + “Now—yes,” he said, “but this morning? And to-morrow? . . . This is + what . . .” + </p> + <p> + He started at the drift of his words and broke off abruptly. Every train + of thought seemed to lead into the hopeless realm of ungovernable folly, + to recall the knowledge and the terror of forces that must be ignored. He + said rapidly— + </p> + <p> + “My position is very painful—difficult . . . I feel . . .” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her fixedly with a pained air, as though frightfully + oppressed by a sudden inability to express his pent-up ideas. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready to go,” she said very low. “I have forfeited everything . . . + to learn . . . to learn . . .” + </p> + <p> + Her chin fell on her breast; her voice died out in a sigh. He made a + slight gesture of impatient assent. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Yes! It’s all very well . . . of course. Forfeited—ah! Morally + forfeited—only morally forfeited . . . if I am to believe you . . .” + </p> + <p> + She startled him by jumping up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I believe, I believe,” he said, hastily, and she sat down as suddenly + as she had got up. He went on gloomily— + </p> + <p> + “I’ve suffered—I suffer now. You can’t understand how much. So much + that when you propose a parting I almost think. . . . But no. There is + duty. You’ve forgotten it; I never did. Before heaven, I never did. But in + a horrid exposure like this the judgment of mankind goes astray—at + least for a time. You see, you and I—at least I feel that—you + and I are one before the world. It is as it should be. The world is right—in + the main—or else it couldn’t be—couldn’t be—what it is. + And we are part of it. We have our duty to—to our fellow beings who + don’t want to . . . to . . . er.” + </p> + <p> + He stammered. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her lips were + slightly parted. He went on mumbling— + </p> + <p> + “. . . Pain. . . . Indignation. . . . Sure to misunderstand. I’ve suffered + enough. And if there has been nothing irreparable—as you assure me . + . . then . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Alvan!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he said, morosely. He gazed down at her for a moment with a sombre + stare, as one looks at ruins, at the devastation of some natural disaster. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he continued after a short pause, “the best thing is . . . the + best for us . . . for every one. . . . Yes . . . least pain—most + unselfish. . . .” His voice faltered, and she heard only detached words. + “. . . Duty. . . . Burden. . . . Ourselves. . . . Silence.” + </p> + <p> + A moment of perfect stillness ensued. + </p> + <p> + “This is an appeal I am making to your conscience,” he said, suddenly, in + an explanatory tone, “not to add to the wretchedness of all this: to try + loyally and help me to live it down somehow. Without any reservations—you + know. Loyally! You can’t deny I’ve been cruelly wronged and—after + all—my affection deserves . . .” He paused with evident anxiety to + hear her speak. + </p> + <p> + “I make no reservations,” she said, mournfully. “How could I? I found + myself out and came back to . . .” her eyes flashed scornfully for an + instant “. . . to what—to what you propose. You see . . . I . . . I + can be trusted . . . now.” + </p> + <p> + He listened to every word with profound attention, and when she ceased + seemed to wait for more. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you’ve got to say?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She was startled by his tone, and said faintly— + </p> + <p> + “I spoke the truth. What more can I say?” + </p> + <p> + “Confound it! You might say something human,” he burst out. “It isn’t + being truthful; it’s being brazen—if you want to know. Not a word to + show you feel your position, and—and mine. Not a single word of + acknowledgment, or regret—or remorse . . . or . . . something.” + </p> + <p> + “Words!” she whispered in a tone that irritated him. He stamped his foot. + </p> + <p> + “This is awful!” he exclaimed. “Words? Yes, words. Words mean something—yes—they + do—for all this infernal affectation. They mean something to me—to + everybody—to you. What the devil did you use to express those + sentiments—sentiments—pah!—which made you forget me, + duty, shame!” . . . He foamed at the mouth while she stared at him, + appalled by this sudden fury. “Did you two talk only with your eyes?” he + spluttered savagely. She rose. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t bear this,” she said, trembling from head to foot. “I am going.” + </p> + <p> + They stood facing one another for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Not you,” he said, with conscious roughness, and began to walk up and + down the room. She remained very still with an air of listening anxiously + to her own heart-beats, then sank down on the chair slowly, and sighed, as + if giving up a task beyond her strength. + </p> + <p> + “You misunderstand everything I say,” he began quietly, “but I prefer to + think that—just now—you are not accountable for your actions.” + He stopped again before her. “Your mind is unhinged,” he said, with + unction. “To go now would be adding crime—yes, crime—to folly. + I’ll have no scandal in my life, no matter what’s the cost. And why? You + are sure to misunderstand me—but I’ll tell you. As a matter of duty. + Yes. But you’re sure to misunderstand me—recklessly. Women always do—they + are too—too narrow-minded.” + </p> + <p> + He waited for a while, but she made no sound, didn’t even look at him; he + felt uneasy, painfully uneasy, like a man who suspects he is unreasonably + mistrusted. To combat that exasperating sensation he recommenced talking + very fast. The sound of his words excited his thoughts, and in the play of + darting thoughts he had glimpses now and then of the inexpugnable rock of + his convictions, towering in solitary grandeur above the unprofitable + waste of errors and passions. + </p> + <p> + “For it is self-evident,” he went on with anxious vivacity, “it is + self-evident that, on the highest ground we haven’t the right—no, we + haven’t the right to intrude our miseries upon those who—who + naturally expect better things from us. Every one wishes his own life and + the life around him to be beautiful and pure. Now, a scandal amongst + people of our position is disastrous for the morality—a fatal + influence—don’t you see—upon the general tone of the class—very + important—the most important, I verily believe, in—in the + community. I feel this—profoundly. This is the broad view. In time + you’ll give me . . . when you become again the woman I loved—and + trusted. . . .” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short, as though unexpectedly suffocated, then in a completely + changed voice said, “For I did love and trust you”—and again was + silent for a moment. She put her handkerchief to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll give me credit for—for—my motives. It’s mainly loyalty + to—to the larger conditions of our life—where you—you! + of all women—failed. One doesn’t usually talk like this—of + course—but in this case you’ll admit . . . And consider—the + innocent suffer with the guilty. The world is pitiless in its judgments. + Unfortunately there are always those in it who are only too eager to + misunderstand. Before you and before my conscience I am guiltless, but any—any + disclosure would impair my usefulness in the sphere—in the larger + sphere in which I hope soon to . . . I believe you fully shared my views + in that matter—I don’t want to say any more . . . on—on that + point—but, believe me, true unselfishness is to bear one’s burdens + in—in silence. The ideal must—must be preserved—for + others, at least. It’s clear as daylight. If I’ve a—a loathsome + sore, to gratuitously display it would be abominable—abominable! And + often in life—in the highest conception of life—outspokenness + in certain circumstances is nothing less than criminal. Temptation, you + know, excuses no one. There is no such thing really if one looks steadily + to one’s welfare—which is grounded in duty. But there are the weak.” + . . . His tone became ferocious for an instant . . . “And there are the + fools and the envious—especially for people in our position. I am + guiltless of this terrible—terrible . . . estrangement; but if there + has been nothing irreparable.” . . . Something gloomy, like a deep shadow + passed over his face. . . . “Nothing irreparable—you see even now I + am ready to trust you implicitly—then our duty is clear.” + </p> + <p> + He looked down. A change came over his expression and straightway from the + outward impetus of his loquacity he passed into the dull contemplation of + all the appeasing truths that, not without some wonder, he had so recently + been able to discover within himself. During this profound and soothing + communion with his innermost beliefs he remained staring at the carpet, + with a portentously solemn face and with a dull vacuity of eyes that + seemed to gaze into the blankness of an empty hole. Then, without stirring + in the least, he continued: + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Perfectly clear. I’ve been tried to the utmost, and I can’t pretend + that, for a time, the old feelings—the old feelings are not. . . .” + He sighed. . . . “But I forgive you. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She made a slight movement without uncovering her eyes. In his profound + scrutiny of the carpet he noticed nothing. And there was silence, silence + within and silence without, as though his words had stilled the beat and + tremor of all the surrounding life, and the house had stood alone—the + only dwelling upon a deserted earth. