diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1202-0.txt | 6159 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1202-h/1202-h.htm | 6869 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1202-8.txt | 6544 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1202-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 145406 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1202-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 152424 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1202-h/1202-h.htm | 7270 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1202.txt | 6544 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1202.zip | bin | 0 -> 145340 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old/tnrst10.txt | 6566 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old/tnrst10.zip | bin | 0 -> 143229 bytes |
13 files changed, 39968 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1202-0.txt b/1202-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..54b8926 --- /dev/null +++ b/1202-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6159 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1202 *** + +TALES OF UNREST + +By Joseph Conrad + + + +“Be it thy course to being giddy minds With foreign quarrels.” + --SHAKESPEARE + + + +TO ADOLF P. KRIEGER FOR THE SAKE OF OLD DAYS + + + +CONTENTS + +KARAIN: A MEMORY + +THE IDIOTS + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + +THE RETURN + +THE LAGOON + + + + +AUTHOR’S NOTE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +J. C. + + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + + + + +KARAIN, A MEMORY + + +I + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“We did not hear your boat’s hail!” I exclaimed. + +“Boat! The man’s swum off,” drawled out Hollis from the locker. “Look at +him!” + +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. + +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. + +“What’s that?” asked Hollis, who had not heard. + +“He apologizes for coming in with a weapon in his hand,” I said, +dazedly. + +“Ceremonious beggar. Tell him we forgive a friend . . . on such a +night,” drawled out Hollis. “What’s wrong?” + +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. + +“All right now,” he said. + +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. + +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-- + +“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 . . .” + +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-- + +“Be firm.” + +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-- + +“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.” + +He was silent for a while, then exclaimed softly-- + +“Oh! the strength of unbelievers!” + +“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. + +“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.” + +He turned to me. + +“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!” + +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-- + +“Where is the danger?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + +IV + +This is, imperfectly, what he said-- + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“On the third night we two left our land together in a trading prau. + +“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.’ + +“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!’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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! . . .” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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! + +“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. + +“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! + +“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!’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + + +V + +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. + +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. + +“I lived in the forest. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“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. + +“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? . . .” + +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-- + +“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 . . .” + +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-- + +“You must abide with your people. They need you. And there is +forgetfulness in life. Even the dead cease to speak in time.” + +“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-- + +“You won’t soothe him with your platitudes.” + +Karain spoke to me. + +“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!” + +“Capital description,” murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile. + +Karain hung his head. + +“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! . . .” + +He seemed utterly exhausted. + +“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.” + +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. + +He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had +been dozing. + +“Give me your protection--or your strength!” he cried. “A charm . . . a +weapon!” + +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. + +“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. + +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! + +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.” + +Probably we looked only surprised and stupid, for he glanced over his +shoulder, and said angrily-- + +“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!” + +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. + + +VI + +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. + +“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 . . .” + +He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the +deck. Jackson spoke seriously-- + +“Don’t be so beastly cynical.” + +“Ah! You are without guile,” said Hollis, sadly. “You will learn . . . +Meantime this Malay has been our friend . . .” + +He repeated several times thoughtfully, “Friend . . . Malay. Friend, +Malay,” as though weighing the words against one another, then went on +more briskly-- + +“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 . . .” + +He turned to me sharply. + +“You know him best,” he said, in a practical tone. “Do you think he is +fanatical--I mean very strict in his faith?” + +I stammered in profound amazement that “I did not think so.” + +“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. + +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 . . . + +Hollis rummaged in the box. + +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. + +“Ah! here it is,” he said. + +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. + +“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 . . .” + +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. + +“This is the image of the Great Queen, and the most powerful thing the +white men know,” he said, solemnly. + +Karain covered the handle of his kriss in sign of respect, and stared at +the crowned head. + +“The Invincible, the Pious,” he muttered. + +“She is more powerful than Suleiman the Wise, who commanded the genii, +as you know,” said Hollis, gravely. “I shall give this to you.” + +He held the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and looking at it +thoughtfully, spoke to us in English. + +“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.” + +“His people will be shocked,” I murmured. + +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. + +“Hang it all!” said Hollis at last, “he is a good fellow. I’ll give him +something that I shall really miss.” + +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. + +“I shall make him a thing like those Italian peasants wear, you know.” + +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. + +“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-- + +“He is young, but he is wise. Believe him!” + +Karain bent his head: Hollis threw lightly over it the dark-blue ribbon +and stepped back. + +“Forget, and be at peace!” I cried. + +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. + +“Time to go on deck,” said Jackson. + +Hollis put on a coat, and we went up, Karain leading. + +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. + +“He is not there,” I said, emphatically, to Karain. “He waits no more. +He has departed forever.” + +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. + +“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!” + +He turned to us. + +“He has departed again--forever!” he cried. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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-- + +“Do you remember Karain?” + +I nodded. + +“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.” + +We walked on. + +“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--” + +I stood still and looked at him. + +“Yes . . . I mean, whether the thing was so, you know . . . whether it +really happened to him. . . . What do you think?” + +“My dear chap,” I cried, “you have been too long away from home. What a +question to ask! Only look at all this.” + +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. + +“Ye-e-e-s,” said Jackson, meditatively. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +I think that, decidedly, he had been too long away from home. + + + + + +THE IDIOTS + + +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-- + +“The idiot!” + +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. + +“Here he is,” said the driver, again. + +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. + +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. + +“Ah! there’s another,” said the man, with a certain satisfaction in his +tone, as if he had caught sight of something expected. + +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. + +“Those are twins,” explained the driver. + +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. + +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-- + +“We shall see some more of them by-and-by.” + +“More idiots? How many of them are there, then?” I asked. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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-- + +“When they sleep they are like other people’s children.” + +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-- + +“We must see . . . consult people. Don’t cry. . . . They won’t all be +like that . . . surely! We must sleep now.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . .” + +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-- + +“See what your God will do for us. Pay for some masses.” + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +“What do you think is there?” + +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-- + +“Hey there! Come out!” + +“Jean! Return! Return!” entreated his wife in low tones. + +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. + +“Hey! Come out!” shouted Jean-Pierre, loudly. + +The nightingales ceased to sing. + +“Nobody?” went on Jean-Pierre. “Nobody there. A swindle of the crows. +That’s what this is. Nobody anywhere. I despise it. _Allez! Houp!_” + +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-- + +“See? Nobody. I’ve been made a fool! _Malheur!_ 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. . . .” + +She burst out through the fingers that hid her face-- + +“Don’t say that, Jean; don’t say that, my man!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +“Mother!” + +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. + +Susan, soaked and muddy, stared the whole length of the room towards the +men at the far end. Her mother asked-- + +“What has happened? God guard us from misfortune!” + +Susan moved her lips. No sound came. Madame Levaille stepped up to her +daughter, took her by the arm, looked into her face. + +“In God’s name,” she said, shakily, “what’s the matter? You have been +rolling in mud. . . . Why did you come? . . . Where’s Jean?” + +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-- + +“Enough of this! Out you go--you others! I close.” + +One of them observed, looking down at Susan collapsed on the seat: “She +is--one may say--half dead.” + +Madame Levaille flung the door open. + +“Get out! March!” she cried, shaking nervously. + +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. + +“Speak, Susan. What is it? Speak!” entreated Madame Levaille, as soon as +the door was shut. + +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-- + +“Does Jean know where you are? Where is Jean?” + +“He knows . . . he is dead.” + +“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?” + +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. + +Suddenly, Susan said-- + +“I have killed him.” + +For a moment the mother stood still, almost unbreathing, but with +composed face. The next second she burst out into a shout-- + +“You miserable madwoman . . . they will cut your neck. . . .” + +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-- + +“Why? Say! Say! Why?” + +The other seemed to leap out of her strange apathy. + +“Do you think I am made of stone?” she shouted back, striding towards +her mother. + +“No! It’s impossible . . .” said Madame Levaille, in a convinced tone. + +“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?” + +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-- + +“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!” + +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. + +“Nothing worse than in this,” said Susan. + +Her mother, umbrella in hand and trailing the shawl over the floor, +groaned profoundly. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. . . .” + +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. + +“Susan!” she shouted from the doorstep. + +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-- + +“Susan! You will kill yourself there.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . .” + +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. . . . + +Below her the night or the sea seemed to pronounce distinctly-- + +“Aha! I see you at last!” + +She started, slipped, fell; and without attempting to rise, listened, +terrified. She heard heavy breathing, a clatter of wooden clogs. It +stopped. + +“Where the devil did you pass?” said an invisible man, hoarsely. + +She held her breath. She recognized the voice. She had not seen him +fall. Was he pursuing her there dead, or perhaps . . . alive? + +She lost her head. She cried from the crevice where she lay huddled, +“Never, never!” + +“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. . . .” + +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?” + +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. + +“Where are you going to?” he called, roughly. + +She answered, “Home!” and watched him intensely. He made a striding, +clumsy leap on to another boulder, and stopped again, balancing himself, +then said-- + +“Ha! ha! Well, I am going with you. It’s the least I can do. Ha! ha! +ha!” + +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. + +The man said, advancing another step-- + +“I am coming for you. What do you think?” + +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-- + +“Can’t you wait till I am dead!” + +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. + +“Hey! What?” said Millot, keeping his distance prudently. He was saying +to himself: “Look out! Some lunatic. An accident happens soon.” + +She went on, wildly-- + +“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!” + +“Come,” said Millot, alarmed and conciliating. “I am perfectly alive! +. . . Oh, my God!” + +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. + +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!” + +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-- + +“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.” + +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.” + + + + + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + + +I + +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.” + +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!” + +“They will form themselves there,” said the old stager with a quiet +smile. + +“At any rate, I am rid of them for six months,” retorted the director. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger +up twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty +indulgence, would say-- + +“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.” + +Kayerts approved. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +Five months passed in that way. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes,” replied Kayerts. “Hey, Makola, what does he say? Where do they +come from? Who are they?” + +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.” + +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. + +“I don’t like those chaps--and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from the +coast; they’ve got firearms,” observed the sagacious Carlier. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + + +II + +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. + +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?” + +“Yes,” said Kayerts, eagerly. He thought of percentages which were low. + +“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.” + +“Certainly,” said Kayerts. “What are those traders?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“I can’t help it; the men won’t work,” said Kayerts. “When will you get +that ivory?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +“I can hardly believe it,” said Kayerts, tearfully. “We took care of +them as if they had been our children.” + +“They went with the coast people,” said Makola after a moment of +hesitation. + +“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?” + +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.” + +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. + +“What did you give for it?” asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot with +satisfaction. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I did the best for you and the Company,” said Makola, imperturbably. +“Why you shout so much? Look at this tusk.” + +“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!” + +“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. + +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. + +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?” + +“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.” + +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-- + +“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?” + +“We can’t touch it, of course,” said Kayerts. + +“Of course not,” assented Carlier. + +“Slavery is an awful thing,” stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady voice. + +“Frightful--the sufferings,” grunted Carlier with conviction. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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!” + +“For the sick,” muttered Kayerts, without looking up. + +“For the sick,” mocked Carlier. “Bosh! . . . Well! I am sick.” + +“You are no more sick than I am, and I go without,” said Kayerts in a +peaceful tone. + +“Come! out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer.” + +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-- + +“That joke is in very bad taste. Don’t repeat it.” + +“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!” + +“I forbid you to speak to me in that way,” said Kayerts with a fair show +of resolution. + +“You!--What?” shouted Carlier, jumping up. + +Kayerts stood up also. “I am your chief,” he began, trying to master the +shakiness of his voice. + +“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.” + +“Hold your tongue. Go out of this room,” screamed Kayerts. “I dismiss +you--you scoundrel!” + +Carlier swung a stool. All at once he looked dangerously in earnest. +“You flabby, good-for-nothing civilian--take that!” he howled. + +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.” + +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. + +And now he ran. He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the other +man. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +“Is this your revolver?” asked Makola, getting up. + +“Yes,” said Kayerts; then he added very quickly, “He ran after me to +shoot me--you saw!” + +“Yes, I saw,” said Makola. “There is only one revolver; where’s his?” + +“Don’t know,” whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly very +faint. + +“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. + +After meditating for a while, Makola said softly, pointing at the dead +man who lay there with his right eye blown out-- + +“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.” + +And he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white men +alone on the verandah. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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-- + +“Steamer! Steamer! They can’t see. They whistle for the station. I go +ring the bell. Go down to the landing, sir. I ring.” + +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. + +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. + +The Director shouted loudly to the steamer: + +“There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, though +they are ringing. You had better come, too!” + +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!” + +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. + + + + + +THE RETURN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +He said very distinctly, and looking at the carpet, “She’s gone.” + +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 . . . + +“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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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.” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“How long do you intend to stay here?” + +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: + +“Must I go then?” And he knew he meant nothing of what he implied. + +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: + +“I don’t understand--be so good as to . . .” + +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. + +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. + +“If you have forgotten anything . . . of course . . . I . . .” + +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. + +“What is the good of this, Alvan? . . . You know why I came back. . . . +You know that I could not . . .” + +He interrupted her with irritation. + +“Then! what’s this?” he asked, pointing downwards at the torn letter. + +“That’s a mistake,” she said hurriedly, in a muffled voice. + +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. + +“A mistake . . .” he began, slowly, and then found himself unable to say +another word. + +“Yes . . . it was honest,” she said very low, as if speaking to the +memory of a feeling in a remote past. + +He exploded. + +“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? . . .” + +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. + +“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he shouted. + +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. + +He said with villainous composure: + +“At any rate it isn’t enough for me. I want to know more--if you’re +going to stay.” + +“There is nothing more to tell,” she answered, sadly. + +It struck him as so very true that he did not say anything. She went on: + +“You wouldn’t understand. . . .” + +“No?” he said, quietly. He held himself tight not to burst into howls +and imprecations. + +“I tried to be faithful . . .” she began again. + +“And this?” he exclaimed, pointing at the fragments of her letter. + +“This--this is a failure,” she said. + +“I should think so,” he muttered, bitterly. + +“I tried to be faithful to myself--Alvan--and . . . and honest to +you. . . .” + +“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?” + +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. + +“I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself--and that’s your +honesty!” + +“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.” + +“The end--this thing has no end,” he clamoured, unexpectedly. “Can’t you +understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . .” + +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. + +“By Heavens!” he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude +and within less than a foot from her. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“And I let him,” she murmured, catching his intonation, so that her +voice sounded unconscious, sounded far off and slavish, like an echo. + +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. . . .” + +He forgot himself so far as to gesticulate a little while he went on +with animation: + +“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?” + +Carried away by his feelings he took his head in both his hands and +repeated wildly: + +“What have I done? . . . Tell me! What? . . .” + +“Nothing,” she said. + +“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: + +“What on earth did you expect me to do?” + +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: + +“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 . . .” + +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. + +“I thought it beneath me to suspect you,” he said, loftily. + +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. + +“You ought to be perfectly frank with me,” he said, slowly. + +“You know everything,” she answered, indistinctly, through her fingers. + +“This letter. . . . Yes . . . but . . .” + +“And I came back,” she exclaimed in a stifled voice; “you know +everything.” + +“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. + +“For your sake,” he repeated. + +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-- + +“Have you been meeting him often?” + +“Never!” she cried into the palms of her hands. + +This answer seemed for a moment to take from him the power of speech. +His lips moved for some time before any sound came. + +“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. + +“When I made up my mind to go to him--I wrote,” she said. + +“But you didn’t go to him,” he took up in the same tone. “How far did +you go? What made you come back?” + +“I didn’t know myself,” she murmured. Nothing of her moved but her lips. +He fixed her sternly. + +“Did he expect this? Was he waiting for you?” he asked. + +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-- + +“And I suppose he is waiting yet?” he asked, quickly. + +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. + +“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. + +“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-- + +“You deceived me--now you make a fool of him . . . It’s awful! Why?” + +“I deceived myself!” she exclaimed. + +“Oh! Nonsense!” he said, impatiently. + +“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. + +“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-- + +“After all, I loved you. . . .” + +“I did not know,” she whispered. + +“Good God!” he cried. “Why do you imagine I married you?” + +The indelicacy of his obtuseness angered her. + +“Ah--why?” she said through her teeth. + +He appeared overcome with horror, and watched her lips intently as +though in fear. + +“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.” + +He walked away smartly, and when he came back, close to her, he had a +flushed face. + +“You seemed pretty well pleased, too--at the time,” he hissed, with +scathing fury. “I needn’t ask whether you loved me.” + +“I know now I was perfectly incapable of such a thing,” she said, +calmly, “If I had, perhaps you would not have married me.” + +“It’s very clear I would not have done it if I had known you--as I know +you now.” + +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!” + +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. + +“What the devil am I to do now?” + +He was still again. She seemed to understand, and moved to the door +firmly. + +“It’s very simple--I’m going,” she said aloud. + +At the sound of her voice he gave a start of surprise, looked at her +wildly, and asked in a piercing tone-- + +“You. . . . Where? To him?” + +“No--alone--good-bye.” + +The door-handle rattled under her groping hand as though she had been +trying to get out of some dark place. + +“No--stay!” he cried. + +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. + +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-- + +“Do you speak the truth?” + +She nodded. + +“You have lived a lie, though,” he said, suspiciously. + +“Ah! You made it so easy,” she answered. + +“You reproach me--me!” + +“How could I?” she said; “I would have you no other--now.” + +“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?” + +She had a nervous movement of her hands. + +“I must have a plain answer,” he said, hotly. + +“Then, no! The worst is my coming back.” + +There followed a period of dead silence, during which they exchanged +searching glances. + +He said authoritatively-- + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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. . . .” + +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. + +“Rigid principles--adherence to what is right,” he finished after a +pause. + +“What is right?” she said, distinctly, without uncovering her face. + +“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. . . .” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“‘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! . . .” + +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-- + +“Ah! What am I now?” + +“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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“It was impossible,” she whispered, obediently. + +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-- + +“I am glad you feel this . . . uncommonly glad . . . you felt this in +time. For, don’t you see . . .” Unexpectedly he hesitated. + +“Yes . . . I see,” she murmured. + +“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.” + +“And to me,” she breathed out. + +“Now--yes,” he said, “but this morning? And to-morrow? . . . This is +what . . .” + +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-- + +“My position is very painful--difficult . . . I feel . . .” + +He looked at her fixedly with a pained air, as though frightfully +oppressed by a sudden inability to express his pent-up ideas. + +“I am ready to go,” she said very low. “I have forfeited everything +. . . to learn . . . to learn . . .” + +Her chin fell on her breast; her voice died out in a sigh. He made a +slight gesture of impatient assent. + +“Yes! Yes! It’s all very well . . . of course. Forfeited--ah! Morally +forfeited--only morally forfeited . . . if I am to believe you . . .” + +She startled him by jumping up. + +“Oh! I believe, I believe,” he said, hastily, and she sat down as +suddenly as she had got up. He went on gloomily-- + +“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.” + +He stammered. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her lips were +slightly parted. He went on mumbling-- + +“. . . Pain. . . . Indignation. . . . Sure to misunderstand. I’ve +suffered enough. And if there has been nothing irreparable--as you +assure me . . . then . . .” + +“Alvan!” she cried. + +“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. + +“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.” + +A moment of perfect stillness ensued. + +“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. + +“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.” + +He listened to every word with profound attention, and when she ceased +seemed to wait for more. + +“Is that all you’ve got to say?” he asked. + +She was startled by his tone, and said faintly-- + +“I spoke the truth. What more can I say?” + +“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.” + +“Words!” she whispered in a tone that irritated him. He stamped his +foot. + +“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. + +“I can’t bear this,” she said, trembling from head to foot. “I am +going.” + +They stood facing one another for a moment. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. . . .” + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“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. . . .” + +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. + +He lifted his head and repeated solemnly: + +“I forgive you . . . from a sense of duty--and in the hope . . .” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, grimly. + +She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. . . .” + +She pressed both her hands to her temples. + +“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.” + +She dropped her arms; her face twitched. She looked straight into his +eyes and seemed incapable of pronouncing a word. He frowned at her. + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He spoke suddenly, as if concluding a discussion. + +“The best thing for us is to forget all this.” + +She started a little and shut the fan with a click. + +“Yes, forgive--and forget,” he repeated, as if to himself. + +“I’ll never forget,” she said in a vibrating voice. “And I’ll never +forgive myself. . . .” + +“But I, who have nothing to reproach myself . . .” He began, making a +step towards her. She jumped up. + +“I did not come back for your forgiveness,” she exclaimed, passionately, +as if clamouring against an unjust aspersion. + +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: + +“But if my love is strong enough . . .” and hesitated. + +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: + +“‘Pon my word, I loved you--I love you now.” + +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. + +She said nervously, and very fast: + +“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.” + +“You won’t believe me?” he asked, slowly. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“This is odious,” she screamed. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +“Never!” he said aloud to the revealing night. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He stammered distractedly. + +“I want . . . I want . . . to . . . to . . . know . . .” + +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. + +“Alvan . . . I won’t bear this . . .” She began to pant suddenly, “I’ve +a right--a right to--to--myself . . .” + +He lifted one arm, and appeared so menacing that she stopped in a fright +and shrank back a little. + +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. . . . + +“Can you stand it?” he shouted, as though she could have heard all his +thoughts. + +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: + +“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-- + +“Yes!” + +He was shaken where he stood as if by a struggle to break out of +invisible bonds. She trembled from head to foot. + +“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. + +He never returned. + + + + + +THE LAGOON + + +The white man, leaning with both arms over the roof of the little house +in the stern of the boat, said to the steersman-- + +“We will pass the night in Arsat’s clearing. It is late.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The steersman, pointing with his paddle, said, “Arsat is there. I see +his canoe fast between the piles.” + +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? + +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. + +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.” + +“Pass my blankets and the basket,” said the white man, curtly. + +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-- + +“Have you medicine, Tuan?” + +“No,” said the visitor in a startled tone. “No. Why? Is there sickness +in the house?” + +“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. + +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. + +“Has she been long ill?” asked the traveller. + +“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!” + +He remained silent for a minute, then asked softly-- + +“Tuan, will she die?” + +“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. + +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. + +Arsat came through the doorway with noiseless steps and squatted down by +the fire. The white man moved his outstretched legs a little. + +“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!” + +He paused for a moment, then asked in a quiet, incurious tone-- + +“Tuan . . . will she die?” + +The white man moved his shoulders uneasily and muttered in a hesitating +manner-- + +“If such is her fate.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +“. . . 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!” + +“I remember,” said the white man, quietly. Arsat went on with mournful +composure-- + +“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.” + +A sigh, short and faint, marked an almost imperceptible pause, and then +his words flowed on, without a stir, without a gesture. + +“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.” + +He stopped to exclaim in an intense whisper, “O Mara bahia! O Calamity!” + then went on speaking a little louder: + +“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.” + +He paused, listened with his ear turned to the doorway, then shook his +head and went on: + +“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!” + +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. + +Arsat went on in an even, low voice. + +“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!” + +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. + +Arsat’s voice vibrated loudly in the profound peace. + +“I had her there! I had her! To get her I would have faced all mankind. +But I had her--and--” + +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-- + +“Tuan, I loved my brother.” + +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-- + +“We all love our brothers.” + +Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence-- + +“What did I care who died? I wanted peace in my own heart.” + +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-- + +“She burns no more.” + +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. + +“I can see nothing,” he said half aloud to himself. + +“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. + +“If you want to come with me, I will wait all the morning,” said the +white man, looking away upon the water. + +“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.” + +He drew a long breath and went on in a dreamy tone: + +“In a little while I shall see clear enough to strike--to strike. But +she has died, and . . . now . . . darkness.” + +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. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1202 *** 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> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1edef1e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1202 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1202) diff --git a/old/1202-8.txt b/old/1202-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1188073 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1202-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6544 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of Unrest + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #1202] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF UNREST *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + +By Joseph Conrad + + + +Be it thy course to being giddy minds With foreign quarrels. + --SHAKESPEARE + + + +TO ADOLF P. KRIEGER FOR THE SAKE OF OLD DAYS + + + +CONTENTS + +KARAIN: A MEMORY + +THE IDIOTS + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + +THE RETURN + +THE LAGOON + + + + +AUTHORS NOTE + +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 Almayers 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 ones 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. + +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 mans 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 cant 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 ones +past. + +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. + +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. + +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 ones 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. + +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. + +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 didnt 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 +Blackwoods 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. + +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 dont 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. + +J. C. + + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + + + + +KARAIN, A MEMORY + + +I + +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. + +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 schooners 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 +Karains 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +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-bearers 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 watchers +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 masters agitation, without stirring the least +bit, murmured above his head in a soothing tone some words difficult to +catch. + +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 +hands-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 ships 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 mens 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +III + +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. + +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. + +The first thing we heard was that Karains 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 friends +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 Karains 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. + +We did not hear your boats hail! I exclaimed. + +Boat! The mans swum off, drawled out Hollis from the locker. Look at +him! + +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. + +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; its hanging up in the bathroom. Karain laid +the kriss on the table, hilt inwards, and murmured a few words in a +strangled voice. + +Whats that? asked Hollis, who had not heard. + +He apologizes for coming in with a weapon in his hand, I said, +dazedly. + +Ceremonious beggar. Tell him we forgive a friend . . . on such a +night, drawled out Hollis. Whats wrong? + +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. + +All right now, he said. + +Karains 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. + +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 schooners 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-- + +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 . . . + +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-- + +Be firm. + +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-- + +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. + +He was silent for a while, then exclaimed softly-- + +Oh! the strength of unbelievers! + +Theres no one here but you--and we three, said Hollis, quietly. He +reclined with his head supported on elbow and did not budge. + +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. + +He turned to me. + +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! + +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-- + +Where is the danger? + +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. + +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. + +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 +schooners sides could be heard; Holliss 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; Karains 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. + + +IV + +This is, imperfectly, what he said-- + +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 mans 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 mens devotion. He was a +fierce man; and I had no other friend. + +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 Mataras 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 womens 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. + +Then Pata Mataras sister fled from the campong and went to live in the +Dutchmans 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; Mataras face was blackened with that disgrace, for she knew +she had been promised to another man. Matara went to the Dutchmans +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. + +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. + +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. + +On the third night we two left our land together in a trading prau. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 mens 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 womans 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. + +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. + +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! . . . + +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. + +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. + +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 mens +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +V + +Karains 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 ships +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. + +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. + +I lived in the forest. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 sons 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, womens 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? . . . + +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-- + +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 . . . + +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-- + +You must abide with your people. They need you. And there is +forgetfulness in life. Even the dead cease to speak in time. + +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-- + +You wont soothe him with your platitudes. + +Karain spoke to me. + +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! + +Capital description, murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile. + +Karain hung his head. + +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! . . . + +He seemed utterly exhausted. + +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. + +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 mans life made the return of the +torment unbearable. That much was clear. + +He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had +been dozing. + +Give me your protection--or your strength! he cried. A charm . . . a +weapon! + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +Probably we looked only surprised and stupid, for he glanced over his +shoulder, and said angrily-- + +This is no play; I am going to do something for him. Look serious. +Confound it! . . . Cant you lie a little . . . for a friend! + +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. + + +VI + +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. + +Every one of us, he said, with pauses that somehow were more offensive +than his words--every one of us, youll admit, has been haunted by some +woman . . . And . . . as to friends . . . dropped by the way . . . Well! +. . . ask yourselves . . . + +He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the +deck. Jackson spoke seriously-- + +Dont be so beastly cynical. + +Ah! You are without guile, said Hollis, sadly. You will learn . . . +Meantime this Malay has been our friend . . . + +He repeated several times thoughtfully, Friend . . . Malay. Friend, +Malay, as though weighing the words against one another, then went on +more briskly-- + +A good fellow--a gentleman in his way. We cant, so to speak, turn +our backs on his confidence and belief in us. Those Malays are easily +impressed--all nerves, you know--therefore . . . + +He turned to me sharply. + +You know him best, he said, in a practical tone. Do you think he is +fanatical--I mean very strict in his faith? + +I stammered in profound amazement that I did not think so. + +Its on account of its being a likeness--an engraved image, muttered +Hollis, enigmatically, turning to the box. He plunged his fingers into +it. Karains lips were parted and his eyes shone. We looked into the +box. + +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 girls 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 . . . + +Hollis rummaged in the box. + +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. + +Ah! here it is, he said. + +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. + +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 doesnt shy at a likeness . . . + +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. + +This is the image of the Great Queen, and the most powerful thing the +white men know, he said, solemnly. + +Karain covered the handle of his kriss in sign of respect, and stared at +the crowned head. + +The Invincible, the Pious, he muttered. + +She is more powerful than Suleiman the Wise, who commanded the genii, +as you know, said Hollis, gravely. I shall give this to you. + +He held the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and looking at it +thoughtfully, spoke to us in English. + +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 wouldnt +stand any fuss from the best ghost out for such a little thing as our +friends shot. Dont look thunderstruck, you fellows. Help me to make +him believe--everythings in that. + +His people will be shocked, I murmured. + +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. + +Hang it all! said Hollis at last, he is a good fellow. Ill give him +something that I shall really miss. + +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. + +I shall make him a thing like those Italian peasants wear, you know. + +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. + +Now then, he said--then stepped up to Karain. They looked close +into one anothers eyes. Those of Karain stared in a lost glance, but +Holliss 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-- + +He is young, but he is wise. Believe him! + +Karain bent his head: Hollis threw lightly over it the dark-blue ribbon +and stepped back. + +Forget, and be at peace! I cried. + +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. + +Time to go on deck, said Jackson. + +Hollis put on a coat, and we went up, Karain leading. + +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. + +He is not there, I said, emphatically, to Karain. He waits no more. +He has departed forever. + +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. + +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! + +He turned to us. + +He has departed again--forever! he cried. + +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 Holliss 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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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 waters 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. + +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 +Blands 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-- + +Do you remember Karain? + +I nodded. + +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. Hes sure to be in it. He will make it hot for +the caballeros. Well, good luck to him, poor devil! He was perfectly +stunning. + +We walked on. + +I wonder whether the charm worked--you remember Holliss 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-- + +I stood still and looked at him. + +Yes . . . I mean, whether the thing was so, you know . . . whether it +really happened to him. . . . What do you think? + +My dear chap, I cried, you have been too long away from home. What a +question to ask! Only look at all this. + +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. + +Ye-e-e-s, said Jackson, meditatively. + +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. + +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. + +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 didnt look +out; but Ill be hanged if it is yet as real to me as . . . as the other +thing . . . say, Karains story. + +I think that, decidedly, he had been too long away from home. + + + + + +THE IDIOTS + + +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-- + +The idiot! + +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. + +Here he is, said the driver, again. + +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. + +It was a boys 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. + +Ah! theres another, said the man, with a certain satisfaction in his +tone, as if he had caught sight of something expected. + +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. + +Those are twins, explained the driver. + +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. + +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-- + +We shall see some more of them by-and-by. + +More idiots? How many of them are there, then? I asked. + +Theres 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. . . . Its a good farm. + +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 peoples voices; and suddenly ceased when we +turned into a lane. + +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. + +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. Its 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. Its +the mother that will be pleased. + +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 Bacadous 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. + +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 sons +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: Its 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. Dont bother +about that, father, answered Jean-Pierre, stolidly, and passed, bent +double, towing a recalcitrant cow over his shoulder. + +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. + +Some months afterwards, one evening when the kitchen had been swept, +and the door locked, Jean-Pierre, looking at the cot, asked his wife: +Whats 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! + +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-- + +When they sleep they are like other peoples children. + +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-- + +We must see . . . consult people. Dont cry. . . . They wont all be +like that . . . surely! We must sleep now. + +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. + +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 childs +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. + +Then mute affliction dwelt in Bacadous 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. + +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, its most +important that the right man should be mayor this year, because of the +elections to the Chamber. If you think it amuses me . . . + +Jean-Pierre had surrendered to his wifes 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 acquaintances 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-- + +See what your God will do for us. Pay for some masses. + +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. + +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. + +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 elses. 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-- + +What do you think is there? + +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-- + +Hey there! Come out! + +Jean! Return! Return! entreated his wife in low tones. + +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. + +Hey! Come out! shouted Jean-Pierre, loudly. + +The nightingales ceased to sing. + +Nobody? went on Jean-Pierre. Nobody there. A swindle of the crows. +Thats what this is. Nobody anywhere. I despise it. _Allez! Houp!_ + +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-- + +See? Nobody. Ive been made a fool! _Malheur!_ 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 dont want him in there . . . he only helps +the carrion crows to rob poor folk. I am a man. . . . We will see if +I cant have children like anybody else . . . now you mind. . . . They +wont be all . . . all . . . we see. . . . + +She burst out through the fingers that hid her face-- + +Dont say that, Jean; dont say that, my man! + +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 Susans 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. + +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. + +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 +masters 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. + +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 +Stonecutters 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. + +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 anothers 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. + +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-- + +Mother! + +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 daughters appearance. + +Susan, soaked and muddy, stared the whole length of the room towards the +men at the far end. Her mother asked-- + +What has happened? God guard us from misfortune! + +Susan moved her lips. No sound came. Madame Levaille stepped up to her +daughter, took her by the arm, looked into her face. + +In Gods name, she said, shakily, whats the matter? You have been +rolling in mud. . . . Why did you come? . . . Wheres Jean? + +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-- + +Enough of this! Out you go--you others! I close. + +One of them observed, looking down at Susan collapsed on the seat: She +is--one may say--half dead. + +Madame Levaille flung the door open. + +Get out! March! she cried, shaking nervously. + +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. + +Speak, Susan. What is it? Speak! entreated Madame Levaille, as soon as +the door was shut. + +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-- + +Does Jean know where you are? Where is Jean? + +He knows . . . he is dead. + +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? + +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. + +Suddenly, Susan said-- + +I have killed him. + +For a moment the mother stood still, almost unbreathing, but with +composed face. The next second she burst out into a shout-- + +You miserable madwoman . . . they will cut your neck. . . . + +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-- + +Why? Say! Say! Why? + +The other seemed to leap out of her strange apathy. + +Do you think I am made of stone? she shouted back, striding towards +her mother. + +No! Its impossible . . . said Madame Levaille, in a convinced tone. + +You go and see, mother, retorted Susan, looking at her with blazing +eyes. Theres 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. Havent 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 . . . Ive 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? + +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-- + +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! + +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. + +Nothing worse than in this, said Susan. + +Her mother, umbrella in hand and trailing the shawl over the floor, +groaned profoundly. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. + +Susan! she shouted from the doorstep. + +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-- + +Susan! You will kill yourself there. + +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. + +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 mothers 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. Susans 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. + +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 +womans 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. + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + +Below her the night or the sea seemed to pronounce distinctly-- + +Aha! I see you at last! + +She started, slipped, fell; and without attempting to rise, listened, +terrified. She heard heavy breathing, a clatter of wooden clogs. It +stopped. + +Where the devil did you pass? said an invisible man, hoarsely. + +She held her breath. She recognized the voice. She had not seen him +fall. Was he pursuing her there dead, or perhaps . . . alive? + +She lost her head. She cried from the crevice where she lay huddled, +Never, never! + +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. . . . + +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? + +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. + +Where are you going to? he called, roughly. + +She answered, Home! and watched him intensely. He made a striding, +clumsy leap on to another boulder, and stopped again, balancing himself, +then said-- + +Ha! ha! Well, I am going with you. Its the least I can do. Ha! ha! +ha! + +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. + +The man said, advancing another step-- + +I am coming for you. What do you think? + +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-- + +Cant you wait till I am dead! + +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 peoples children. + +Hey! What? said Millot, keeping his distance prudently. He was saying +to himself: Look out! Some lunatic. An accident happens soon. + +She went on, wildly-- + +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! + +Come, said Millot, alarmed and conciliating. I am perfectly alive! +. . . Oh, my God! + +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. + +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 Susans 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 wont bury her in consecrated +ground! + +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-- + +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. + +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. + + + + + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + + +I + +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 Makolas 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 agents 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 directors 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. + +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 wont know how to begin. I always thought the station +on this river useless, and they just fit the station! + +They will form themselves there, said the old stager with a quiet +smile. + +At any rate, I am rid of them for six months, retorted the director. + +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 ones kind, to the clear perception of the +loneliness of ones thoughts, of ones 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. + +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, didnt he? + muttered Carlier, stopping short. Why, retorted Kayerts, with +indignation, Ive 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. + +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. + +At the end of two months Kayerts often would say, If it was not for +my Melie, you wouldnt 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. + +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! + +Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger +up twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty +indulgence, would say-- + +Fine animals. Brought any bone? Yes? Its not any too soon. Look at +the muscles of that fellow third from the end. I wouldnt care to get a +punch on the nose from him. Fine arms, but legs no good below the knee. +Couldnt make cavalry men of them. And after glancing down complacently +at his own shanks, he always concluded: Pah! Dont 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. Id +rather see it full of bone than full of rags. + +Kayerts approved. + +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. Dye hear that row? What a fellow has got to put up with in this +dog of a country! My head is split. + +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 steamers 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 dArtagnan, of Hawks 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. + +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. +Gobilas 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 couldnt +decide--clear up that mystery; but he remained always very friendly. In +consequence of that friendship the women of Gobilas 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. + +Five months passed in that way. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Yes, replied Kayerts. Hey, Makola, what does he say? Where do they +come from? Who are they? + +But Makola, who seemed to be standing on hot bricks, answered hurriedly, +I dont know. They come from very far. Perhaps Mrs. Price will +understand. They are perhaps bad men. + +The leader, after waiting for a while, said something sharply to Makola, +who shook his head. Then the man, after looking round, noticed Makolas +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. + +I dont like those chaps--and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from the +coast; theyve got firearms, observed the sagacious Carlier. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 yesterdays 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 whats up. I saw +about fifteen canoes cross the river during the two hours I was there +fishing. Kayerts, worried, said, Isnt this Makola very queer to-day? + Carlier advised, Keep all our men together in case of some trouble. + + +II + +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. + +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? + +Yes, said Kayerts, eagerly. He thought of percentages which were low. + +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. + +Certainly, said Kayerts. What are those traders? + +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? + +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. + +I cant help it; the men wont work, said Kayerts. When will you get +that ivory? + +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. +Theres plenty palm wine--gone a little sour. + +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 mens +huts. They could hear their shouts and drumming. Some men from Gobilas +village had joined the station hands, and the entertainment was a great +success. + +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, +Dont shoot! Its 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 agents house, he +shouted from the distance, All the men gone last night! + +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. Its incredible! muttered Kayerts. I will +go to the huts and see, said Carlier, striding off. Makola coming up +found Kayerts standing alone. + +I can hardly believe it, said Kayerts, tearfully. We took care of +them as if they had been our children. + +They went with the coast people, said Makola after a moment of +hesitation. + +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? + +Makola moved his shoulders, looking down on the ground. What do I know? +I think only. Will you come and look at the ivory Ive got there? It is +a fine lot. You never saw such. + +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. + +What did you give for it? asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot with +satisfaction. + +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. + +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. + +I did the best for you and the Company, said Makola, imperturbably. +Why you shout so much? Look at this tusk. + +I dismiss you! I will report you--I wont look at the tusk. I forbid +you to touch them. I order you to throw them into the river. You--you! + +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. + +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. + +Carlier came back on the verandah. Theyre all gone, hey? asked +Kayerts from the far end of the common room in a muffled voice. You did +not find anybody? + +Oh, yes, said Carlier, I found one of Gobilas people lying dead +before the huts--shot through the body. We heard that shot last night. + +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-- + +I can see it! They were pounced upon while they slept heavily after +drinking all that palm wine youve allowed Makola to give them. A put-up +job! See? The worst is, some of Gobilas 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? + +We cant touch it, of course, said Kayerts. + +Of course not, assented Carlier. + +Slavery is an awful thing, stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady voice. + +Frightful--the sufferings, grunted Carlier with conviction. + +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. + +Next morning they saw Makola very busy setting up in the yard the big +scales used for weighing ivory. By and by Carlier said: Whats +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 suns 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. + +As they were going back to the house Kayerts observed with a sigh: It +had to be done. And Carlier said: Its deplorable, but, the men being +Companys men the ivory is Companys ivory. We must look after it. I +will report to the Director, of course, said Kayerts. Of course; let +him decide, approved Carlier. + +At midday they made a hearty meal. Kayerts sighed from time to time. +Whenever they mentioned Makolas 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 Gobilas +villages came near the station that day. No one came the next day, and +the next, nor for a whole week. Gobilas 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. + +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. + +Days lengthened into weeks, then into months. Gobilas 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 +Gobilas 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. + +He has seen worse things done on the quiet, maintained Carlier, with +a hoarse laugh. Trust him! He wont 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. + +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 Companys 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 ones 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. + +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. + +One day after a lunch of boiled rice, Carlier put down his cup untasted, +and said: Hang it all! Lets have a decent cup of coffee for once. +Bring out that sugar, Kayerts! + +For the sick, muttered Kayerts, without looking up. + +For the sick, mocked Carlier. Bosh! . . . Well! I am sick. + +You are no more sick than I am, and I go without, said Kayerts in a +peaceful tone. + +Come! out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer. + +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-- + +That joke is in very bad taste. Dont repeat it. + +Joke! said Carlier, hitching himself forward on his seat. I am +hungry--I am sick--I dont joke! I hate hypocrites. You are a hypocrite. +You are a slave-dealer. I am a slave-dealer. Theres nothing but +slave-dealers in this cursed country. I mean to have sugar in my coffee +to-day, anyhow! + +I forbid you to speak to me in that way, said Kayerts with a fair show +of resolution. + +You!--What? shouted Carlier, jumping up. + +Kayerts stood up also. I am your chief, he began, trying to master the +shakiness of his voice. + +What? yelled the other. Whos chief? Theres no chief here. Theres +nothing here: theres nothing but you and I. Fetch the sugar--you +pot-bellied ass. + +Hold your tongue. Go out of this room, screamed Kayerts. I dismiss +you--you scoundrel! + +Carlier swung a stool. All at once he looked dangerously in earnest. +You flabby, good-for-nothing civilian--take that! he howled. + +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 dont bring out that sugar, I will shoot you +at sight, like a dog. Now then--one--two--three. You wont? I will show +you whos the master. + +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 Makolas 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. + +And now he ran. He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the other +man. + +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--didnt 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. + +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--its +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! + +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. + +Is this your revolver? asked Makola, getting up. + +Yes, said Kayerts; then he added very quickly, He ran after me to +shoot me--you saw! + +Yes, I saw, said Makola. There is only one revolver; wheres his? + +Dont know, whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly very +faint. + +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 mans 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. + +After meditating for a while, Makola said softly, pointing at the dead +man who lay there with his right eye blown out-- + +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. + +And he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white men +alone on the verandah. + +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; couldnt 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. + +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! + +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. + +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-- + +Steamer! Steamer! They cant see. They whistle for the station. I go +ring the bell. Go down to the landing, sir. I ring. + +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. + +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. + +The Director shouted loudly to the steamer: + +There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, though +they are ringing. You had better come, too! + +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! Ive found one of them. Run, look for the other! + +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. + + + + + +THE RETURN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 doesnt? 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 mans appetite for his +dinner. + +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. + +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 Somebodys Gardens, a Crescent--a couple of +Squares. + +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 worlds 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. + +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 wifes, 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 oclock, and his +wife not at home. There was nothing unusual in that. He said, No; no +tea, and went upstairs. + +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. + +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 wifes 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. + +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 wifes 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. + +He recognized his wifes 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +He said very distinctly, and looking at the carpet, Shes gone. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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 couldnt 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. + +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! + +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! + +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 womans 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. + +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 ones +place in the forefront of life. + +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 wont. 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. + +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--Gods 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 Herveys 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 ones 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 . . . + +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 ones +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +How long do you intend to stay here? + +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: + +Must I go then? And he knew he meant nothing of what he implied. + +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: + +I dont understand--be so good as to . . . + +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. + +She said: Dont--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 Herveys 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. + +If you have forgotten anything . . . of course . . . I . . . + +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. + +What is the good of this, Alvan? . . . You know why I came back. . . . +You know that I could not . . . + +He interrupted her with irritation. + +Then! whats this? he asked, pointing downwards at the torn letter. + +Thats a mistake, she said hurriedly, in a muffled voice. + +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. + +A mistake . . . he began, slowly, and then found himself unable to say +another word. + +Yes . . . it was honest, she said very low, as if speaking to the +memory of a feeling in a remote past. + +He exploded. + +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? . . . + +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. + +You dont know the meaning of the word, he shouted. + +She did not flinch. He perceived with fear that everything around him +was still. She did not move a hairs 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. + +He said with villainous composure: + +At any rate it isnt enough for me. I want to know more--if youre +going to stay. + +There is nothing more to tell, she answered, sadly. + +It struck him as so very true that he did not say anything. She went on: + +You wouldnt understand. . . . + +No? he said, quietly. He held himself tight not to burst into howls +and imprecations. + +I tried to be faithful . . . she began again. + +And this? he exclaimed, pointing at the fragments of her letter. + +This--this is a failure, she said. + +I should think so, he muttered, bitterly. + +I tried to be faithful to myself--Alvan--and . . . and honest to +you. . . . + +If you had tried to be faithful to me it would have been more to the +purpose, he interrupted, angrily. Ive 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? + +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. + +I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself--and thats your +honesty! + +I have told you there is nothing to know, she said, speaking +unsteadily as if in pain. Nothing of what you suppose. You dont +understand me. This letter is the beginning--and the end. + +The end--this thing has no end, he clamoured, unexpectedly. Cant you +understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . . + +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. + +By Heavens! he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude +and within less than a foot from her. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +And I let him, she murmured, catching his intonation, so that her +voice sounded unconscious, sounded far off and slavish, like an echo. + +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 . . . Werent you happy? Didnt 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 couldnt be--they are much better than you could hope for when +you married me. . . . + +He forgot himself so far as to gesticulate a little while he went on +with animation: + +What could you expect from such a fellow? Hes an outsider--a rank +outsider. . . . If it hadnt been for my money . . . do you hear? . . . +for my money, he wouldnt know where to turn. His people wont have +anything to do with him. The fellows no class--no class at all. +Hes useful, certainly, thats why I . . . I thought you had enough +intelligence to see it. . . . And you . . . No! Its incredible! +What did he tell you? Do you care for no ones 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? + +Carried away by his feelings he took his head in both his hands and +repeated wildly: + +What have I done? . . . Tell me! What? . . . + +Nothing, she said. + +Ah! You see . . . you cant . . . 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: + +What on earth did you expect me to do? + +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: + +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 wasnt +that sort. . . . I had something better to do. But if you think I was +totally blind . . . + +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. + +I thought it beneath me to suspect you, he said, loftily. + +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. + +You ought to be perfectly frank with me, he said, slowly. + +You know everything, she answered, indistinctly, through her fingers. + +This letter. . . . Yes . . . but . . . + +And I came back, she exclaimed in a stifled voice; you know +everything. + +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. + +For your sake, he repeated. + +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-- + +Have you been meeting him often? + +Never! she cried into the palms of her hands. + +This answer seemed for a moment to take from him the power of speech. +His lips moved for some time before any sound came. + +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. + +When I made up my mind to go to him--I wrote, she said. + +But you didnt go to him, he took up in the same tone. How far did +you go? What made you come back? + +I didnt know myself, she murmured. Nothing of her moved but her lips. +He fixed her sternly. + +Did he expect this? Was he waiting for you? he asked. + +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-- + +And I suppose he is waiting yet? he asked, quickly. + +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. + +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. + +No! Its 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-- + +You deceived me--now you make a fool of him . . . Its awful! Why? + +I deceived myself! she exclaimed. + +Oh! Nonsense! he said, impatiently. + +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. + +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-- + +After all, I loved you. . . . + +I did not know, she whispered. + +Good God! he cried. Why do you imagine I married you? + +The indelicacy of his obtuseness angered her. + +Ah--why? she said through her teeth. + +He appeared overcome with horror, and watched her lips intently as +though in fear. + +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. + +He walked away smartly, and when he came back, close to her, he had a +flushed face. + +You seemed pretty well pleased, too--at the time, he hissed, with +scathing fury. I neednt ask whether you loved me. + +I know now I was perfectly incapable of such a thing, she said, +calmly, If I had, perhaps you would not have married me. + +Its very clear I would not have done it if I had known you--as I know +you now. + +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! + +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. + +What the devil am I to do now? + +He was still again. She seemed to understand, and moved to the door +firmly. + +Its very simple--Im going, she said aloud. + +At the sound of her voice he gave a start of surprise, looked at her +wildly, and asked in a piercing tone-- + +You. . . . Where? To him? + +No--alone--good-bye. + +The door-handle rattled under her groping hand as though she had been +trying to get out of some dark place. + +No--stay! he cried. + +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. + +He said, very hoarse and abrupt: It cant 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-- + +Do you speak the truth? + +She nodded. + +You have lived a lie, though, he said, suspiciously. + +Ah! You made it so easy, she answered. + +You reproach me--me! + +How could I? she said; I would have you no other--now. + +What do you mean by . . . he began, then checked himself, and without +waiting for an answer went on, I wont ask any questions. Is this +letter the worst of it? + +She had a nervous movement of her hands. + +I must have a plain answer, he said, hotly. + +Then, no! The worst is my coming back. + +There followed a period of dead silence, during which they exchanged +searching glances. + +He said authoritatively-- + +You dont know what you are saying. Your mind is unhinged. You are +beside yourself, or you would not say such things. You cant control +yourself. Even in your remorse . . . He paused a moment, then said with +a doctoral air: Self-restraint is everything in life, you know. Its +happiness, its dignity . . . its everything. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. Its misfortune; its disease. +It is terrible--terrible. We must not know anything about it--we +neednt. 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 dont conform to the +highest standards you are no one--its a kind of death. Didnt this +occur to you? Youve 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. . . . + +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. + +Rigid principles--adherence to what is right, he finished after a +pause. + +What is right? she said, distinctly, without uncovering her face. + +Your mind is diseased! he cried, upright and austere. Such a question +is rot--utter rot. Look round you--theres 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. . . . + +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. + +You must respect the moral foundations of a society that has made +you what you are. Be true to it. Thats duty--thats honour--thats +honesty. + +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. + +Whats 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! . . . + +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-- + +Ah! What am I now? + +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. + +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. + +Youve 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; Ive +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. . . . Didnt you feel you couldnt? +Because you couldnt . . . it was impossible--you know. Wasnt it? +Think. Wasnt it? + +It was impossible, she whispered, obediently. + +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; couldnt 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 ones 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-- + +I am glad you feel this . . . uncommonly glad . . . you felt this in +time. For, dont you see . . . Unexpectedly he hesitated. + +Yes . . . I see, she murmured. + +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. + +And to me, she breathed out. + +Now--yes, he said, but this morning? And to-morrow? . . . This is +what . . . + +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-- + +My position is very painful--difficult . . . I feel . . . + +He looked at her fixedly with a pained air, as though frightfully +oppressed by a sudden inability to express his pent-up ideas. + +I am ready to go, she said very low. I have forfeited everything +. . . to learn . . . to learn . . . + +Her chin fell on her breast; her voice died out in a sigh. He made a +slight gesture of impatient assent. + +Yes! Yes! Its all very well . . . of course. Forfeited--ah! Morally +forfeited--only morally forfeited . . . if I am to believe you . . . + +She startled him by jumping up. + +Oh! I believe, I believe, he said, hastily, and she sat down as +suddenly as she had got up. He went on gloomily-- + +Ive suffered--I suffer now. You cant understand how much. So much +that when you propose a parting I almost think. . . . But no. There is +duty. Youve 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 couldnt be--couldnt be--what it is. And we are +part of it. We have our duty to--to our fellow beings who dont want to +. . . to . . . er. + +He stammered. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her lips were +slightly parted. He went on mumbling-- + +. . . Pain. . . . Indignation. . . . Sure to misunderstand. Ive +suffered enough. And if there has been nothing irreparable--as you +assure me . . . then . . . + +Alvan! she cried. + +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. + +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. + +A moment of perfect stillness ensued. + +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 cant deny Ive been cruelly +wronged and--after all--my affection deserves . . . He paused with +evident anxiety to hear her speak. + +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. + +He listened to every word with profound attention, and when she ceased +seemed to wait for more. + +Is that all youve got to say? he asked. + +She was startled by his tone, and said faintly-- + +I spoke the truth. What more can I say? + +Confound it! You might say something human, he burst out. It isnt +being truthful; its 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. + +Words! she whispered in a tone that irritated him. He stamped his +foot. + +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. + +I cant bear this, she said, trembling from head to foot. I am +going. + +They stood facing one another for a moment. + +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. + +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. Ill +have no scandal in my life, no matter whats the cost. And why? You are +sure to misunderstand me--but Ill tell you. As a matter of duty. Yes. +But youre sure to misunderstand me--recklessly. Women always do--they +are too--too narrow-minded. + +He waited for a while, but she made no sound, didnt 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. + +For it is self-evident, he went on with anxious vivacity, it is +self-evident that, on the highest ground we havent the right--no, we +havent 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--dont +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 youll give me . . . +when you become again the woman I loved--and trusted. . . . + +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. + +Youll give me credit for--for--my motives. Its mainly loyalty to--to +the larger conditions of our life--where you--you! of all women--failed. +One doesnt usually talk like this--of course--but in this case youll +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 dont want +to say any more . . . on--on that point--but, believe me, true +unselfishness is to bear ones burdens in--in silence. The ideal +must--must be preserved--for others, at least. Its clear as daylight. +If Ive 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 ones 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. + +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: + +Yes. Perfectly clear. Ive been tried to the utmost, and I cant +pretend that, for a time, the old feelings--the old feelings are not. +. . . He sighed. . . . But I forgive you. . . . + +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. + +He lifted his head and repeated solemnly: + +I forgive you . . . from a sense of duty--and in the hope . . . + +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 couldnt 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: +thats 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. + +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! + +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. + +Whats the meaning of this? he asked, grimly. + +She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up. + +Youre not going to be absurd again, he said. Pon my soul, I did not +know you could forget yourself to that extent. He didnt 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. + +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. + +Pray, dont 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. . . . + +She pressed both her hands to her temples. + +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. + +She dropped her arms; her face twitched. She looked straight into his +eyes and seemed incapable of pronouncing a word. He frowned at her. + +I--wish--it, he said, tyrannically. For your own sake also. . . . + He meant to carry that point without any pity. Why didnt 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. + +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, Its 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. + +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 wifes +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. + +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. + +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 peoples 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 mans +face--he felt--of any mans 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 hadnt been. And it was very necessary for both of them, it was +morally right, that nobody should know. + +He spoke suddenly, as if concluding a discussion. + +The best thing for us is to forget all this. + +She started a little and shut the fan with a click. + +Yes, forgive--and forget, he repeated, as if to himself. + +Ill never forget, she said in a vibrating voice. And Ill never +forgive myself. . . . + +But I, who have nothing to reproach myself . . . He began, making a +step towards her. She jumped up. + +I did not come back for your forgiveness, she exclaimed, passionately, +as if clamouring against an unjust aspersion. + +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: + +But if my love is strong enough . . . and hesitated. + +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: + +Pon my word, I loved you--I love you now. + +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. + +She said nervously, and very fast: + +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. + +You wont believe me? he asked, slowly. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This is odious, she screamed. + +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 havent 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. + +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 hadnt 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 +others 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! + +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. + +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! + +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, Ill wait till she is gone--and stepped back +within the perpendicular folds of a portiere. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +Never! he said aloud to the revealing night. + +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 ones 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. + +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. + +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. + +He stammered distractedly. + +I want . . . I want . . . to . . . to . . . know . . . + +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. + +Alvan . . . I wont bear this . . . She began to pant suddenly, Ive +a right--a right to--to--myself . . . + +He lifted one arm, and appeared so menacing that she stopped in a fright +and shrank back a little. + +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. . . . + +Can you stand it? he shouted, as though she could have heard all his +thoughts. + +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: + +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-- + +Yes! + +He was shaken where he stood as if by a struggle to break out of +invisible bonds. She trembled from head to foot. + +Well, I cant! 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. + +He never returned. + + + + + +THE LAGOON + + +The white man, leaning with both arms over the roof of the little house +in the stern of the boat, said to the steersman-- + +We will pass the night in Arsats clearing. It is late. + +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 mans 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The steersman, pointing with his paddle, said, Arsat is there. I see +his canoe fast between the piles. + +The polers ran along the sides of the boat glancing over their shoulders +at the end of the days 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? + +So they thought, throwing their weight on the end of their long poles. +The big canoe glided on swiftly, noiselessly, and smoothly, towards +Arsats 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. + +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. + +Pass my blankets and the basket, said the white man, curtly. + +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-- + +Have you medicine, Tuan? + +No, said the visitor in a startled tone. No. Why? Is there sickness +in the house? + +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. + +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. + +Has she been long ill? asked the traveller. + +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! + +He remained silent for a minute, then asked softly-- + +Tuan, will she die? + +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. + +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. + +Arsat came through the doorway with noiseless steps and squatted down by +the fire. The white man moved his outstretched legs a little. + +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! + +He paused for a moment, then asked in a quiet, incurious tone-- + +Tuan . . . will she die? + +The white man moved his shoulders uneasily and muttered in a hesitating +manner-- + +If such is her fate. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +. . . for where can we lay down the heaviness of our trouble but in +a friends 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! + +I remember, said the white man, quietly. Arsat went on with mournful +composure-- + +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. + +A sigh, short and faint, marked an almost imperceptible pause, and then +his words flowed on, without a stir, without a gesture. + +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. + +He stopped to exclaim in an intense whisper, O Mara bahia! O Calamity! + then went on speaking a little louder: + +Theres 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 womens 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 Rulers 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. + +He paused, listened with his ear turned to the doorway, then shook his +head and went on: + +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 mens anger and of womens 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 Midahs fury and from our Rulers 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 brothers eyes, behind me, were +looking steadily ahead, for the boat went as straight as a bushmans +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! + +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 mens faces and passed on with +a mournful sound--a breath loud and short like an uneasy sigh of the +dreaming earth. + +Arsat went on in an even, low voice. + +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 Rajahs 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 fishermans 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 dont 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! + +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. + +Arsats voice vibrated loudly in the profound peace. + +I had her there! I had her! To get her I would have faced all mankind. +But I had her--and-- + +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-- + +Tuan, I loved my brother. + +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-- + +We all love our brothers. + +Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence-- + +What did I care who died? I wanted peace in my own heart. + +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-- + +She burns no more. + +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. Arsats eyes wandered slowly, then stared +at the rising sun. + +I can see nothing, he said half aloud to himself. + +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. + +If you want to come with me, I will wait all the morning, said the +white man, looking away upon the water. + +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. + +He drew a long breath and went on in a dreamy tone: + +In a little while I shall see clear enough to strike--to strike. But +she has died, and . . . now . . . darkness. + +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 boats 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. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF UNREST *** + +***** This file should be named 1202.txt or 1202.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/0/1202/ + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase Project +Gutenberg), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (the Foundation + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase Project Gutenberg appears, or with which the phrase Project +Gutenberg is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase Project Gutenberg associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +Plain Vanilla ASCII or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original Plain Vanilla ASCII or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +Defects, such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the Right +of Replacement or Refund described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you AS-IS WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tms +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundations EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your states laws. + +The Foundations principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundations web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/1202-8.zip b/old/1202-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a91a207 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1202-8.zip diff --git a/old/1202-h.zip b/old/1202-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e6d8bb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1202-h.zip diff --git a/old/1202-h/1202-h.htm b/old/1202-h/1202-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53d86e2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1202-h/1202-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7270 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of Unrest + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #1202] +Last Updated: September 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF UNREST *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF UNREST *** + +***** This file should be named 1202-h.htm or 1202-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/0/1202/ + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/old/1202.txt b/old/1202.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0eb6cc6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1202.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6544 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of Unrest + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #1202] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF UNREST *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + +By Joseph Conrad + + + +"Be it thy course to being giddy minds With foreign quarrels." +--SHAKESPEARE + + + +TO ADOLF P. KRIEGER FOR THE SAKE OF OLD DAYS + + + +CONTENTS + +KARAIN: A MEMORY + +THE IDIOTS + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + +THE RETURN + +THE LAGOON + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +J. C. + + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + + + + +KARAIN, A MEMORY + + +I + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"We did not hear your boat's hail!" I exclaimed. + +"Boat! The man's swum off," drawled out Hollis from the locker. "Look at +him!" + +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. + +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. + +"What's that?" asked Hollis, who had not heard. + +"He apologizes for coming in with a weapon in his hand," I said, +dazedly. + +"Ceremonious beggar. Tell him we forgive a friend . . . on such a +night," drawled out Hollis. "What's wrong?" + +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. + +"All right now," he said. + +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. + +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-- + +"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 . . ." + +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-- + +"Be firm." + +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-- + +"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." + +He was silent for a while, then exclaimed softly-- + +"Oh! the strength of unbelievers!" + +"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. + +"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." + +He turned to me. + +"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!" + +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-- + +"Where is the danger?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + +IV + +This is, imperfectly, what he said-- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"On the third night we two left our land together in a trading prau. + +"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.' + +"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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! . . ." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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! + +"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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + + +V + +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. + +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. + +"I lived in the forest. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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? . . ." + +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-- + +"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 . . ." + +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-- + +"You must abide with your people. They need you. And there is +forgetfulness in life. Even the dead cease to speak in time." + +"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-- + +"You won't soothe him with your platitudes." + +Karain spoke to me. + +"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!" + +"Capital description," murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile. + +Karain hung his head. + +"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! . . ." + +He seemed utterly exhausted. + +"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." + +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. + +He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had +been dozing. + +"Give me your protection--or your strength!" he cried. "A charm . . . a +weapon!" + +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. + +"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. + +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! + +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." + +Probably we looked only surprised and stupid, for he glanced over his +shoulder, and said angrily-- + +"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!" + +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. + + +VI + +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. + +"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 . . ." + +He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the +deck. Jackson spoke seriously-- + +"Don't be so beastly cynical." + +"Ah! You are without guile," said Hollis, sadly. "You will learn . . . +Meantime this Malay has been our friend . . ." + +He repeated several times thoughtfully, "Friend . . . Malay. Friend, +Malay," as though weighing the words against one another, then went on +more briskly-- + +"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 . . ." + +He turned to me sharply. + +"You know him best," he said, in a practical tone. "Do you think he is +fanatical--I mean very strict in his faith?" + +I stammered in profound amazement that "I did not think so." + +"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. + +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 . . . + +Hollis rummaged in the box. + +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. + +"Ah! here it is," he said. + +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. + +"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 . . ." + +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. + +"This is the image of the Great Queen, and the most powerful thing the +white men know," he said, solemnly. + +Karain covered the handle of his kriss in sign of respect, and stared at +the crowned head. + +"The Invincible, the Pious," he muttered. + +"She is more powerful than Suleiman the Wise, who commanded the genii, +as you know," said Hollis, gravely. "I shall give this to you." + +He held the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and looking at it +thoughtfully, spoke to us in English. + +"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." + +"His people will be shocked," I murmured. + +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. + +"Hang it all!" said Hollis at last, "he is a good fellow. I'll give him +something that I shall really miss." + +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. + +"I shall make him a thing like those Italian peasants wear, you know." + +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. + +"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-- + +"He is young, but he is wise. Believe him!" + +Karain bent his head: Hollis threw lightly over it the dark-blue ribbon +and stepped back. + +"Forget, and be at peace!" I cried. + +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. + +"Time to go on deck," said Jackson. + +Hollis put on a coat, and we went up, Karain leading. + +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. + +"He is not there," I said, emphatically, to Karain. "He waits no more. +He has departed forever." + +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. + +"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!" + +He turned to us. + +"He has departed again--forever!" he cried. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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-- + +"Do you remember Karain?" + +I nodded. + +"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." + +We walked on. + +"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--" + +I stood still and looked at him. + +"Yes . . . I mean, whether the thing was so, you know . . . whether it +really happened to him. . . . What do you think?" + +"My dear chap," I cried, "you have been too long away from home. What a +question to ask! Only look at all this." + +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. + +"Ye-e-e-s," said Jackson, meditatively. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +I think that, decidedly, he had been too long away from home. + + + + + +THE IDIOTS + + +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-- + +"The idiot!" + +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. + +"Here he is," said the driver, again. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah! there's another," said the man, with a certain satisfaction in his +tone, as if he had caught sight of something expected. + +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. + +"Those are twins," explained the driver. + +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. + +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-- + +"We shall see some more of them by-and-by." + +"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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-- + +"When they sleep they are like other people's children." + +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-- + +"We must see . . . consult people. Don't cry. . . . They won't all be +like that . . . surely! We must sleep now." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . ." + +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-- + +"See what your God will do for us. Pay for some masses." + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"What do you think is there?" + +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-- + +"Hey there! Come out!" + +"Jean! Return! Return!" entreated his wife in low tones. + +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. + +"Hey! Come out!" shouted Jean-Pierre, loudly. + +The nightingales ceased to sing. + +"Nobody?" went on Jean-Pierre. "Nobody there. A swindle of the crows. +That's what this is. Nobody anywhere. I despise it. _Allez! Houp!_" + +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-- + +"See? Nobody. I've been made a fool! _Malheur!_ 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. . . ." + +She burst out through the fingers that hid her face-- + +"Don't say that, Jean; don't say that, my man!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"Mother!" + +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. + +Susan, soaked and muddy, stared the whole length of the room towards the +men at the far end. Her mother asked-- + +"What has happened? God guard us from misfortune!" + +Susan moved her lips. No sound came. Madame Levaille stepped up to her +daughter, took her by the arm, looked into her face. + +"In God's name," she said, shakily, "what's the matter? You have been +rolling in mud. . . . Why did you come? . . . Where's Jean?" + +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-- + +"Enough of this! Out you go--you others! I close." + +One of them observed, looking down at Susan collapsed on the seat: "She +is--one may say--half dead." + +Madame Levaille flung the door open. + +"Get out! March!" she cried, shaking nervously. + +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. + +"Speak, Susan. What is it? Speak!" entreated Madame Levaille, as soon as +the door was shut. + +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-- + +"Does Jean know where you are? Where is Jean?" + +"He knows . . . he is dead." + +"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?" + +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. + +Suddenly, Susan said-- + +"I have killed him." + +For a moment the mother stood still, almost unbreathing, but with +composed face. The next second she burst out into a shout-- + +"You miserable madwoman . . . they will cut your neck. . . ." + +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-- + +"Why? Say! Say! Why?" + +The other seemed to leap out of her strange apathy. + +"Do you think I am made of stone?" she shouted back, striding towards +her mother. + +"No! It's impossible . . ." said Madame Levaille, in a convinced tone. + +"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?" + +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-- + +"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!" + +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. + +"Nothing worse than in this," said Susan. + +Her mother, umbrella in hand and trailing the shawl over the floor, +groaned profoundly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"Susan!" she shouted from the doorstep. + +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-- + +"Susan! You will kill yourself there." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . ." + +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. . . . + +Below her the night or the sea seemed to pronounce distinctly-- + +"Aha! I see you at last!" + +She started, slipped, fell; and without attempting to rise, listened, +terrified. She heard heavy breathing, a clatter of wooden clogs. It +stopped. + +"Where the devil did you pass?" said an invisible man, hoarsely. + +She held her breath. She recognized the voice. She had not seen him +fall. Was he pursuing her there dead, or perhaps . . . alive? + +She lost her head. She cried from the crevice where she lay huddled, +"Never, never!" + +"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. . . ." + +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?" + +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. + +"Where are you going to?" he called, roughly. + +She answered, "Home!" and watched him intensely. He made a striding, +clumsy leap on to another boulder, and stopped again, balancing himself, +then said-- + +"Ha! ha! Well, I am going with you. It's the least I can do. Ha! ha! +ha!" + +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. + +The man said, advancing another step-- + +"I am coming for you. What do you think?" + +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-- + +"Can't you wait till I am dead!" + +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. + +"Hey! What?" said Millot, keeping his distance prudently. He was saying +to himself: "Look out! Some lunatic. An accident happens soon." + +She went on, wildly-- + +"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!" + +"Come," said Millot, alarmed and conciliating. "I am perfectly alive! +. . . Oh, my God!" + +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. + +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!" + +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-- + +"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." + +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." + + + + + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + + +I + +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." + +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!" + +"They will form themselves there," said the old stager with a quiet +smile. + +"At any rate, I am rid of them for six months," retorted the director. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger +up twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty +indulgence, would say-- + +"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." + +Kayerts approved. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +Five months passed in that way. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," replied Kayerts. "Hey, Makola, what does he say? Where do they +come from? Who are they?" + +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." + +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. + +"I don't like those chaps--and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from the +coast; they've got firearms," observed the sagacious Carlier. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + + +II + +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. + +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?" + +"Yes," said Kayerts, eagerly. He thought of percentages which were low. + +"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." + +"Certainly," said Kayerts. "What are those traders?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I can't help it; the men won't work," said Kayerts. "When will you get +that ivory?" + +"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." + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +"I can hardly believe it," said Kayerts, tearfully. "We took care of +them as if they had been our children." + +"They went with the coast people," said Makola after a moment of +hesitation. + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +"What did you give for it?" asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot with +satisfaction. + +"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." + +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. + +"I did the best for you and the Company," said Makola, imperturbably. +"Why you shout so much? Look at this tusk." + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +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?" + +"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." + +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-- + +"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?" + +"We can't touch it, of course," said Kayerts. + +"Of course not," assented Carlier. + +"Slavery is an awful thing," stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady voice. + +"Frightful--the sufferings," grunted Carlier with conviction. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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!" + +"For the sick," muttered Kayerts, without looking up. + +"For the sick," mocked Carlier. "Bosh! . . . Well! I am sick." + +"You are no more sick than I am, and I go without," said Kayerts in a +peaceful tone. + +"Come! out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer." + +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-- + +"That joke is in very bad taste. Don't repeat it." + +"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!" + +"I forbid you to speak to me in that way," said Kayerts with a fair show +of resolution. + +"You!--What?" shouted Carlier, jumping up. + +Kayerts stood up also. "I am your chief," he began, trying to master the +shakiness of his voice. + +"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." + +"Hold your tongue. Go out of this room," screamed Kayerts. "I dismiss +you--you scoundrel!" + +Carlier swung a stool. All at once he looked dangerously in earnest. +"You flabby, good-for-nothing civilian--take that!" he howled. + +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." + +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. + +And now he ran. He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the other +man. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"Is this your revolver?" asked Makola, getting up. + +"Yes," said Kayerts; then he added very quickly, "He ran after me to +shoot me--you saw!" + +"Yes, I saw," said Makola. "There is only one revolver; where's his?" + +"Don't know," whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly very +faint. + +"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. + +After meditating for a while, Makola said softly, pointing at the dead +man who lay there with his right eye blown out-- + +"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." + +And he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white men +alone on the verandah. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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-- + +"Steamer! Steamer! They can't see. They whistle for the station. I go +ring the bell. Go down to the landing, sir. I ring." + +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. + +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. + +The Director shouted loudly to the steamer: + +"There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, though +they are ringing. You had better come, too!" + +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!" + +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. + + + + + +THE RETURN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +He said very distinctly, and looking at the carpet, "She's gone." + +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 . . . + +"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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"How long do you intend to stay here?" + +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: + +"Must I go then?" And he knew he meant nothing of what he implied. + +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: + +"I don't understand--be so good as to . . ." + +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. + +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. + +"If you have forgotten anything . . . of course . . . I . . ." + +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. + +"What is the good of this, Alvan? . . . You know why I came back. . . . +You know that I could not . . ." + +He interrupted her with irritation. + +"Then! what's this?" he asked, pointing downwards at the torn letter. + +"That's a mistake," she said hurriedly, in a muffled voice. + +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. + +"A mistake . . ." he began, slowly, and then found himself unable to say +another word. + +"Yes . . . it was honest," she said very low, as if speaking to the +memory of a feeling in a remote past. + +He exploded. + +"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? . . ." + +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. + +"You don't know the meaning of the word," he shouted. + +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. + +He said with villainous composure: + +"At any rate it isn't enough for me. I want to know more--if you're +going to stay." + +"There is nothing more to tell," she answered, sadly. + +It struck him as so very true that he did not say anything. She went on: + +"You wouldn't understand. . . ." + +"No?" he said, quietly. He held himself tight not to burst into howls +and imprecations. + +"I tried to be faithful . . ." she began again. + +"And this?" he exclaimed, pointing at the fragments of her letter. + +"This--this is a failure," she said. + +"I should think so," he muttered, bitterly. + +"I tried to be faithful to myself--Alvan--and . . . and honest to +you. . . ." + +"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?" + +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. + +"I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself--and that's your +honesty!" + +"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." + +"The end--this thing has no end," he clamoured, unexpectedly. "Can't you +understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . ." + +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. + +"By Heavens!" he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude +and within less than a foot from her. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"And I let him," she murmured, catching his intonation, so that her +voice sounded unconscious, sounded far off and slavish, like an echo. + +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. . . ." + +He forgot himself so far as to gesticulate a little while he went on +with animation: + +"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?" + +Carried away by his feelings he took his head in both his hands and +repeated wildly: + +"What have I done? . . . Tell me! What? . . ." + +"Nothing," she said. + +"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: + +"What on earth did you expect me to do?" + +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: + +"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 . . ." + +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. + +"I thought it beneath me to suspect you," he said, loftily. + +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. + +"You ought to be perfectly frank with me," he said, slowly. + +"You know everything," she answered, indistinctly, through her fingers. + +"This letter. . . . Yes . . . but . . ." + +"And I came back," she exclaimed in a stifled voice; "you know +everything." + +"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. + +"For your sake," he repeated. + +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-- + +"Have you been meeting him often?" + +"Never!" she cried into the palms of her hands. + +This answer seemed for a moment to take from him the power of speech. +His lips moved for some time before any sound came. + +"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. + +"When I made up my mind to go to him--I wrote," she said. + +"But you didn't go to him," he took up in the same tone. "How far did +you go? What made you come back?" + +"I didn't know myself," she murmured. Nothing of her moved but her lips. +He fixed her sternly. + +"Did he expect this? Was he waiting for you?" he asked. + +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-- + +"And I suppose he is waiting yet?" he asked, quickly. + +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. + +"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. + +"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-- + +"You deceived me--now you make a fool of him . . . It's awful! Why?" + +"I deceived myself!" she exclaimed. + +"Oh! Nonsense!" he said, impatiently. + +"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. + +"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-- + +"After all, I loved you. . . ." + +"I did not know," she whispered. + +"Good God!" he cried. "Why do you imagine I married you?" + +The indelicacy of his obtuseness angered her. + +"Ah--why?" she said through her teeth. + +He appeared overcome with horror, and watched her lips intently as +though in fear. + +"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." + +He walked away smartly, and when he came back, close to her, he had a +flushed face. + +"You seemed pretty well pleased, too--at the time," he hissed, with +scathing fury. "I needn't ask whether you loved me." + +"I know now I was perfectly incapable of such a thing," she said, +calmly, "If I had, perhaps you would not have married me." + +"It's very clear I would not have done it if I had known you--as I know +you now." + +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!" + +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. + +"What the devil am I to do now?" + +He was still again. She seemed to understand, and moved to the door +firmly. + +"It's very simple--I'm going," she said aloud. + +At the sound of her voice he gave a start of surprise, looked at her +wildly, and asked in a piercing tone-- + +"You. . . . Where? To him?" + +"No--alone--good-bye." + +The door-handle rattled under her groping hand as though she had been +trying to get out of some dark place. + +"No--stay!" he cried. + +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. + +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-- + +"Do you speak the truth?" + +She nodded. + +"You have lived a lie, though," he said, suspiciously. + +"Ah! You made it so easy," she answered. + +"You reproach me--me!" + +"How could I?" she said; "I would have you no other--now." + +"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?" + +She had a nervous movement of her hands. + +"I must have a plain answer," he said, hotly. + +"Then, no! The worst is my coming back." + +There followed a period of dead silence, during which they exchanged +searching glances. + +He said authoritatively-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"Rigid principles--adherence to what is right," he finished after a +pause. + +"What is right?" she said, distinctly, without uncovering her face. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'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! . . ." + +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-- + +"Ah! What am I now?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"It was impossible," she whispered, obediently. + +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-- + +"I am glad you feel this . . . uncommonly glad . . . you felt this in +time. For, don't you see . . ." Unexpectedly he hesitated. + +"Yes . . . I see," she murmured. + +"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." + +"And to me," she breathed out. + +"Now--yes," he said, "but this morning? And to-morrow? . . . This is +what . . ." + +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-- + +"My position is very painful--difficult . . . I feel . . ." + +He looked at her fixedly with a pained air, as though frightfully +oppressed by a sudden inability to express his pent-up ideas. + +"I am ready to go," she said very low. "I have forfeited everything +. . . to learn . . . to learn . . ." + +Her chin fell on her breast; her voice died out in a sigh. He made a +slight gesture of impatient assent. + +"Yes! Yes! It's all very well . . . of course. Forfeited--ah! Morally +forfeited--only morally forfeited . . . if I am to believe you . . ." + +She startled him by jumping up. + +"Oh! I believe, I believe," he said, hastily, and she sat down as +suddenly as she had got up. He went on gloomily-- + +"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." + +He stammered. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her lips were +slightly parted. He went on mumbling-- + +". . . Pain. . . . Indignation. . . . Sure to misunderstand. I've +suffered enough. And if there has been nothing irreparable--as you +assure me . . . then . . ." + +"Alvan!" she cried. + +"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. + +"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." + +A moment of perfect stillness ensued. + +"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. + +"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." + +He listened to every word with profound attention, and when she ceased +seemed to wait for more. + +"Is that all you've got to say?" he asked. + +She was startled by his tone, and said faintly-- + +"I spoke the truth. What more can I say?" + +"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." + +"Words!" she whispered in a tone that irritated him. He stamped his +foot. + +"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. + +"I can't bear this," she said, trembling from head to foot. "I am +going." + +They stood facing one another for a moment. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +He lifted his head and repeated solemnly: + +"I forgive you . . . from a sense of duty--and in the hope . . ." + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, grimly. + +She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +She pressed both her hands to her temples. + +"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." + +She dropped her arms; her face twitched. She looked straight into his +eyes and seemed incapable of pronouncing a word. He frowned at her. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He spoke suddenly, as if concluding a discussion. + +"The best thing for us is to forget all this." + +She started a little and shut the fan with a click. + +"Yes, forgive--and forget," he repeated, as if to himself. + +"I'll never forget," she said in a vibrating voice. "And I'll never +forgive myself. . . ." + +"But I, who have nothing to reproach myself . . ." He began, making a +step towards her. She jumped up. + +"I did not come back for your forgiveness," she exclaimed, passionately, +as if clamouring against an unjust aspersion. + +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: + +"But if my love is strong enough . . ." and hesitated. + +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: + +"'Pon my word, I loved you--I love you now." + +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. + +She said nervously, and very fast: + +"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." + +"You won't believe me?" he asked, slowly. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"This is odious," she screamed. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +"Never!" he said aloud to the revealing night. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He stammered distractedly. + +"I want . . . I want . . . to . . . to . . . know . . ." + +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. + +"Alvan . . . I won't bear this . . ." She began to pant suddenly, "I've +a right--a right to--to--myself . . ." + +He lifted one arm, and appeared so menacing that she stopped in a fright +and shrank back a little. + +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. . . . + +"Can you stand it?" he shouted, as though she could have heard all his +thoughts. + +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: + +"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-- + +"Yes!" + +He was shaken where he stood as if by a struggle to break out of +invisible bonds. She trembled from head to foot. + +"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. + +He never returned. + + + + + +THE LAGOON + + +The white man, leaning with both arms over the roof of the little house +in the stern of the boat, said to the steersman-- + +"We will pass the night in Arsat's clearing. It is late." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The steersman, pointing with his paddle, said, "Arsat is there. I see +his canoe fast between the piles." + +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? + +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. + +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." + +"Pass my blankets and the basket," said the white man, curtly. + +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-- + +"Have you medicine, Tuan?" + +"No," said the visitor in a startled tone. "No. Why? Is there sickness +in the house?" + +"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. + +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. + +"Has she been long ill?" asked the traveller. + +"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!" + +He remained silent for a minute, then asked softly-- + +"Tuan, will she die?" + +"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. + +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. + +Arsat came through the doorway with noiseless steps and squatted down by +the fire. The white man moved his outstretched legs a little. + +"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!" + +He paused for a moment, then asked in a quiet, incurious tone-- + +"Tuan . . . will she die?" + +The white man moved his shoulders uneasily and muttered in a hesitating +manner-- + +"If such is her fate." + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +". . . 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!" + +"I remember," said the white man, quietly. Arsat went on with mournful +composure-- + +"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." + +A sigh, short and faint, marked an almost imperceptible pause, and then +his words flowed on, without a stir, without a gesture. + +"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." + +He stopped to exclaim in an intense whisper, "O Mara bahia! O Calamity!" +then went on speaking a little louder: + +"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." + +He paused, listened with his ear turned to the doorway, then shook his +head and went on: + +"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!" + +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. + +Arsat went on in an even, low voice. + +"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!" + +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. + +Arsat's voice vibrated loudly in the profound peace. + +"I had her there! I had her! To get her I would have faced all mankind. +But I had her--and--" + +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-- + +"Tuan, I loved my brother." + +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-- + +"We all love our brothers." + +Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence-- + +"What did I care who died? I wanted peace in my own heart." + +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-- + +"She burns no more." + +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. + +"I can see nothing," he said half aloud to himself. + +"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. + +"If you want to come with me, I will wait all the morning," said the +white man, looking away upon the water. + +"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." + +He drew a long breath and went on in a dreamy tone: + +"In a little while I shall see clear enough to strike--to strike. But +she has died, and . . . now . . . darkness." + +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. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Unrest, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF UNREST *** + +***** This file should be named 1202.txt or 1202.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/0/1202/ + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/1202.zip b/old/1202.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a07fda --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1202.zip diff --git a/old/old/tnrst10.txt b/old/old/tnrst10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9386710 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/tnrst10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6566 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad +#20 in our series by Joseph Conrad + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Joseph Conrad + +by Joseph Conrad + +January, 1998 [Etext #1202] + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad +*****This file should be named tnrst10.txt or tnrst10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, tnrst11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tnrst10a.txt. + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we do NOT keep these books +in compliance with any particular paper edition, usually otherwise. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month: or 400 more Etexts in 1996 for a total of 800. +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach 80 billion Etexts. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + + + +TALES OF UNREST + +BY + +JOSEPH CONRAD + + + +"Be it thy course to being giddy minds +With foreign quarrels." +-- SHAKESPEARE + + + +TO +ADOLF P. KRIEGER +FOR THE SAKE OF +OLD DAYS + + + +CONTENTS + +KARAIN: A MEMORY +THE IDIOTS +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS +THE RETURN +THE LAGOON + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +J. C. + + + + + +TALES OF UNREST + + + +KARAIN A MEMORY + + +I + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"We did not hear your boat's hail!" I exclaimed. + +"Boat! The man's swum off," drawled out Hollis from the locker. "Look +at him!" + +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. + +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. + +"What's that?" asked Hollis, who had not heard. + +"He apologizes for coming in with a weapon in his hand," I said, +dazedly. + +"Ceremonious beggar. Tell him we forgive a friend . . . on such a +night," drawled out Hollis. "What's wrong?" + +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. + +"All right now," he said. + +Karain's lips moved slightly. A vivid flash of lightning made the two +round sternports 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. + +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-- + +"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 . . ." + +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-- + +"Be firm." + +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-- + +"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." + +He was silent for a while, then exclaimed softly-- + +"Oh! the strength of unbelievers!" + +"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. + +"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." + +He turned to me. + +"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!" + +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-- + +"Where is the danger?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + +IV + +This is, imperfectly, what he said-- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"On the third night we two left our land together in a trading prau. + +"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.' + +"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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! . . ." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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! + +"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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + + +V + +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. + +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. + +"I lived in the forest. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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? . . ." + +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-- + +"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 . . ." + +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-- + +"You must abide with your people. They need you. And there is +forgetfulness in life. Even the dead cease to speak in time." + +"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-- + +"You won't soothe him with your platitudes." + +Karain spoke to me. + +"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!" + +"Capital description," murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile. + +Karain hung his head. + +"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! . . ." + +He seemed utterly exhausted. + +"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." + +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. + +He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had +been dozing. + +"Give me your protection--or your strength!" he cried. "A charm . . . +a weapon!" + +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. + +"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. + +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! + +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." + +Probably we looked only surprised and stupid, for he glanced over his +shoulder, and said angrily-- + +"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!" + +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. + + +VI + +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. + +"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 . . ." + +He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the +deck. Jackson spoke seriously-- + +"Don't be so beastly cynical." + +"Ah! You are without guile," said Hollis, sadly. "You will learn . . . +Meantime this Malay has been our friend . . ." + +He repeated several times thoughtfully, "Friend . . . Malay. Friend, +Malay," as though weighing the words against one another, then went on +more briskly-- + +"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 . . ." + +He turned to me sharply. + +"You know him best," he said, in a practical tone. "Do you think he is +fanatical--I mean very strict in his faith?" + +I stammered in profound amazement that "I did not think so." + +"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. + +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 . . . + +Hollis rummaged in the box. + +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. + +"Ah! here it is," he said. + +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. + +"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 . . ." + +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. + +"This is the image of the Great Queen, and the most powerful thing the +white men know," he said, solemnly. + +Karain covered the handle of his kriss in sign of respect, and stared +at the crowned head. + +"The Invincible, the Pious," he muttered. + +"She is more powerful than Suleiman the Wise, who commanded the genii, +as you know," said Hollis, gravely. "I shall give this to you." + +He held the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and looking at it +thoughtfully, spoke to us in English. + +"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." + +"His people will be shocked," I murmured. + +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. + +"Hang it all!" said Hollis at last, "he is a good fellow. I'll give +him something that I shall really miss." + +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. + +"I shall make him a thing like those Italian peasants wear, you know." + +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. + +"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-- + +"He is young, but he is wise. Believe him!" + +Karain bent his head: Hollis threw lightly over it the dark-blue +ribbon and stepped back. + +"Forget, and be at peace!" I cried. + +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. + +"Time to go on deck," said Jackson. + +Hollis put on a coat, and we went up, Karain leading. + +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. + +"He is not there," I said, emphatically, to Karain. "He waits no more. +He has departed forever." + +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. + +"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!" + +He turned to us. + +"He has departed again--forever!" he cried. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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-- + +"Do you remember Karain?" + +I nodded. + +"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." + +We walked on. + +"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--" + +I stood still and looked at him. + +"Yes . . . I mean, whether the thing was so, you know . . . whether it +really happened to him. . . . What do you think?" + +"My dear chap," I cried, "you have been too long away from home. What +a question to ask! Only look at all this." + +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. + +"Ye-e-e-s," said Jackson, meditatively. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +I think that, decidedly, he had been too long away from home. + + + +THE IDIOTS + +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-- + +"The idiot!" + +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. + +"Here he is," said the driver, again. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah! there's another," said the man, with a certain satisfaction in +his tone, as if he had caught sight of something expected. + +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. + +"Those are twins," explained the driver. + +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. + +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-- + +"We shall see some more of them by-and-by." + +"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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-- + +"When they sleep they are like other people's children." + +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-- + +"We must see . . . consult people. Don't cry. . . . They won't all be +like that . . . surely! We must sleep now." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . ." + +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-- + +"See what your God will do for us. Pay for some masses." + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"What do you think is there?" + +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-- + +"Hey there! Come out!" + +"Jean! Return! Return!" entreated his wife in low tones. + +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. + +"Hey! Come out!" shouted Jean-Pierre, loudly. + +The nightingales ceased to sing. + +"Nobody?" went on Jean-Pierre. "Nobody there. A swindle of the crows. +That's what this is. Nobody anywhere. I despise it. Allez! Houp!" + +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-- + +"See? Nobody. I've been made a fool! Malheur! 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. . . ." + +She burst out through the fingers that hid her face-- + +"Don't say that, Jean; don't say that, my man!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"Mother!" + +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. + +Susan, soaked and muddy, stared the whole length of the room towards +the men at the far end. Her mother asked-- + +"What has happened? God guard us from misfortune!" + +Susan moved her lips. No sound came. Madame Levaille stepped up to her +daughter, took her by the arm, looked into her face. + +"In God's name," she said, shakily, "what's the matter? You have been +rolling in mud. . . . Why did you come? . . . Where's Jean?" + +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-- + +"Enough of this! Out you go--you others! I close." + +One of them observed, looking down at Susan collapsed on the seat: +"She is--one may say--half dead." + +Madame Levaille flung the door open. + +"Get out! March!" she cried, shaking nervously. + +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. + +"Speak, Susan. What is it? Speak!" entreated Madame Levaille, as soon +as the door was shut. + +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-- + +"Does Jean know where you are? Where is Jean?" + +"He knows . . . he is dead." + +"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?" + +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. + +Suddenly, Susan said-- + +"I have killed him." + +For a moment the mother stood still, almost unbreathing, but with +composed face. The next second she burst out into a shout-- + +"You miserable madwoman . . . they will cut your neck. . . ." + +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-- + +"Why? Say! Say! Why?" + +The other seemed to leap out of her strange apathy. + +"Do you think I am made of stone?" she shouted back, striding towards +her mother. + +"No! It's impossible. . . ." said Madame Levaille, in a convinced +tone. + +"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?" + +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-- + +"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!" + +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. + +"Nothing worse than in this," said Susan. + +Her mother, umbrella in hand and trailing the shawl over the floor, +groaned profoundly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"Susan!" she shouted from the doorstep. + +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-- + +"Susan! You will kill yourself there." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . ." + +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. . . . + +Below her the night or the sea seemed to pronounce distinctly-- + +"Aha! I see you at last!" + +She started, slipped, fell; and without attempting to rise, listened, +terrified. She heard heavy breathing, a clatter of wooden clogs. It +stopped. + +"Where the devil did you pass?" said an invisible man, hoarsely. + +She held her breath. She recognized the voice. She had not seen him +fall. Was he pursuing her there dead, or perhaps . . . alive? + +She lost her head. She cried from the crevice where she lay huddled, +"Never, never!" + +"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. . . ." + +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?" + +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. + +"Where are you going to?" he called, roughly. + +She answered, "Home!" and watched him intensely. He made a striding, +clumsy leap on to another boulder, and stopped again, balancing +himself, then said-- + +"Ha! ha! Well, I am going with you. It's the least I can do. Ha! ha! +ha!" + +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. + +The man said, advancing another step-- + +"I am coming for you. What do you think?" + +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-- + +"Can't you wait till I am dead!" + +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. + +"Hey! What?" said Millot, keeping his distance prudently. He was +saying to himself: "Look out! Some lunatic. An accident happens soon." + +She went on, wildly-- + +"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!" + +"Come," said Millot, alarmed and conciliating. "I am perfectly alive! +. . . Oh, my God!" + +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. + +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!" + +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-- + +"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." + +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." + + + +AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS + + +I + +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." + +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!" + +"They will form themselves there," said the old stager with a quiet +smile. + +"At any rate, I am rid of them for six months," retorted the +director. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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 appoint- +ment 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. + +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!" + +Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger +up twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty +indulgence, would say-- + +"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." + +Kayerts approved. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +Five months passed in that way. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," replied Kayerts. "Hey, Makola, what does he say? Where do they +come from? Who are they?" + +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." + +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. + +"I don't like those chaps--and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from the +coast; they've got firearms," observed the sagacious Carlier. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + + +II + +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. + +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?" + +"Yes," said Kayerts, eagerly. He thought of percentages which were +low. + +"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." + +"Certainly," said Kayerts. "What are those traders?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I can't help it; the men won't work," said Kayerts. "When will you +get that ivory?" + +"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." + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +"I can hardly believe it," said Kayerts, tearfully. "We took care of +them as if they had been our children." + +"They went with the coast people," said Makola after a moment of +hesitation. + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +"What did you give for it?" asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot +with satisfaction. + +"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." + +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. + +"I did the best for you and the Company," said Makola, imperturbably. +"Why you shout so much? Look at this tusk." + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +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?" + +"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." + +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-- + +"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?" + +"We can't touch it, of course," said Kayerts. + +"Of course not," assented Carlier. + +"Slavery is an awful thing," stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady +voice. + +"Frightful--the sufferings," grunted Carlier with conviction. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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!" + +"For the sick," muttered Kayerts, without looking up. + +"For the sick," mocked Carlier. "Bosh! . . . Well! I am sick." + +"You are no more sick than I am, and I go without," said Kayerts in a +peaceful tone. + +"Come! out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer." + +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-- + +"That joke is in very bad taste. Don't repeat it." + +"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!" + +"I forbid you to speak to me in that way," said Kayerts with a fair +show of resolution. + +"You!--What?" shouted Carlier, jumping up. + +Kayerts stood up also. "I am your chief," he began, trying to master +the shakiness of his voice. + +"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." + +"Hold your tongue. Go out of this room," screamed Kayerts. "I dismiss +you--you scoundrel!" + +Carlier swung a stool. All at once he looked dangerously in earnest. +"You flabby, good-for-nothing civilian--take that!" he howled. + +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." + +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. + +And now he ran. He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the other +man. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"Is this your revolver?" asked Makola, getting up. + +"Yes," said Kayerts; then he added very quickly, "He ran after me to +shoot me--you saw!" + +"Yes, I saw," said Makola. "There is only one revolver; where's his?" + +"Don't know," whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly +very faint. + +"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. + +After meditating for a while, Makola said softly, pointing at the dead +man who lay there with his right eye blown out-- + +"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." + +And he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white +men alone on the verandah. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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-- + +"Steamer! Steamer! They can't see. They whistle for the station. I go +ring the bell. Go down to the landing, sir. I ring." + +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. + +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. + +The Director shouted loudly to the steamer: + +"There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, though +they are ringing. You had better come, too!" + +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!" + +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. + + + +THE RETURN + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 parlourmaid 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +He said very distinctly, and looking at the carpet, "She's gone." + +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 . . . + +"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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"How long do you intend to stay here?" + +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: + +"Must I go then?" And he knew he meant nothing of what he implied. + +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: + +"I don't understand--be so good as to . . ." + +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. + +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. + +"If you have forgotten anything . . . of course . . . I . . ." + +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. + +"What is the good of this, Alvan? . . . You know why I came back. +. . . You know that I could not . . . " + +He interrupted her with irritation. + +"Then! what's this?" he asked, pointing downwards at the torn letter. + +"That's a mistake," she said hurriedly, in a muffled voice. + +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. + +"A mistake . . ." he began, slowly, and then found himself unable to +say another word. + +"Yes . . . it was honest," she said very low, as if speaking to the +memory of a feeling in a remote past. + +He exploded. + +"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? . . . " + +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. + +"You don't know the meaning of the word," he shouted. + +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. + +He said with villainous composure: + +"At any rate it isn't enough for me. I want to know more--if you're +going to stay." + +"There is nothing more to tell," she answered, sadly. + +It struck him as so very true that he did not say anything. She went +on: + +"You wouldn't understand. . . ." + +"No?" he said, quietly. He held himself tight not to burst into howls +and imprecations. + +"I tried to be faithful . . ." she began again. + +"And this?" he exclaimed, pointing at the fragments of her letter. + +"This--this is a failure," she said. + +"I should think so," he muttered, bitterly. + +"I tried to be faithful to myself--Alvan--and . . . and honest to +you. . . ." + +"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?" + +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. + +"I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself--and that's +your honesty!" + +"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." + +"The end--this thing has no end," he clamoured, unexpectedly. "Can't +you understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . ." + +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. + +"By Heavens!" he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude +and within less than a foot from her. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"And I let him," she murmured, catching his intonation, so that her +voice sounded unconscious, sounded far off and slavish, like an echo. + +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. . . ." + +He forgot himself so far as to gesticulate a little while he went on +with animation: + +"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?" + +Carried away by his feelings he took his head in both his hands and +repeated wildly: + +"What have I done? . . . Tell me! What? . . ." + +"Nothing," she said. + +"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: + +"What on earth did you expect me to do?" + +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: + +"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 . . ." + +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. + +"I thought it beneath me to suspect you," he said, loftily. + +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. + +"You ought to be perfectly frank with me," he said, slowly. + +"You know everything," she answered, indistinctly, through her +fingers. + +"This letter. . . . Yes . . . but . . ." + +"And I came back," she exclaimed in a stifled voice; "you know +everything." + +"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. + +"For your sake," he repeated. + +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-- + +"Have you been meeting him often?" + +"Never!" she cried into the palms of her hands. + +This answer seemed for a moment to take from him the power of speech. +His lips moved for some time before any sound came. + +"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. + +"When I made up my mind to go to him--I wrote," she said. + +"But you didn't go to him," he took up in the same tone. "How far did +you go? What made you come back?" + +"I didn't know myself," she murmured. Nothing of her moved but her +lips. He fixed her sternly. + +"Did he expect this? Was he waiting for you?" he asked. + +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-- + +"And I suppose he is waiting yet?" he asked, quickly. + +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. + +"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. + +"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-- + +"You deceived me--now you make a fool of him . . . It's awful! Why?" + +"I deceived myself!" she exclaimed. + +"Oh! Nonsense!" he said, impatiently. + +"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. + +"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-- + +"After all, I loved you. . . ." + +"I did not know," she whispered. + +"Good God!" he cried. "Why do you imagine I married you?" + +The indelicacy of his obtuseness angered her. + +"Ah--why?" she said through her teeth. + +He appeared overcome with horror, and watched her lips intently as +though in fear. + +"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." + +He walked away smartly, and when he came back, close to her, he had a +flushed face. + +"You seemed pretty well pleased, too--at the time," he hissed, with +scathing fury. "I needn't ask whether you loved me." + +"I know now I was perfectly incapable of such a thing," she said, +calmly, "If I had, perhaps you would not have married me." + +"It's very clear I would not have done it if I had known you--as I +know you now." + +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!" + +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. + +"What the devil am I to do now?" + +He was still again. She seemed to understand, and moved to the door +firmly. + +"It's very simple--I'm going," she said aloud. + +At the sound of her voice he gave a start of surprise, looked at her +wildly, and asked in a piercing tone-- + +"You. . . . Where? To him?" + +"No--alone--good-bye." + +The door-handle rattled under her groping hand as though she had been +trying to get out of some dark place. + +"No--stay!" he cried. + +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. + +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-- + +"Do you speak the truth?" + +She nodded. + +"You have lived a lie, though," he said, suspiciously. + +"Ah! You made it so easy," she answered. + +"You reproach me--me!" + +"How could I?" she said; "I would have you no other--now." + +"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?" + +She had a nervous movement of her hands. + +"I must have a plain answer," he said, hotly. + +"Then, no! The worst is my coming back." + +There followed a period of dead silence, during which they exchanged +searching glances. + +He said authoritatively-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"Rigid principles--adherence to what is right," he finished after a +pause. + +"What is right?" she said, distinctly, without uncovering her face. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'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! . . ." + +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-- + +"Ah! What am I now?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"It was impossible," she whispered, obediently. + +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-- + +"I am glad you feel this . . . uncommonly glad . . . you felt this in +time. For, don't you see . . ." Unexpectedly he hesitated. + +"Yes . . . I see," she murmured. + +"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." + +"And to me," she breathed out. + +"Now--yes," he said, "but this morning? And to-morrow? . . . This is +what . . ." + +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-- + +"My position is very painful--difficult . . . I feel . . ." + +He looked at her fixedly with a pained air, as though frightfully +oppressed by a sudden inability to express his pent-up ideas. + +"I am ready to go," she said very low. "I have forfeited everything +. . . to learn . . . to learn . . ." + +Her chin fell on her breast; her voice died out in a sigh. He made a +slight gesture of impatient assent. + +"Yes! Yes! It's all very well . . . of course. Forfeited--ah! +Morally forfeited--only morally forfeited . . . if I am to believe +you . . ." + +She startled him by jumping up. + +"Oh! I believe, I believe," he said, hastily, and she sat down as +suddenly as she had got up. He went on gloomily-- + +"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." + +He stammered. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her lips were +slightly parted. He went on mumbling-- + +". . . Pain. . . . Indignation. . . . Sure to misunderstand. I've +suffered enough. And if there has been nothing irreparable--as you +assure me . . . then . . ." + +"Alvan!" she cried. + +"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. + +"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." + +A moment of perfect stillness ensued. + +"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. + +"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." + +He listened to every word with profound attention, and when she ceased +seemed to wait for more. + +"Is that all you've got to say?" he asked. + +She was startled by his tone, and said faintly-- + +"I spoke the truth. What more can I say?" + +"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." + +"Words!" she whispered in a tone that irritated him. He stamped his +foot. + +"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. + +"I can't bear this," she said, trembling from head to foot. "I am +going." + +They stood facing one another for a moment. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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. . . ." + +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. + +He lifted his head and repeated solemnly: + +"I forgive you . . . from a sense of duty--and in the hope . . ." + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, grimly. + +She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +She pressed both her hands to her temples. + +"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." + +She dropped her arms; her face twitched. She looked straight into his +eyes and seemed incapable of pronouncing a word. He frowned at her. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He spoke suddenly, as if concluding a discussion. + +"The best thing for us is to forget all this." + +She started a little and shut the fan with a click. + +"Yes, forgive--and forget," he repeated, as if to himself. + +"I'll never forget," she said in a vibrating voice. "And I'll never +forgive myself. . . ." + +"But I, who have nothing to reproach myself . . ." He began, making a +step towards her. She jumped up. + +"I did not come back for your forgiveness," she exclaimed, +passionately, as if clamouring against an unjust aspersion. + +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: + +"But if my love is strong enough . . ." and hesitated. + +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: + +"'Pon my word, I loved you--I love you now." + +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. + +She said nervously, and very fast: + +"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." + +"You won't believe me?" he asked, slowly. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"This is odious," she screamed. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 . . . + +"Never!" he said aloud to the revealing night. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He stammered distractedly. + +"I want . . . I want . . . to . . . to . . . know . . ." + +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. + +"Alvan . . . I won't bear this . . ." She began to pant suddenly, +"I've a right--a right to--to--myself . . ." + +He lifted one arm, and appeared so menacing that she stopped in a +fright and shrank back a little. + +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. . . . + +"Can you stand it?" he shouted, as though she could have heard all his +thoughts. + +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: + +"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-- + +"Yes!" + +He was shaken where he stood as if by a struggle to break out of +invisible bonds. She trembled from head to foot. + +"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. + +He never returned. + + + +THE LAGOON + +The white man, leaning with both arms over the roof of the little +house in the stern of the boat, said to the steersman-- + +"We will pass the night in Arsat's clearing. It is late." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The steersman, pointing with his paddle, said, "Arsat is there. I see +his canoe fast between the piles." + +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? + +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. + +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." + +"Pass my blankets and the basket," said the white man, curtly. + +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-- + +"Have you medicine, Tuan?" + +"No," said the visitor in a startled tone. "No. Why? Is there sickness +in the house?" + +"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. + +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. + +"Has she been long ill?" asked the traveller. + +"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!" + +He remained silent for a minute, then asked softly-- + +"Tuan, will she die?" + +"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. + +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. + +Arsat came through the doorway with noiseless steps and squatted down +by the fire. The white man moved his outstretched legs a little. + +"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!" + +He paused for a moment, then asked in a quiet, incurious tone-- + +"Tuan . . . will she die?" + +The white man moved his shoulders uneasily and muttered in a +hesitating manner-- + +"If such is her fate." + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +". . . 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!" + +"I remember," said the white man, quietly. Arsat went on with mournful +composure-- + +"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." + +A sigh, short and faint, marked an almost imperceptible pause, and +then his words flowed on, without a stir, without a gesture. + +"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." + +He stopped to exclaim in an intense whisper, "O Mara bahia! O +Calamity!" then went on speaking a little louder: + +"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." + +He paused, listened with his ear turned to the doorway, then shook +his head and went on: + +"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!" + +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. + +Arsat went on in an even, low voice. + +"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!" + +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. + +Arsat's voice vibrated loudly in the profound peace. + +"I had her there! I had her! To get her I would have faced all +mankind. But I had her--and--" + +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-- + +"Tuan, I loved my brother." + +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-- + +"We all love our brothers." + +Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence-- + +"What did I care who died? I wanted peace in my own heart." + +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-- + +"She burns no more." + +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. + +"I can see nothing," he said half aloud to himself. + +"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. + +"If you want to come with me, I will wait all the morning," said the +white man, looking away upon the water. + +"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." + +He drew a long breath and went on in a dreamy tone: + +"In a little while I shall see clear enough to strike--to strike. But +she has died, and . . . now . . . darkness." + +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. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad + diff --git a/old/old/tnrst10.zip b/old/old/tnrst10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..032e633 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/tnrst10.zip |