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his head and repeated solemnly: + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you . . . from a sense of duty—and in the hope . . .” + </p> + <p> + He heard a laugh, and it not only interrupted his words but also destroyed + the peace of his self-absorption with the vile pain of a reality intruding + upon the beauty of a dream. He couldn’t understand whence the sound came. + He could see, foreshortened, the tear-stained, dolorous face of the woman + stretched out, and with her head thrown over the back of the seat. He + thought the piercing noise was a delusion. But another shrill peal + followed by a deep sob and succeeded by another shriek of mirth positively + seemed to tear him out from where he stood. He bounded to the door. It was + closed. He turned the key and thought: that’s no good. . . . “Stop this!” + he cried, and perceived with alarm that he could hardly hear his own voice + in the midst of her screaming. He darted back with the idea of stifling + that unbearable noise with his hands, but stood still distracted, finding + himself as unable to touch her as though she had been on fire. He shouted, + “Enough of this!” like men shout in the tumult of a riot, with a red face + and starting eyes; then, as if swept away before another burst of + laughter, he disappeared in a flash out of three looking-glasses, vanished + suddenly from before her. For a time the woman gasped and laughed at no + one in the luminous stillness of the empty room. + </p> + <p> + He reappeared, striding at her, and with a tumbler of water in his hand. + He stammered: “Hysterics—Stop—They will hear—Drink + this.” She laughed at the ceiling. “Stop this!” he cried. “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + He flung the water in her face, putting into the action all the secret + brutality of his spite, yet still felt that it would have been perfectly + excusable—in any one—to send the tumbler after the water. He + restrained himself, but at the same time was so convinced nothing could + stop the horror of those mad shrieks that, when the first sensation of + relief came, it did not even occur to him to doubt the impression of + having become suddenly deaf. When, next moment, he became sure that she + was sitting up, and really very quiet, it was as though everything—men, + things, sensations, had come to a rest. He was prepared to be grateful. He + could not take his eyes off her, fearing, yet unwilling to admit, the + possibility of her beginning again; for, the experience, however + contemptuously he tried to think of it, had left the bewilderment of a + mysterious terror. Her face was streaming with water and tears; there was + a wisp of hair on her forehead, another stuck to her cheek; her hat was on + one side, undecorously tilted; her soaked veil resembled a sordid rag + festooning her forehead. There was an utter unreserve in her aspect, an + abandonment of safeguards, that ugliness of truth which can only be kept + out of daily life by unremitting care for appearances. He did not know + why, looking at her, he thought suddenly of to-morrow, and why the thought + called out a deep feeling of unutterable, discouraged weariness—a + fear of facing the succession of days. To-morrow! It was as far as + yesterday. Ages elapsed between sunrises—sometimes. He scanned her + features like one looks at a forgotten country. They were not distorted—he + recognized landmarks, so to speak; but it was only a resemblance that he + could see, not the woman of yesterday—or was it, perhaps, more than + the woman of yesterday? Who could tell? Was it something new? A new + expression—or a new shade of expression? or something deep—an + old truth unveiled, a fundamental and hidden truth—some unnecessary, + accursed certitude? He became aware that he was trembling very much, that + he had an empty tumbler in his hand—that time was passing. Still + looking at her with lingering mistrust he reached towards the table to put + the glass down and was startled to feel it apparently go through the wood. + He had missed the edge. The surprise, the slight jingling noise of the + accident annoyed him beyond expression. He turned to her irritated. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, grimly. + </p> + <p> + She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not going to be absurd again,” he said. “‘Pon my soul, I did not + know you could forget yourself to that extent.” He didn’t try to conceal + his physical disgust, because he believed it to be a purely moral + reprobation of every unreserve, of anything in the nature of a scene. “I + assure you—it was revolting,” he went on. He stared for a moment at + her. “Positively degrading,” he added with insistence. + </p> + <p> + She stood up quickly as if moved by a spring and tottered. He started + forward instinctively. She caught hold of the back of the chair and + steadied herself. This arrested him, and they faced each other wide-eyed, + uncertain, and yet coming back slowly to the reality of things with relief + and wonder, as though just awakened after tossing through a long night of + fevered dreams. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, don’t begin again,” he said, hurriedly, seeing her open her lips. + “I deserve some little consideration—and such unaccountable + behaviour is painful to me. I expect better things. . . . I have the + right. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She pressed both her hands to her temples. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense!” he said, sharply. “You are perfectly capable of coming + down to dinner. No one should even suspect; not even the servants. No one! + No one! . . . I am sure you can.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her arms; her face twitched. She looked straight into his eyes + and seemed incapable of pronouncing a word. He frowned at her. + </p> + <p> + “I—wish—it,” he said, tyrannically. “For your own sake also. . + . .” He meant to carry that point without any pity. Why didn’t she speak? + He feared passive resistance. She must. . . . Make her come. His frown + deepened, and he began to think of some effectual violence, when most + unexpectedly she said in a firm voice, “Yes, I can,” and clutched the + chair-back again. He was relieved, and all at once her attitude ceased to + interest him. The important thing was that their life would begin again + with an every-day act—with something that could not be + misunderstood, that, thank God, had no moral meaning, no perplexity—and + yet was symbolic of their uninterrupted communion in the past—in all + the future. That morning, at that table, they had breakfast together; and + now they would dine. It was all over! What had happened between could be + forgotten—must be forgotten, like things that can only happen once—death + for instance. + </p> + <p> + “I will wait for you,” he said, going to the door. He had some difficulty + with it, for he did not remember he had turned the key. He hated that + delay, and his checked impatience to be gone out of the room made him feel + quite ill as, with the consciousness of her presence behind his back, he + fumbled at the lock. He managed it at last; then in the doorway he glanced + over his shoulder to say, “It’s rather late—you know—” and saw + her standing where he had left her, with a face white as alabaster and + perfectly still, like a woman in a trance. + </p> + <p> + He was afraid she would keep him waiting, but without any breathing time, + he hardly knew how, he found himself sitting at table with her. He had + made up his mind to eat, to talk, to be natural. It seemed to him + necessary that deception should begin at home. The servants must not know—must + not suspect. This intense desire of secrecy; of secrecy dark, destroying, + profound, discreet like a grave, possessed him with the strength of a + hallucination—seemed to spread itself to inanimate objects that had + been the daily companions of his life, affected with a taint of enmity + every single thing within the faithful walls that would stand forever + between the shamelessness of facts and the indignation of mankind. Even + when—as it happened once or twice—both the servants left the + room together he remained carefully natural, industriously hungry, + laboriously at his ease, as though he had wanted to cheat the black oak + sideboard, the heavy curtains, the stiff-backed chairs, into the belief of + an unstained happiness. He was mistrustful of his wife’s self-control, + unwilling to look at her and reluctant to speak, for it seemed to him + inconceivable that she should not betray herself by the slightest + movement, by the very first word spoken. Then he thought the silence in + the room was becoming dangerous, and so excessive as to produce the effect + of an intolerable uproar. He wanted to end it, as one is anxious to + interrupt an indiscreet confession; but with the memory of that laugh + upstairs he dared not give her an occasion to open her lips. Presently he + heard her voice pronouncing in a calm tone some unimportant remark. He + detached his eyes from the centre of his plate and felt excited as if on + the point of looking at a wonder. And nothing could be more wonderful than + her composure. He was looking at the candid eyes, at the pure brow, at + what he had seen every evening for years in that place; he listened to the + voice that for five years he had heard every day. Perhaps she was a little + pale—but a healthy pallor had always been for him one of her chief + attractions. Perhaps her face was rigidly set—but that marmoreal + impassiveness, that magnificent stolidity, as of a wonderful statue by + some great sculptor working under the curse of the gods; that imposing, + unthinking stillness of her features, had till then mirrored for him the + tranquil dignity of a soul of which he had thought himself—as a + matter of course—the inexpugnable possessor. Those were the outward + signs of her difference from the ignoble herd that feels, suffers, fails, + errs—but has no distinct value in the world except as a moral + contrast to the prosperity of the elect. He had been proud of her + appearance. It had the perfectly proper frankness of perfection—and + now he was shocked to see it unchanged. She looked like this, spoke like + this, exactly like this, a year ago, a month ago—only yesterday when + she. . . . What went on within made no difference. What did she think? + What meant the pallor, the placid face, the candid brow, the pure eyes? + What did she think during all these years? What did she think yesterday—to-day; + what would she think to-morrow? He must find out. . . . And yet how could + he get to know? She had been false to him, to that man, to herself; she + was ready to be false—for him. Always false. She looked lies, + breathed lies, lived lies—would tell lies—always—to the + end of life! And he would never know what she meant. Never! Never! No one + could. Impossible to know. + </p> + <p> + He dropped his knife and fork, brusquely, as though by the virtue of a + sudden illumination he had been made aware of poison in his plate, and + became positive in his mind that he could never swallow another morsel of + food as long as he lived. The dinner went on in a room that had been + steadily growing, from some cause, hotter than a furnace. He had to drink. + He drank time after time, and, at last, recollecting himself, was + frightened at the quantity, till he perceived that what he had been + drinking was water—out of two different wine glasses; and the + discovered unconsciousness of his actions affected him painfully. He was + disturbed to find himself in such an unhealthy state of mind. Excess of + feeling—excess of feeling; and it was part of his creed that any + excess of feeling was unhealthy—morally unprofitable; a taint on + practical manhood. Her fault. Entirely her fault. Her sinful + self-forgetfulness was contagious. It made him think thoughts he had never + had before; thoughts disintegrating, tormenting, sapping to the very core + of life—like mortal disease; thoughts that bred the fear of air, of + sunshine, of men—like the whispered news of a pestilence. + </p> + <p> + The maids served without noise; and to avoid looking at his wife and + looking within himself, he followed with his eyes first one and then the + other without being able to distinguish between them. They moved silently + about, without one being able to see by what means, for their skirts + touched the carpet all round; they glided here and there, receded, + approached, rigid in black and white, with precise gestures, and no life + in their faces, like a pair of marionettes in mourning; and their air of + wooden unconcern struck him as unnatural, suspicious, irremediably + hostile. That such people’s feelings or judgment could affect one in any + way, had never occurred to him before. He understood they had no + prospects, no principles—no refinement and no power. But now he had + become so debased that he could not even attempt to disguise from himself + his yearning to know the secret thoughts of his servants. Several times he + looked up covertly at the faces of those girls. Impossible to know. They + changed his plates and utterly ignored his existence. What impenetrable + duplicity. Women—nothing but women round him. Impossible to know. He + experienced that heart-probing, fiery sense of dangerous loneliness, which + sometimes assails the courage of a solitary adventurer in an unexplored + country. The sight of a man’s face—he felt—of any man’s face, + would have been a profound relief. One would know then—something—could + understand. . . . He would engage a butler as soon as possible. And then + the end of that dinner—which had seemed to have been going on for + hours—the end came, taking him violently by surprise, as though he + had expected in the natural course of events to sit at that table for ever + and ever. + </p> + <p> + But upstairs in the drawing-room he became the victim of a restless fate, + that would, on no account, permit him to sit down. She had sunk on a low + easy-chair, and taking up from a small table at her elbow a fan with ivory + leaves, shaded her face from the fire. The coals glowed without a flame; + and upon the red glow the vertical bars of the grate stood out at her + feet, black and curved, like the charred ribs of a consumed sacrifice. Far + off, a lamp perched on a slim brass rod, burned under a wide shade of + crimson silk: the centre, within the shadows of the large room, of a fiery + twilight that had in the warm quality of its tint something delicate, + refined and infernal. His soft footfalls and the subdued beat of the clock + on the high mantel-piece answered each other regularly—as if time + and himself, engaged in a measured contest, had been pacing together + through the infernal delicacy of twilight towards a mysterious goal. + </p> + <p> + He walked from one end of the room to the other without a pause, like a + traveller who, at night, hastens doggedly upon an interminable journey. + Now and then he glanced at her. Impossible to know. The gross precision of + that thought expressed to his practical mind something illimitable and + infinitely profound, the all-embracing subtlety of a feeling, the eternal + origin of his pain. This woman had accepted him, had abandoned him—had + returned to him. And of all this he would never know the truth. Never. Not + till death—not after—not on judgment day when all shall be + disclosed, thoughts and deeds, rewards and punishments, but the secret of + hearts alone shall return, forever unknown, to the Inscrutable Creator of + good and evil, to the Master of doubts and impulses. + </p> + <p> + He stood still to look at her. Thrown back and with her face turned away + from him, she did not stir—as if asleep. What did she think? What + did she feel? And in the presence of her perfect stillness, in the + breathless silence, he felt himself insignificant and powerless before + her, like a prisoner in chains. The fury of his impotence called out + sinister images, that faculty of tormenting vision, which in a moment of + anguishing sense of wrong induces a man to mutter threats or make a + menacing gesture in the solitude of an empty room. But the gust of passion + passed at once, left him trembling a little, with the wondering, + reflective fear of a man who has paused on the very verge of suicide. The + serenity of truth and the peace of death can be only secured through a + largeness of contempt embracing all the profitable servitudes of life. He + found he did not want to know. Better not. It was all over. It was as if + it hadn’t been. And it was very necessary for both of them, it was morally + right, that nobody should know. + </p> + <p> + He spoke suddenly, as if concluding a discussion. + </p> + <p> + “The best thing for us is to forget all this.” + </p> + <p> + She started a little and shut the fan with a click. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, forgive—and forget,” he repeated, as if to himself. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll never forget,” she said in a vibrating voice. “And I’ll never + forgive myself. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “But I, who have nothing to reproach myself . . .” He began, making a step + towards her. She jumped up. + </p> + <p> + “I did not come back for your forgiveness,” she exclaimed, passionately, + as if clamouring against an unjust aspersion. + </p> + <p> + He only said “oh!” and became silent. He could not understand this + unprovoked aggressiveness of her attitude, and certainly was very far from + thinking that an unpremeditated hint of something resembling emotion in + the tone of his last words had caused that uncontrollable burst of + sincerity. It completed his bewilderment, but he was not at all angry now. + He was as if benumbed by the fascination of the incomprehensible. She + stood before him, tall and indistinct, like a black phantom in the red + twilight. At last poignantly uncertain as to what would happen if he + opened his lips, he muttered: + </p> + <p> + “But if my love is strong enough . . .” and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + He heard something snap loudly in the fiery stillness. She had broken her + fan. Two thin pieces of ivory fell, one after another, without a sound, on + the thick carpet, and instinctively he stooped to pick them up. While he + groped at her feet it occurred to him that the woman there had in her + hands an indispensable gift which nothing else on earth could give; and + when he stood up he was penetrated by an irresistible belief in an enigma, + by the conviction that within his reach and passing away from him was the + very secret of existence—its certitude, immaterial and precious! She + moved to the door, and he followed at her elbow, casting about for a magic + word that would make the enigma clear, that would compel the surrender of + the gift. And there is no such word! The enigma is only made clear by + sacrifice, and the gift of heaven is in the hands of every man. But they + had lived in a world that abhors enigmas, and cares for no gifts but such + as can be obtained in the street. She was nearing the door. He said + hurriedly: + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon my word, I loved you—I love you now.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped for an almost imperceptible moment to give him an indignant + glance, and then moved on. That feminine penetration—so clever and + so tainted by the eternal instinct of self-defence, so ready to see an + obvious evil in everything it cannot understand—filled her with + bitter resentment against both the men who could offer to the spiritual + and tragic strife of her feelings nothing but the coarseness of their + abominable materialism. In her anger against her own ineffectual + self-deception she found hate enough for them both. What did they want? + What more did this one want? And as her husband faced her again, with his + hand on the door-handle, she asked herself whether he was unpardonably + stupid, or simply ignoble. + </p> + <p> + She said nervously, and very fast: + </p> + <p> + “You are deceiving yourself. You never loved me. You wanted a wife—some + woman—any woman that would think, speak, and behave in a certain way—in + a way you approved. You loved yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t believe me?” he asked, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “If I had believed you loved me,” she began, passionately, then drew in a + long breath; and during that pause he heard the steady beat of blood in + his ears. “If I had believed it . . . I would never have come back,” she + finished, recklessly. + </p> + <p> + He stood looking down as though he had not heard. She waited. After a + moment he opened the door, and, on the landing, the sightless woman of + marble appeared, draped to the chin, thrusting blindly at them a cluster + of lights. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to have forgotten himself in a meditation so deep that on the + point of going out she stopped to look at him in surprise. While she had + been speaking he had wandered on the track of the enigma, out of the world + of senses into the region of feeling. What did it matter what she had + done, what she had said, if through the pain of her acts and words he had + obtained the word of the enigma! There can be no life without faith and + love—faith in a human heart, love of a human being! That touch of + grace, whose help once in life is the privilege of the most undeserving, + flung open for him the portals of beyond, and in contemplating there the + certitude immaterial and precious he forgot all the meaningless accidents + of existence: the bliss of getting, the delight of enjoying; all the + protean and enticing forms of the cupidity that rules a material world of + foolish joys, of contemptible sorrows. Faith!—Love!—the + undoubting, clear faith in the truth of a soul—the great tenderness, + deep as the ocean, serene and eternal, like the infinite peace of space + above the short tempests of the earth. It was what he had wanted all his + life—but he understood it only then for the first time. It was + through the pain of losing her that the knowledge had come. She had the + gift! She had the gift! And in all the world she was the only human being + that could surrender it to his immense desire. He made a step forward, + putting his arms out, as if to take her to his breast, and, lifting his + head, was met by such a look of blank consternation that his arms fell as + though they had been struck down by a blow. She started away from him, + stumbled over the threshold, and once on the landing turned, swift and + crouching. The train of her gown swished as it flew round her feet. It was + an undisguised panic. She panted, showing her teeth, and the hate of + strength, the disdain of weakness, the eternal preoccupation of sex came + out like a toy demon out of a box. + </p> + <p> + “This is odious,” she screamed. + </p> + <p> + He did not stir; but her look, her agitated movements, the sound of her + voice were like a mist of facts thickening between him and the vision of + love and faith. It vanished; and looking at that face triumphant and + scornful, at that white face, stealthy and unexpected, as if discovered + staring from an ambush, he was coming back slowly to the world of senses. + His first clear thought was: I am married to that woman; and the next: she + will give nothing but what I see. He felt the need not to see. But the + memory of the vision, the memory that abides forever within the seer made + him say to her with the naive austerity of a convert awed by the touch of + a new creed, “You haven’t the gift.” He turned his back on her, leaving + her completely mystified. And she went upstairs slowly, struggling with a + distasteful suspicion of having been confronted by something more subtle + than herself—more profound than the misunderstood and tragic contest + of her feelings. + </p> + <p> + He shut the door of the drawing-room and moved at hazard, alone amongst + the heavy shadows and in the fiery twilight as of an elegant place of + perdition. She hadn’t the gift—no one had. . . . He stepped on a + book that had fallen off one of the crowded little tables. He picked up + the slender volume, and holding it, approached the crimson-shaded lamp. + The fiery tint deepened on the cover, and contorted gold letters sprawling + all over it in an intricate maze, came out, gleaming redly. “Thorns and + Arabesques.” He read it twice, “Thorns and Ar . . . . . . . .” The other’s + book of verses. He dropped it at his feet, but did not feel the slightest + pang of jealousy or indignation. What did he know? . . . What? . . . The + mass of hot coals tumbled down in the grate, and he turned to look at them + . . . Ah! That one was ready to give up everything he had for that woman—who + did not come—who had not the faith, the love, the courage to come. + What did that man expect, what did he hope, what did he want? The woman—or + the certitude immaterial and precious! The first unselfish thought he had + ever given to any human being was for that man who had tried to do him a + terrible wrong. He was not angry. He was saddened by an impersonal sorrow, + by a vast melancholy as of all mankind longing for what cannot be + attained. He felt his fellowship with every man—even with that man—especially + with that man. What did he think now? Had he ceased to wait—and + hope? Would he ever cease to wait and hope? Would he understand that the + woman, who had no courage, had not the gift—had not the gift! + </p> + <p> + The clock began to strike, and the deep-toned vibration filled the room as + though with the sound of an enormous bell tolling far away. He counted the + strokes. Twelve. Another day had begun. To-morrow had come; the mysterious + and lying to-morrow that lures men, disdainful of love and faith, on and + on through the poignant futilities of life to the fitting reward of a + grave. He counted the strokes, and gazing at the grate seemed to wait for + more. Then, as if called out, left the room, walking firmly. + </p> + <p> + When outside he heard footsteps in the hall and stood still. A bolt was + shot—then another. They were locking up—shutting out his + desire and his deception from the indignant criticism of a world full of + noble gifts for those who proclaim themselves without stain and without + reproach. He was safe; and on all sides of his dwelling servile fears and + servile hopes slept, dreaming of success, behind the severe discretion of + doors as impenetrable to the truth within as the granite of tombstones. A + lock snapped—a short chain rattled. Nobody shall know! + </p> + <p> + Why was this assurance of safety heavier than a burden of fear, and why + the day that began presented itself obstinately like the last day of all—like + a to-day without a to-morrow? Yet nothing was changed, for nobody would + know; and all would go on as before—the getting, the enjoying, the + blessing of hunger that is appeased every day; the noble incentives of + unappeasable ambitions. All—all the blessings of life. All—but + the certitude immaterial and precious—the certitude of love and + faith. He believed the shadow of it had been with him as long as he could + remember; that invisible presence had ruled his life. And now the shadow + had appeared and faded he could not extinguish his longing for the truth + of its substance. His desire of it was naive; it was masterful like the + material aspirations that are the groundwork of existence, but, unlike + these, it was unconquerable. It was the subtle despotism of an idea that + suffers no rivals, that is lonely, inconsolable, and dangerous. He went + slowly up the stairs. Nobody shall know. The days would go on and he would + go far—very far. If the idea could not be mastered, fortune could + be, man could be—the whole world. He was dazzled by the greatness of + the prospect; the brutality of a practical instinct shouted to him that + only that which could be had was worth having. He lingered on the steps. + The lights were out in the hall, and a small yellow flame flitted about + down there. He felt a sudden contempt for himself which braced him up. He + went on, but at the door of their room and with his arm advanced to open + it, he faltered. On the flight of stairs below the head of the girl who + had been locking up appeared. His arm fell. He thought, “I’ll wait till + she is gone”—and stepped back within the perpendicular folds of a + portiere. + </p> + <p> + He saw her come up gradually, as if ascending from a well. At every step + the feeble flame of the candle swayed before her tired, young face, and + the darkness of the hall seemed to cling to her black skirt, followed her, + rising like a silent flood, as though the great night of the world had + broken through the discreet reserve of walls, of closed doors, of + curtained windows. It rose over the steps, it leaped up the walls like an + angry wave, it flowed over the blue skies, over the yellow sands, over the + sunshine of landscapes, and over the pretty pathos of ragged innocence and + of meek starvation. It swallowed up the delicious idyll in a boat and the + mutilated immortality of famous bas-reliefs. It flowed from outside—it + rose higher, in a destructive silence. And, above it, the woman of marble, + composed and blind on the high pedestal, seemed to ward off the devouring + night with a cluster of lights. + </p> + <p> + He watched the rising tide of impenetrable gloom with impatience, as if + anxious for the coming of a darkness black enough to conceal a shameful + surrender. It came nearer. The cluster of lights went out. The girl + ascended facing him. Behind her the shadow of a colossal woman danced + lightly on the wall. He held his breath while she passed by, noiseless and + with heavy eyelids. And on her track the flowing tide of a tenebrous sea + filled the house, seemed to swirl about his feet, and rising unchecked, + closed silently above his head. + </p> + <p> + The time had come but he did not open the door. All was still; and instead + of surrendering to the reasonable exigencies of life he stepped out, with + a rebelling heart, into the darkness of the house. It was the abode of an + impenetrable night; as though indeed the last day had come and gone, + leaving him alone in a darkness that has no to-morrow. And looming vaguely + below the woman of marble, livid and still like a patient phantom, held + out in the night a cluster of extinguished lights. + </p> + <p> + His obedient thought traced for him the image of an uninterrupted life, + the dignity and the advantages of an uninterrupted success; while his + rebellious heart beat violently within his breast, as if maddened by the + desire of a certitude immaterial and precious—the certitude of love + and faith. What of the night within his dwelling if outside he could find + the sunshine in which men sow, in which men reap! Nobody would know. The + days, the years would pass, and . . . He remembered that he had loved her. + The years would pass . . . And then he thought of her as we think of the + dead—in a tender immensity of regret, in a passionate longing for + the return of idealized perfections. He had loved her—he had loved + her—and he never knew the truth . . . The years would pass in the + anguish of doubt . . . He remembered her smile, her eyes, her voice, her + silence, as though he had lost her forever. The years would pass and he + would always mistrust her smile, suspect her eyes; he would always + misbelieve her voice, he would never have faith in her silence. She had no + gift—she had no gift! What was she? Who was she? . . . The years + would pass; the memory of this hour would grow faint—and she would + share the material serenity of an unblemished life. She had no love and no + faith for any one. To give her your thought, your belief, was like + whispering your confession over the edge of the world. Nothing came back—not + even an echo. + </p> + <p> + In the pain of that thought was born his conscience; not that fear of + remorse which grows slowly, and slowly decays amongst the complicated + facts of life, but a Divine wisdom springing full-grown, armed and severe + out of a tried heart, to combat the secret baseness of motives. It came to + him in a flash that morality is not a method of happiness. The revelation + was terrible. He saw at once that nothing of what he knew mattered in the + least. The acts of men and women, success, humiliation, dignity, failure—nothing + mattered. It was not a question of more or less pain, of this joy, of that + sorrow. It was a question of truth or falsehood—it was a question of + life or death. + </p> + <p> + He stood in the revealing night—in the darkness that tries the + hearts, in the night useless for the work of men, but in which their gaze, + undazzled by the sunshine of covetous days, wanders sometimes as far as + the stars. The perfect stillness around him had something solemn in it, + but he felt it was the lying solemnity of a temple devoted to the rites of + a debasing persuasion. The silence within the discreet walls was eloquent + of safety but it appeared to him exciting and sinister, like the + discretion of a profitable infamy; it was the prudent peace of a den of + coiners—of a house of ill-fame! The years would pass—and + nobody would know. Never! Not till death—not after . . . + </p> + <p> + “Never!” he said aloud to the revealing night. + </p> + <p> + And he hesitated. The secret of hearts, too terrible for the timid eyes of + men, shall return, veiled forever, to the Inscrutable Creator of good and + evil, to the Master of doubts and impulses. His conscience was born—he + heard its voice, and he hesitated, ignoring the strength within, the + fateful power, the secret of his heart! It was an awful sacrifice to cast + all one’s life into the flame of a new belief. He wanted help against + himself, against the cruel decree of salvation. The need of tacit + complicity, where it had never failed him, the habit of years affirmed + itself. Perhaps she would help . . . He flung the door open and rushed in + like a fugitive. + </p> + <p> + He was in the middle of the room before he could see anything but the + dazzling brilliance of the light; and then, as if detached and floating in + it on the level of his eyes, appeared the head of a woman. She had jumped + up when he burst into the room. + </p> + <p> + For a moment they contemplated each other as if struck dumb with + amazement. Her hair streaming on her shoulders glinted like burnished + gold. He looked into the unfathomable candour of her eyes. Nothing within—nothing—nothing. + </p> + <p> + He stammered distractedly. + </p> + <p> + “I want . . . I want . . . to . . . to . . . know . . .” + </p> + <p> + On the candid light of the eyes flitted shadows; shadows of doubt, of + suspicion, the ready suspicion of an unquenchable antagonism, the pitiless + mistrust of an eternal instinct of defence; the hate, the profound, + frightened hate of an incomprehensible—of an abominable emotion + intruding its coarse materialism upon the spiritual and tragic contest of + her feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Alvan . . . I won’t bear this . . .” She began to pant suddenly, “I’ve a + right—a right to—to—myself . . .” + </p> + <p> + He lifted one arm, and appeared so menacing that she stopped in a fright + and shrank back a little. + </p> + <p> + He stood with uplifted hand . . . The years would pass—and he would + have to live with that unfathomable candour where flit shadows of + suspicions and hate . . . The years would pass—and he would never + know—never trust . . . The years would pass without faith and love. + . . . + </p> + <p> + “Can you stand it?” he shouted, as though she could have heard all his + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + He looked menacing. She thought of violence, of danger—and, just for + an instant, she doubted whether there were splendours enough on earth to + pay the price of such a brutal experience. He cried again: + </p> + <p> + “Can you stand it?” and glared as if insane. Her eyes blazed, too. She + could not hear the appalling clamour of his thoughts. She suspected in him + a sudden regret, a fresh fit of jealousy, a dishonest desire of evasion. + She shouted back angrily— + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + He was shaken where he stood as if by a struggle to break out of invisible + bonds. She trembled from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t!” He flung both his arms out, as if to push her away, and + strode from the room. The door swung to with a click. She made three quick + steps towards it and stood still, looking at the white and gold panels. No + sound came from beyond, not a whisper, not a sigh; not even a footstep was + heard outside on the thick carpet. It was as though no sooner gone he had + suddenly expired—as though he had died there and his body had + vanished on the instant together with his soul. She listened, with parted + lips and irresolute eyes. Then below, far below her, as if in the entrails + of the earth, a door slammed heavily; and the quiet house vibrated to it + from roof to foundations, more than to a clap of thunder. + </p> + <p> + He never returned. + </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> + THE LAGOON + </h2> + <p> + The white man, leaning with both arms over the roof of the little house in + the stern of the boat, said to the steersman— + </p> + <p> + “We will pass the night in Arsat’s clearing. It is late.” + </p> + <p> + The Malay only grunted, and went on looking fixedly at the river. The + white man rested his chin on his crossed arms and gazed at the wake of the + boat. At the end of the straight avenue of forests cut by the intense + glitter of the river, the sun appeared unclouded and dazzling, poised low + over the water that shone smoothly like a band of metal. The forests, + sombre and dull, stood motionless and silent on each side of the broad + stream. At the foot of big, towering trees, trunkless nipa palms rose from + the mud of the bank, in bunches of leaves enormous and heavy, that hung + unstirring over the brown swirl of eddies. In the stillness of the air + every tree, every leaf, every bough, every tendril of creeper and every + petal of minute blossoms seemed to have been bewitched into an immobility + perfect and final. Nothing moved on the river but the eight paddles that + rose flashing regularly, dipped together with a single splash; while the + steersman swept right and left with a periodic and sudden flourish of his + blade describing a glinting semicircle above his head. The churned-up + water frothed alongside with a confused murmur. And the white man’s canoe, + advancing upstream in the short-lived disturbance of its own making, + seemed to enter the portals of a land from which the very memory of motion + had forever departed. + </p> + <p> + The white man, turning his back upon the setting sun, looked along the + empty and broad expanse of the sea-reach. For the last three miles of its + course the wandering, hesitating river, as if enticed irresistibly by the + freedom of an open horizon, flows straight into the sea, flows straight to + the east—to the east that harbours both light and darkness. Astern + of the boat the repeated call of some bird, a cry discordant and feeble, + skipped along over the smooth water and lost itself, before it could reach + the other shore, in the breathless silence of the world. + </p> + <p> + The steersman dug his paddle into the stream, and held hard with stiffened + arms, his body thrown forward. The water gurgled aloud; and suddenly the + long straight reach seemed to pivot on its centre, the forests swung in a + semicircle, and the slanting beams of sunset touched the broadside of the + canoe with a fiery glow, throwing the slender and distorted shadows of its + crew upon the streaked glitter of the river. The white man turned to look + ahead. The course of the boat had been altered at right-angles to the + stream, and the carved dragon-head of its prow was pointing now at a gap + in the fringing bushes of the bank. It glided through, brushing the + overhanging twigs, and disappeared from the river like some slim and + amphibious creature leaving the water for its lair in the forests. + </p> + <p> + The narrow creek was like a ditch: tortuous, fabulously deep; filled with + gloom under the thin strip of pure and shining blue of the heaven. Immense + trees soared up, invisible behind the festooned draperies of creepers. + Here and there, near the glistening blackness of the water, a twisted root + of some tall tree showed amongst the tracery of small ferns, black and + dull, writhing and motionless, like an arrested snake. The short words of + the paddlers reverberated loudly between the thick and sombre walls of + vegetation. Darkness oozed out from between the trees, through the tangled + maze of the creepers, from behind the great fantastic and unstirring + leaves; the darkness, mysterious and invincible; the darkness scented and + poisonous of impenetrable forests. + </p> + <p> + The men poled in the shoaling water. The creek broadened, opening out into + a wide sweep of a stagnant lagoon. The forests receded from the marshy + bank, leaving a level strip of bright green, reedy grass to frame the + reflected blueness of the sky. A fleecy pink cloud drifted high above, + trailing the delicate colouring of its image under the floating leaves and + the silvery blossoms of the lotus. A little house, perched on high piles, + appeared black in the distance. Near it, two tall nibong palms, that + seemed to have come out of the forests in the background, leaned slightly + over the ragged roof, with a suggestion of sad tenderness and care in the + droop of their leafy and soaring heads. + </p> + <p> + The steersman, pointing with his paddle, said, “Arsat is there. I see his + canoe fast between the piles.” + </p> + <p> + The polers ran along the sides of the boat glancing over their shoulders + at the end of the day’s journey. They would have preferred to spend the + night somewhere else than on this lagoon of weird aspect and ghostly + reputation. Moreover, they disliked Arsat, first as a stranger, and also + because he who repairs a ruined house, and dwells in it, proclaims that he + is not afraid to live amongst the spirits that haunt the places abandoned + by mankind. Such a man can disturb the course of fate by glances or words; + while his familiar ghosts are not easy to propitiate by casual wayfarers + upon whom they long to wreak the malice of their human master. White men + care not for such things, being unbelievers and in league with the Father + of Evil, who leads them unharmed through the invisible dangers of this + world. To the warnings of the righteous they oppose an offensive pretence + of disbelief. What is there to be done? + </p> + <p> + So they thought, throwing their weight on the end of their long poles. The + big canoe glided on swiftly, noiselessly, and smoothly, towards Arsat’s + clearing, till, in a great rattling of poles thrown down, and the loud + murmurs of “Allah be praised!” it came with a gentle knock against the + crooked piles below the house. + </p> + <p> + The boatmen with uplifted faces shouted discordantly, “Arsat! O Arsat!” + Nobody came. The white man began to climb the rude ladder giving access to + the bamboo platform before the house. The juragan of the boat said + sulkily, “We will cook in the sampan, and sleep on the water.” + </p> + <p> + “Pass my blankets and the basket,” said the white man, curtly. + </p> + <p> + He knelt on the edge of the platform to receive the bundle. Then the boat + shoved off, and the white man, standing up, confronted Arsat, who had come + out through the low door of his hut. He was a man young, powerful, with + broad chest and muscular arms. He had nothing on but his sarong. His head + was bare. His big, soft eyes stared eagerly at the white man, but his + voice and demeanour were composed as he asked, without any words of + greeting— + </p> + <p> + “Have you medicine, Tuan?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the visitor in a startled tone. “No. Why? Is there sickness in + the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Enter and see,” replied Arsat, in the same calm manner, and turning short + round, passed again through the small doorway. The white man, dropping his + bundles, followed. + </p> + <p> + In the dim light of the dwelling he made out on a couch of bamboos a woman + stretched on her back under a broad sheet of red cotton cloth. She lay + still, as if dead; but her big eyes, wide open, glittered in the gloom, + staring upwards at the slender rafters, motionless and unseeing. She was + in a high fever, and evidently unconscious. Her cheeks were sunk slightly, + her lips were partly open, and on the young face there was the ominous and + fixed expression—the absorbed, contemplating expression of the + unconscious who are going to die. The two men stood looking down at her in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Has she been long ill?” asked the traveller. + </p> + <p> + “I have not slept for five nights,” answered the Malay, in a deliberate + tone. “At first she heard voices calling her from the water and struggled + against me who held her. But since the sun of to-day rose she hears + nothing—she hears not me. She sees nothing. She sees not me—me!” + </p> + <p> + He remained silent for a minute, then asked softly— + </p> + <p> + “Tuan, will she die?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so,” said the white man, sorrowfully. He had known Arsat years + ago, in a far country in times of trouble and danger, when no friendship + is to be despised. And since his Malay friend had come unexpectedly to + dwell in the hut on the lagoon with a strange woman, he had slept many + times there, in his journeys up and down the river. He liked the man who + knew how to keep faith in council and how to fight without fear by the + side of his white friend. He liked him—not so much perhaps as a man + likes his favourite dog—but still he liked him well enough to help + and ask no questions, to think sometimes vaguely and hazily in the midst + of his own pursuits, about the lonely man and the long-haired woman with + audacious face and triumphant eyes, who lived together hidden by the + forests—alone and feared. + </p> + <p> + The white man came out of the hut in time to see the enormous + conflagration of sunset put out by the swift and stealthy shadows that, + rising like a black and impalpable vapour above the tree-tops, spread over + the heaven, extinguishing the crimson glow of floating clouds and the red + brilliance of departing daylight. In a few moments all the stars came out + above the intense blackness of the earth and the great lagoon gleaming + suddenly with reflected lights resembled an oval patch of night sky flung + down into the hopeless and abysmal night of the wilderness. The white man + had some supper out of the basket, then collecting a few sticks that lay + about the platform, made up a small fire, not for warmth, but for the sake + of the smoke, which would keep off the mosquitos. He wrapped himself in + the blankets and sat with his back against the reed wall of the house, + smoking thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Arsat came through the doorway with noiseless steps and squatted down by + the fire. The white man moved his outstretched legs a little. + </p> + <p> + “She breathes,” said Arsat in a low voice, anticipating the expected + question. “She breathes and burns as if with a great fire. She speaks not; + she hears not—and burns!” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a moment, then asked in a quiet, incurious tone— + </p> + <p> + “Tuan . . . will she die?” + </p> + <p> + The white man moved his shoulders uneasily and muttered in a hesitating + manner— + </p> + <p> + “If such is her fate.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Tuan,” said Arsat, calmly. “If such is my fate. I hear, I see, I + wait. I remember . . . Tuan, do you remember the old days? Do you remember + my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the white man. The Malay rose suddenly and went in. The other, + sitting still outside, could hear the voice in the hut. Arsat said: “Hear + me! Speak!” His words were succeeded by a complete silence. “O Diamelen!” + he cried, suddenly. After that cry there was a deep sigh. Arsat came out + and sank down again in his old place. + </p> + <p> + They sat in silence before the fire. There was no sound within the house, + there was no sound near them; but far away on the lagoon they could hear + the voices of the boatmen ringing fitful and distinct on the calm water. + The fire in the bows of the sampan shone faintly in the distance with a + hazy red glow. Then it died out. The voices ceased. The land and the water + slept invisible, unstirring and mute. It was as though there had been + nothing left in the world but the glitter of stars streaming, ceaseless + and vain, through the black stillness of the night. + </p> + <p> + The white man gazed straight before him into the darkness with wide-open + eyes. The fear and fascination, the inspiration and the wonder of death—of + death near, unavoidable, and unseen, soothed the unrest of his race and + stirred the most indistinct, the most intimate of his thoughts. The + ever-ready suspicion of evil, the gnawing suspicion that lurks in our + hearts, flowed out into the stillness round him—into the stillness + profound and dumb, and made it appear untrustworthy and infamous, like the + placid and impenetrable mask of an unjustifiable violence. In that + fleeting and powerful disturbance of his being the earth enfolded in the + starlight peace became a shadowy country of inhuman strife, a battle-field + of phantoms terrible and charming, august or ignoble, struggling ardently + for the possession of our helpless hearts. An unquiet and mysterious + country of inextinguishable desires and fears. + </p> + <p> + A plaintive murmur rose in the night; a murmur saddening and startling, as + if the great solitudes of surrounding woods had tried to whisper into his + ear the wisdom of their immense and lofty indifference. Sounds hesitating + and vague floated in the air round him, shaped themselves slowly into + words; and at last flowed on gently in a murmuring stream of soft and + monotonous sentences. He stirred like a man waking up and changed his + position slightly. Arsat, motionless and shadowy, sitting with bowed head + under the stars, was speaking in a low and dreamy tone— + </p> + <p> + “. . . for where can we lay down the heaviness of our trouble but in a + friend’s heart? A man must speak of war and of love. You, Tuan, know what + war is, and you have seen me in time of danger seek death as other men + seek life! A writing may be lost; a lie may be written; but what the eye + has seen is truth and remains in the mind!” + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” said the white man, quietly. Arsat went on with mournful + composure— + </p> + <p> + “Therefore I shall speak to you of love. Speak in the night. Speak before + both night and love are gone—and the eye of day looks upon my sorrow + and my shame; upon my blackened face; upon my burnt-up heart.” + </p> + <p> + A sigh, short and faint, marked an almost imperceptible pause, and then + his words flowed on, without a stir, without a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “After the time of trouble and war was over and you went away from my + country in the pursuit of your desires, which we, men of the islands, + cannot understand, I and my brother became again, as we had been before, + the sword-bearers of the Ruler. You know we were men of family, belonging + to a ruling race, and more fit than any to carry on our right shoulder the + emblem of power. And in the time of prosperity Si Dendring showed us + favour, as we, in time of sorrow, had showed to him the faithfulness of + our courage. It was a time of peace. A time of deer-hunts and cock-fights; + of idle talks and foolish squabbles between men whose bellies are full and + weapons are rusty. But the sower watched the young rice-shoots grow up + without fear, and the traders came and went, departed lean and returned + fat into the river of peace. They brought news, too. Brought lies and + truth mixed together, so that no man knew when to rejoice and when to be + sorry. We heard from them about you also. They had seen you here and had + seen you there. And I was glad to hear, for I remembered the stirring + times, and I always remembered you, Tuan, till the time came when my eyes + could see nothing in the past, because they had looked upon the one who is + dying there—in the house.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped to exclaim in an intense whisper, “O Mara bahia! O Calamity!” + then went on speaking a little louder: + </p> + <p> + “There’s no worse enemy and no better friend than a brother, Tuan, for one + brother knows another, and in perfect knowledge is strength for good or + evil. I loved my brother. I went to him and told him that I could see + nothing but one face, hear nothing but one voice. He told me: ‘Open your + heart so that she can see what is in it—and wait. Patience is + wisdom. Inchi Midah may die or our Ruler may throw off his fear of a + woman!’ . . . I waited! . . . You remember the lady with the veiled face, + Tuan, and the fear of our Ruler before her cunning and temper. And if she + wanted her servant, what could I do? But I fed the hunger of my heart on + short glances and stealthy words. I loitered on the path to the + bath-houses in the daytime, and when the sun had fallen behind the forest + I crept along the jasmine hedges of the women’s courtyard. Unseeing, we + spoke to one another through the scent of flowers, through the veil of + leaves, through the blades of long grass that stood still before our lips; + so great was our prudence, so faint was the murmur of our great longing. + The time passed swiftly . . . and there were whispers amongst women—and + our enemies watched—my brother was gloomy, and I began to think of + killing and of a fierce death. . . . We are of a people who take what they + want—like you whites. There is a time when a man should forget + loyalty and respect. Might and authority are given to rulers, but to all + men is given love and strength and courage. My brother said, ‘You shall + take her from their midst. We are two who are like one.’ And I answered, + ‘Let it be soon, for I find no warmth in sunlight that does not shine upon + her.’ Our time came when the Ruler and all the great people went to the + mouth of the river to fish by torchlight. There were hundreds of boats, + and on the white sand, between the water and the forests, dwellings of + leaves were built for the households of the Rajahs. The smoke of + cooking-fires was like a blue mist of the evening, and many voices rang in + it joyfully. While they were making the boats ready to beat up the fish, + my brother came to me and said, ‘To-night!’ I looked to my weapons, and + when the time came our canoe took its place in the circle of boats + carrying the torches. The lights blazed on the water, but behind the boats + there was darkness. When the shouting began and the excitement made them + like mad we dropped out. The water swallowed our fire, and we floated back + to the shore that was dark with only here and there the glimmer of embers. + We could hear the talk of slave-girls amongst the sheds. Then we found a + place deserted and silent. We waited there. She came. She came running + along the shore, rapid and leaving no trace, like a leaf driven by the + wind into the sea. My brother said gloomily, ‘Go and take her; carry her + into our boat.’ I lifted her in my arms. She panted. Her heart was beating + against my breast. I said, ‘I take you from those people. You came to the + cry of my heart, but my arms take you into my boat against the will of the + great!’ ‘It is right,’ said my brother. ‘We are men who take what we want + and can hold it against many. We should have taken her in daylight.’ I + said, ‘Let us be off’; for since she was in my boat I began to think of + our Ruler’s many men. ‘Yes. Let us be off,’ said my brother. ‘We are cast + out and this boat is our country now—and the sea is our refuge.’ He + lingered with his foot on the shore, and I entreated him to hasten, for I + remembered the strokes of her heart against my breast and thought that two + men cannot withstand a hundred. We left, paddling downstream close to the + bank; and as we passed by the creek where they were fishing, the great + shouting had ceased, but the murmur of voices was loud like the humming of + insects flying at noonday. The boats floated, clustered together, in the + red light of torches, under a black roof of smoke; and men talked of their + sport. Men that boasted, and praised, and jeered—men that would have + been our friends in the morning, but on that night were already our + enemies. We paddled swiftly past. We had no more friends in the country of + our birth. She sat in the middle of the canoe with covered face; silent as + she is now; unseeing as she is now—and I had no regret at what I was + leaving because I could hear her breathing close to me—as I can hear + her now.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, listened with his ear turned to the doorway, then shook his + head and went on: + </p> + <p> + “My brother wanted to shout the cry of challenge—one cry only—to + let the people know we were freeborn robbers who trusted our arms and the + great sea. And again I begged him in the name of our love to be silent. + Could I not hear her breathing close to me? I knew the pursuit would come + quick enough. My brother loved me. He dipped his paddle without a splash. + He only said, ‘There is half a man in you now—the other half is in + that woman. I can wait. When you are a whole man again, you will come back + with me here to shout defiance. We are sons of the same mother.’ I made no + answer. All my strength and all my spirit were in my hands that held the + paddle—for I longed to be with her in a safe place beyond the reach + of men’s anger and of women’s spite. My love was so great, that I thought + it could guide me to a country where death was unknown, if I could only + escape from Inchi Midah’s fury and from our Ruler’s sword. We paddled with + haste, breathing through our teeth. The blades bit deep into the smooth + water. We passed out of the river; we flew in clear channels amongst the + shallows. We skirted the black coast; we skirted the sand beaches where + the sea speaks in whispers to the land; and the gleam of white sand + flashed back past our boat, so swiftly she ran upon the water. We spoke + not. Only once I said, ‘Sleep, Diamelen, for soon you may want all your + strength.’ I heard the sweetness of her voice, but I never turned my head. + The sun rose and still we went on. Water fell from my face like rain from + a cloud. We flew in the light and heat. I never looked back, but I knew + that my brother’s eyes, behind me, were looking steadily ahead, for the + boat went as straight as a bushman’s dart, when it leaves the end of the + sumpitan. There was no better paddler, no better steersman than my + brother. Many times, together, we had won races in that canoe. But we + never had put out our strength as we did then—then, when for the + last time we paddled together! There was no braver or stronger man in our + country than my brother. I could not spare the strength to turn my head + and look at him, but every moment I heard the hiss of his breath getting + louder behind me. Still he did not speak. The sun was high. The heat clung + to my back like a flame of fire. My ribs were ready to burst, but I could + no longer get enough air into my chest. And then I felt I must cry out + with my last breath, ‘Let us rest!’ . . . ‘Good!’ he answered; and his + voice was firm. He was strong. He was brave. He knew not fear and no + fatigue . . . My brother!” + </p> + <p> + A murmur powerful and gentle, a murmur vast and faint; the murmur of + trembling leaves, of stirring boughs, ran through the tangled depths of + the forests, ran over the starry smoothness of the lagoon, and the water + between the piles lapped the slimy timber once with a sudden splash. A + breath of warm air touched the two men’s faces and passed on with a + mournful sound—a breath loud and short like an uneasy sigh of the + dreaming earth. + </p> + <p> + Arsat went on in an even, low voice. + </p> + <p> + “We ran our canoe on the white beach of a little bay close to a long + tongue of land that seemed to bar our road; a long wooded cape going far + into the sea. My brother knew that place. Beyond the cape a river has its + entrance, and through the jungle of that land there is a narrow path. We + made a fire and cooked rice. Then we lay down to sleep on the soft sand in + the shade of our canoe, while she watched. No sooner had I closed my eyes + than I heard her cry of alarm. We leaped up. The sun was halfway down the + sky already, and coming in sight in the opening of the bay we saw a prau + manned by many paddlers. We knew it at once; it was one of our Rajah’s + praus. They were watching the shore, and saw us. They beat the gong, and + turned the head of the prau into the bay. I felt my heart become weak + within my breast. Diamelen sat on the sand and covered her face. There was + no escape by sea. My brother laughed. He had the gun you had given him, + Tuan, before you went away, but there was only a handful of powder. He + spoke to me quickly: ‘Run with her along the path. I shall keep them back, + for they have no firearms, and landing in the face of a man with a gun is + certain death for some. Run with her. On the other side of that wood there + is a fisherman’s house—and a canoe. When I have fired all the shots + I will follow. I am a great runner, and before they can come up we shall + be gone. I will hold out as long as I can, for she is but a woman—that + can neither run nor fight, but she has your heart in her weak hands.’ He + dropped behind the canoe. The prau was coming. She and I ran, and as we + rushed along the path I heard shots. My brother fired—once—twice—and + the booming of the gong ceased. There was silence behind us. That neck of + land is narrow. Before I heard my brother fire the third shot I saw the + shelving shore, and I saw the water again; the mouth of a broad river. We + crossed a grassy glade. We ran down to the water. I saw a low hut above + the black mud, and a small canoe hauled up. I heard another shot behind + me. I thought, ‘That is his last charge.’ We rushed down to the canoe; a + man came running from the hut, but I leaped on him, and we rolled together + in the mud. Then I got up, and he lay still at my feet. I don’t know + whether I had killed him or not. I and Diamelen pushed the canoe afloat. I + heard yells behind me, and I saw my brother run across the glade. Many men + were bounding after him, I took her in my arms and threw her into the + boat, then leaped in myself. When I looked back I saw that my brother had + fallen. He fell and was up again, but the men were closing round him. He + shouted, ‘I am coming!’ The men were close to him. I looked. Many men. + Then I looked at her. Tuan, I pushed the canoe! I pushed it into deep + water. She was kneeling forward looking at me, and I said, ‘Take your + paddle,’ while I struck the water with mine. Tuan, I heard him cry. I + heard him cry my name twice; and I heard voices shouting, ‘Kill! Strike!’ + I never turned back. I heard him calling my name again with a great + shriek, as when life is going out together with the voice—and I + never turned my head. My own name! . . . My brother! Three times he called—but + I was not afraid of life. Was she not there in that canoe? And could I not + with her find a country where death is forgotten—where death is + unknown!” + </p> + <p> + The white man sat up. Arsat rose and stood, an indistinct and silent + figure above the dying embers of the fire. Over the lagoon a mist drifting + and low had crept, erasing slowly the glittering images of the stars. And + now a great expanse of white vapour covered the land: it flowed cold and + gray in the darkness, eddied in noiseless whirls round the tree-trunks and + about the platform of the house, which seemed to float upon a restless and + impalpable illusion of a sea. Only far away the tops of the trees stood + outlined on the twinkle of heaven, like a sombre and forbidding shore—a + coast deceptive, pitiless and black. + </p> + <p> + Arsat’s voice vibrated loudly in the profound peace. + </p> + <p> + “I had her there! I had her! To get her I would have faced all mankind. + But I had her—and—” + </p> + <p> + His words went out ringing into the empty distances. He paused, and seemed + to listen to them dying away very far—beyond help and beyond recall. + Then he said quietly— + </p> + <p> + “Tuan, I loved my brother.” + </p> + <p> + A breath of wind made him shiver. High above his head, high above the + silent sea of mist the drooping leaves of the palms rattled together with + a mournful and expiring sound. The white man stretched his legs. His chin + rested on his chest, and he murmured sadly without lifting his head— + </p> + <p> + “We all love our brothers.” + </p> + <p> + Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence— + </p> + <p> + “What did I care who died? I wanted peace in my own heart.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to hear a stir in the house—listened—then stepped in + noiselessly. The white man stood up. A breeze was coming in fitful puffs. + The stars shone paler as if they had retreated into the frozen depths of + immense space. After a chill gust of wind there were a few seconds of + perfect calm and absolute silence. Then from behind the black and wavy + line of the forests a column of golden light shot up into the heavens and + spread over the semicircle of the eastern horizon. The sun had risen. The + mist lifted, broke into drifting patches, vanished into thin flying + wreaths; and the unveiled lagoon lay, polished and black, in the heavy + shadows at the foot of the wall of trees. A white eagle rose over it with + a slanting and ponderous flight, reached the clear sunshine and appeared + dazzlingly brilliant for a moment, then soaring higher, became a dark and + motionless speck before it vanished into the blue as if it had left the + earth forever. The white man, standing gazing upwards before the doorway, + heard in the hut a confused and broken murmur of distracted words ending + with a loud groan. Suddenly Arsat stumbled out with outstretched hands, + shivered, and stood still for some time with fixed eyes. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “She burns no more.” + </p> + <p> + Before his face the sun showed its edge above the tree-tops rising + steadily. The breeze freshened; a great brilliance burst upon the lagoon, + sparkled on the rippling water. The forests came out of the clear shadows + of the morning, became distinct, as if they had rushed nearer—to + stop short in a great stir of leaves, of nodding boughs, of swaying + branches. In the merciless sunshine the whisper of unconscious life grew + louder, speaking in an incomprehensible voice round the dumb darkness of + that human sorrow. Arsat’s eyes wandered slowly, then stared at the rising + sun. + </p> + <p> + “I can see nothing,” he said half aloud to himself. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing,” said the white man, moving to the edge of the platform + and waving his hand to his boat. A shout came faintly over the lagoon and + the sampan began to glide towards the abode of the friend of ghosts. + </p> + <p> + “If you want to come with me, I will wait all the morning,” said the white + man, looking away upon the water. + </p> + <p> + “No, Tuan,” said Arsat, softly. “I shall not eat or sleep in this house, + but I must first see my road. Now I can see nothing—see nothing! + There is no light and no peace in the world; but there is death—death + for many. We are sons of the same mother—and I left him in the midst + of enemies; but I am going back now.” + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath and went on in a dreamy tone: + </p> + <p> + “In a little while I shall see clear enough to strike—to strike. But + she has died, and . . . now . . . darkness.” + </p> + <p> + He flung his arms wide open, let them fall along his body, then stood + still with unmoved face and stony eyes, staring at the sun. The white man + got down into his canoe. The polers ran smartly along the sides of the + boat, looking over their shoulders at the beginning of a weary journey. + High in the stern, his head muffled up in white rags, the juragan sat + moody, letting his paddle trail in the water. The white man, leaning with + both arms over the grass roof of the little cabin, looked back at the + shining ripple of the boat’s wake. Before the sampan passed out of the + lagoon into the creek he lifted his eyes. Arsat had not moved. He stood + lonely in the searching sunshine; and he looked beyond the great light of + a cloudless day into the darkness of a world of illusions. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1202 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |