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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:12 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:12 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1458-h/1458-h.htm b/1458-h/1458-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d59f5a --- /dev/null +++ b/1458-h/1458-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1132 @@ +<?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> + Dream Life and Real Life, by Olive Schreiner + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1458 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE + </h1> + <h2> + A Little African Story + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Olive Schreiner + </h2> + <h5> + Author of “The Story of an African Farm” and “Dreams” + </h5> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dedication. + + To My Brother Fred, + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For whose little school magazine the first of these + tiny stories—one of the first I ever made— + was written out many long years ago. + + O.S. + + New College, Eastbourne, Sept. 29, 1893. + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <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"> I. DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE; A LITTLE + AFRICAN STORY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. THE WOMAN’S ROSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. “THE POLICY IN FAVOUR OF PROTECTION—“. + </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Kopjes—In the karoo, are hillocks of stones, that rise up singly or in +clusters, here and there; presenting sometimes the fantastic appearance +of old ruined castles or giant graves, the work of human hands. +<br /> +Kraal—A sheepfold. +<br /> +Krantz—A precipice. +<br /> +Sluit—A deep fissure, generally dry, in which the superfluous torrents +of water are carried from the karoo plains after thunderstorms. +<br /> +Stoep—A porch. +<br /> +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE; A LITTLE AFRICAN STORY. + </h2> + <p> + Little Jannita sat alone beside a milk-bush. Before her and behind her + stretched the plain, covered with red sand and thorny karoo bushes; and + here and there a milk-bush, looking like a bundle of pale green rods tied + together. Not a tree was to be seen anywhere, except on the banks of the + river, and that was far away, and the sun beat on her head. Round her fed + the Angora goats she was herding; pretty things, especially the little + ones, with white silky curls that touched the ground. But Jannita sat + crying. If an angel should gather up in his cup all the tears that have + been shed, I think the bitterest would be those of children. + </p> + <p> + By and by she was so tired, and the sun was so hot, she laid her head + against the milk-bush, and dropped asleep. + </p> + <p> + She dreamed a beautiful dream. She thought that when she went back to the + farmhouse in the evening, the walls were covered with vines and roses, and + the kraals were not made of red stone, but of lilac trees full of blossom. + And the fat old Boer smiled at her; and the stick he held across the door, + for the goats to jump over, was a lily rod with seven blossoms at the end. + When she went to the house her mistress gave her a whole roaster-cake for + her supper, and the mistress’s daughter had stuck a rose in the cake; and + her mistress’s son-in-law said, “Thank you!” when she pulled off his + boots, and did not kick her. + </p> + <p> + It was a beautiful dream. + </p> + <p> + While she lay thus dreaming, one of the little kids came and licked her on + her cheek, because of the salt from her dried-up tears. And in her dream + she was not a poor indentured child any more, living with Boers. It was + her father who kissed her. He said he had only been asleep—that day + when he lay down under the thorn-bush; he had not really died. He felt her + hair, and said it was grown long and silky, and he said they would go back + to Denmark now. He asked her why her feet were bare, and what the marks on + her back were. Then he put her head on his shoulder, and picked her up, + and carried her away, away! She laughed—she could feel her face + against his brown beard. His arms were so strong. + </p> + <p> + As she lay there dreaming, with the ants running over her naked feet, and + with her brown curls lying in the sand, a Hottentot came up to her. He was + dressed in ragged yellow trousers, and a dirty shirt, and torn jacket. He + had a red handkerchief round his head, and a felt hat above that. His nose + was flat, his eyes like slits, and the wool on his head was gathered into + little round balls. He came to the milk-bush, and looked at the little + girl lying in the hot sun. Then he walked off, and caught one of the + fattest little Angora goats, and held its mouth fast, as he stuck it under + his arm. He looked back to see that she was still sleeping, and jumped + down into one of the sluits. He walked down the bed of the sluit a little + way and came to an overhanging bank, under which, sitting on the red sand, + were two men. One was a tiny, ragged, old bushman, four feet high; the + other was an English navvy, in a dark blue blouse. They cut the kid’s + throat with the navvy’s long knife, and covered up the blood with sand, + and buried the entrails and skin. Then they talked, and quarrelled a + little; and then they talked quietly again. + </p> + <p> + The Hottentot man put a leg of the kid under his coat and left the rest of + the meat for the two in the sluit, and walked away. + </p> + <p> + When little Jannita awoke it was almost sunset. She sat up very + frightened, but her goats were all about her. She began to drive them + home. “I do not think there are any lost,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Dirk, the Hottentot, had brought his flock home already, and stood at the + kraal door with his ragged yellow trousers. The fat old Boer put his stick + across the door, and let Jannita’s goats jump over, one by one. He counted + them. When the last jumped over: “Have you been to sleep today?” he said; + “there is one missing.” + </p> + <p> + Then little Jannita knew what was coming, and she said, in a low voice, + “No.” And then she felt in her heart that deadly sickness that you feel + when you tell a lie; and again she said, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you will have any supper this evening?” said the Boer. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Jannita. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think you will have?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Jannita. + </p> + <p> + “Give me your whip,” said the Boer to Dirk, the Hottentot. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The moon was all but full that night. Oh, but its light was beautiful! + </p> + <p> + The little girl crept to the door of the outhouse where she slept, and + looked at it. When you are hungry, and very, very sore, you do not cry. + She leaned her chin on one hand, and looked, with her great dove’s eyes—the + other hand was cut open, so she wrapped it in her pinafore. She looked + across the plain at the sand and the low karoo-bushes, with the moonlight + on them. + </p> + <p> + Presently, there came slowly, from far away, a wild springbuck. It came + close to the house, and stood looking at it in wonder, while the moonlight + glinted on its horns, and in its great eyes. It stood wondering at the red + brick walls, and the girl watched it. Then, suddenly, as if it scorned it + all, it curved its beautiful back and turned; and away it fled over the + bushes and sand, like a sheeny streak of white lightning. She stood up to + watch it. So free, so free! Away, away! She watched, till she could see it + no more on the wide plain. + </p> + <p> + Her heart swelled, larger, larger, larger: she uttered a low cry; and + without waiting, pausing, thinking, she followed on its track. Away, away, + away! “I—I also!” she said, “I—I also!” + </p> + <p> + When at last her legs began to tremble under her, and she stopped to + breathe, the house was a speck behind her. She dropped on the earth, and + held her panting sides. + </p> + <p> + She began to think now. + </p> + <p> + If she stayed on the plain they would trace her footsteps in the morning + and catch her; but if she waded in the water in the bed of the river they + would not be able to find her footmarks; and she would hide, there where + the rocks and the kopjes were. + </p> + <p> + So she stood up and walked towards the river. The water in the river was + low; just a line of silver in the broad bed of sand, here and there + broadening into a pool. She stepped into it, and bathed her feet in the + delicious cold water. Up and up the stream she walked, where it rattled + over the pebbles, and past where the farmhouse lay; and where the rocks + were large she leaped from one to the other. The night wind in her face + made her strong—she laughed. She had never felt such night wind + before. So the night smells to the wild bucks, because they are free! A + free thing feels as a chained thing never can. + </p> + <p> + At last she came to a place where the willows grew on each side of the + river, and trailed their long branches on the sandy bed. She could not + tell why, she could not tell the reason, but a feeling of fear came over + her. + </p> + <p> + On the left bank rose a chain of kopjes and a precipice of rocks. Between + the precipice and the river bank there was a narrow path covered by the + fragments of fallen rock. And upon the summit of the precipice a kippersol + tree grew, whose palm-like leaves were clearly cut out against the night + sky. The rocks cast a deep shadow, and the willow trees, on either side of + the river. She paused, looked up and about her, and then ran on, fearful. + </p> + <p> + “What was I afraid of? How foolish I have been!” she said, when she came + to a place where the trees were not so close together. And she stood still + and looked back and shivered. + </p> + <p> + At last her steps grew wearier and wearier. She was very sleepy now, she + could scarcely lift her feet. She stepped out of the river-bed. She only + saw that the rocks about her were wild, as though many little kopjes had + been broken up and strewn upon the ground, lay down at the foot of an + aloe, and fell asleep. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + But, in the morning, she saw what a glorious place it was. The rocks were + piled on one another, and tossed this way and that. Prickly pears grew + among them, and there were no less than six kippersol trees scattered here + and there among the broken kopjes. In the rocks there were hundreds of + homes for the conies, and from the crevices wild asparagus hung down. She + ran to the river, bathed in the clear cold water, and tossed it over her + head. She sang aloud. All the songs she knew were sad, so she could not + sing them now, she was glad, she was so free; but she sang the notes + without the words, as the cock-o-veets do. Singing and jumping all the + way, she went back, and took a sharp stone, and cut at the root of a + kippersol, and got out a large piece, as long as her arm, and sat to chew + it. Two conies came out on the rock above her head and peeped at her. She + held them out a piece, but they did not want it, and ran away. + </p> + <p> + It was very delicious to her. Kippersol is like raw quince, when it is + very green; but she liked it. When good food is thrown at you by other + people, strange to say, it is very bitter; but whatever you find yourself + is sweet! + </p> + <p> + When she had finished she dug out another piece, and went to look for a + pantry to put it in. At the top of a heap of rocks up which she clambered + she found that some large stones stood apart but met at the top, making a + room. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this is my little home!” she said. + </p> + <p> + At the top and all round it was closed, only in the front it was open. + There was a beautiful shelf in the wall for the kippersol, and she + scrambled down again. She brought a great bunch of prickly pear, and stuck + it in a crevice before the door, and hung wild asparagus over it, till it + looked as though it grew there. No one could see that there was a room + there, for she left only a tiny opening, and hung a branch of feathery + asparagus over it. Then she crept in to see how it looked. There was a + glorious soft green light. Then she went out and picked some of those + purple little ground flowers—you know them—those that keep + their faces close to the ground, but when you turn them up and look at + them they are deep blue eyes looking into yours! She took them with a + little earth, and put them in the crevices between the rocks; and so the + room was quite furnished. Afterwards she went down to the river and + brought her arms full of willow, and made a lovely bed; and, because the + weather was very hot, she lay down to rest upon it. + </p> + <p> + She went to sleep soon, and slept long, for she was very weak. Late in the + afternoon she was awakened by a few cold drops falling on her face. She + sat up. A great and fierce thunderstorm had been raging, and a few of the + cool drops had fallen through the crevice in the rocks. She pushed the + asparagus branch aside, and looked out, with her little hands folded about + her knees. She heard the thunder rolling, and saw the red torrents rush + among the stones on their way to the river. She heard the roar of the + river as it now rolled, angry and red, bearing away stumps and trees on + its muddy water. She listened and smiled, and pressed closer to the rock + that took care of her. She pressed the palm of her hand against it. When + you have no one to love you, you love the dumb things very much. When the + sun set, it cleared up. Then the little girl ate some kippersol, and lay + down again to sleep. She thought there was nothing so nice as to sleep. + When one has had no food but kippersol juice for two days, one doesn’t + feel strong. + </p> + <p> + “It is so nice here,” she thought as she went to sleep, “I will stay here + always.” + </p> + <p> + Afterwards the moon rose. The sky was very clear now, there was not a + cloud anywhere; and the moon shone in through the bushes in the door, and + made a lattice-work of light on her face. She was dreaming a beautiful + dream. The loveliest dreams of all are dreamed when you are hungry. She + thought she was walking in a beautiful place, holding her father’s hand, + and they both had crowns on their heads, crowns of wild asparagus. The + people whom they passed smiled and kissed her; some gave her flowers, and + some gave her food, and the sunlight was everywhere. She dreamed the same + dream over and over, and it grew more and more beautiful; till, suddenly, + it seemed as though she were standing quite alone. She looked up: on one + side of her was the high precipice, on the other was the river, with the + willow trees, drooping their branches into the water; and the moonlight + was over all. Up, against the night sky the pointed leaves of the + kippersol trees were clearly marked, and the rocks and the willow trees + cast dark shadows. + </p> + <p> + In her sleep she shivered, and half awoke. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I am not there, I am here,” she said; and she crept closer to the + rock, and kissed it, and went to sleep again. + </p> + <p> + It must have been about three o’clock, for the moon had begun to sink + towards the western sky, when she woke, with a violent start. She sat up, + and pressed her hand against her heart. + </p> + <p> + “What can it be? A cony must surely have run across my feet and frightened + me!” she said, and she turned to lie down again; but soon she sat up. + Outside, there was the distinct sound of thorns crackling in a fire. + </p> + <p> + She crept to the door and made an opening in the branches with her + fingers. + </p> + <p> + A large fire was blazing in the shadow, at the foot of the rocks. A little + Bushman sat over some burning coals that had been raked from it, cooking + meat. Stretched on the ground was an Englishman, dressed in a blouse, and + with a heavy, sullen face. On the stone beside him was Dirk, the + Hottentot, sharpening a bowie knife. + </p> + <p> + She held her breath. Not a cony in all the rocks was so still. + </p> + <p> + “They can never find me here,” she said; and she knelt, and listened to + every word they said. She could hear it all. + </p> + <p> + “You may have all the money,” said the Bushman; “but I want the cask of + brandy. I will set the roof alight in six places, for a Dutchman burnt my + mother once alive in a hut, with three children.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure there is no one else on the farm?” said the navvy. + </p> + <p> + “No, I have told you till I am tired,” said Dirk; “The two Kaffirs have + gone with the son to town; and the maids have gone to a dance; there is + only the old man and the two women left.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose,” said the navvy, “he should have the gun at his bedside, and + loaded!” + </p> + <p> + “He never has,” said Dirk; “it hangs in the passage, and the cartridges + too. He never thought when he bought it what work it was for! I only wish + the little white girl was there still,” said Dirk; “but she is drowned. We + traced her footmarks to the great pool that has no bottom.” + </p> + <p> + She listened to every word, and they talked on. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, the little Bushman, who crouched over the fire, sat up + suddenly, listening. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! what is that?” he said. + </p> + <p> + A Bushman is like a dog: his ear is so fine he knows a jackal’s tread from + a wild dog’s. + </p> + <p> + “I heard nothing,” said the navvy. + </p> + <p> + “I heard,” said the Hottentot; “but it was only a cony on the rocks.” + </p> + <p> + “No cony, no cony,” said the Bushman; “see, what is that there moving in + the shade round the point?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, you idiot!” said the navvy. “Finish your meat; we must start + now.” + </p> + <p> + There were two roads to the homestead. One went along the open plain, and + was by far the shortest; but you might be seen half a mile off. The other + ran along the river bank, where there were rocks, and holes, and willow + trees to hide among. And all down the river bank ran a little figure. + </p> + <p> + The river was swollen by the storm full to its banks, and the willow trees + dipped their half-drowned branches into its water. Wherever there was a + gap between them, you could see it flow, red and muddy, with the stumps + upon it. But the little figure ran on and on; never looking, never + thinking; panting, panting! There, where the rocks were the thickest; + there, where on the open space the moonlight shone; there, where the + prickly pears were tangled, and the rocks cast shadows, on it ran; the + little hands clinched, the little heart beating, the eyes fixed always + ahead. + </p> + <p> + It was not far to run now. Only the narrow path between the high rocks and + the river. + </p> + <p> + At last she came to the end of it, and stood for an instant. Before her + lay the plain, and the red farmhouse, so near, that if persons had been + walking there you might have seen them in the moonlight. She clasped her + hands. “Yes, I will tell them, I will tell them!” she said; “I am almost + there!” She ran forward again, then hesitated. She shaded her eyes from + the moonlight, and looked. Between her and the farmhouse there were three + figures moving over the low bushes. + </p> + <p> + In the sheeny moonlight you could see how they moved on, slowly and + furtively; the short one, and the one in light clothes, and the one in + dark. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot help them now!” she cried, and sank down on the ground, with her + little hands clasped before her. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Awake, awake!” said the farmer’s wife; “I hear a strange noise; something + calling, calling, calling!” + </p> + <p> + The man rose, and went to the window. + </p> + <p> + “I hear it also,” he said; “surely some jackal’s at the sheep. I will load + my gun and go and see.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds to me like the cry of no jackal,” said the woman; and when he + was gone she woke her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let us go and make a fire, I can sleep no more,” she said; “I have + heard a strange thing tonight. Your father said it was a jackal’s cry, but + no jackal cries so. It was a child’s voice, and it cried, ‘Master, master, + wake!’” + </p> + <p> + The women looked at each other; then they went to the kitchen, and made a + great fire; and they sang psalms all the while. + </p> + <p> + At last the man came back; and they asked him, “What have you seen?” + “Nothing,” he said, “but the sheep asleep in their kraals, and the + moonlight on the walls. And yet, it did seem to me,” he added, “that far + away near the krantz by the river, I saw three figures moving. And + afterwards—it might have been fancy—I thought I heard the cry + again; but since that, all has been still there.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Next day a navvy had returned to the railway works. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been so long?” his comrades asked. + </p> + <p> + “He keeps looking over his shoulder,” said one, “as though he thought he + should see something there.” + </p> + <p> + “When he drank his grog today,” said another, “he let it fall, and looked + round.” + </p> + <p> + Next day, a small old Bushman, and a Hottentot, in ragged yellow trousers, + were at a wayside canteen. When the Bushman had had brandy, he began to + tell how something (he did not say whether it was man, woman, or child) + had lifted up its hands and cried for mercy; had kissed a white man’s + hands, and cried to him to help it. Then the Hottentot took the Bushman by + the throat, and dragged him out. + </p> + <p> + Next night, the moon rose up, and mounted the quiet sky. She was full now, + and looked in at the little home; at the purple flowers stuck about the + room, and the kippersol on the shelf. Her light fell on the willow trees, + and on the high rocks, and on a little new-made heap of earth and round + stones. Three men knew what was under it; and no one else ever will. + </p> + <p> + Lily Kloof, South Africa. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE WOMAN’S ROSE. + </h2> + <p> + I have an old, brown carved box; the lid is broken and tied with a string. + In it I keep little squares of paper, with hair inside, and a little + picture which hung over my brother’s bed when we were children, and other + things as small. I have in it a rose. Other women also have such boxes + where they keep such trifles, but no one has my rose. + </p> + <p> + When my eye is dim, and my heart grows faint, and my faith in woman + flickers, and her present is an agony to me, and her future a despair, the + scent of that dead rose, withered for twelve years, comes back to me. I + know there will be spring; as surely as the birds know it when they see + above the snow two tiny, quivering green leaves. Spring cannot fail us. + </p> + <p> + There were other flowers in the box once; a bunch of white acacia flowers, + gathered by the strong hand of a man, as we passed down a village street + on a sultry afternoon, when it had rained, and the drops fell on us from + the leaves of the acacia trees. The flowers were damp; they made mildew + marks on the paper I folded them in. After many years I threw them away. + There is nothing of them left in the box now, but a faint, strong smell of + dried acacia, that recalls that sultry summer afternoon; but the rose is + in the box still. + </p> + <p> + It is many years ago now; I was a girl of fifteen, and I went to visit in + a small up-country town. It was young in those days, and two days’ journey + from the nearest village; the population consisted mainly of men. A few + were married, and had their wives and children, but most were single. + There was only one young girl there when I came. She was about seventeen, + fair, and rather fully-fleshed; she had large dreamy blue eyes, and wavy + light hair; full, rather heavy lips, until she smiled; then her face broke + into dimples, and all her white teeth shone. The hotel-keeper may have had + a daughter, and the farmer in the outskirts had two, but we never saw + them. She reigned alone. All the men worshipped her. She was the only + woman they had to think of. They talked of her on the stoep, at the + market, at the hotel; they watched for her at street corners; they hated + the man she bowed to or walked with down the street. They brought flowers + to the front door; they offered her their horses; they begged her to marry + them when they dared. Partly, there was something noble and heroic in this + devotion of men to the best woman they knew; partly there was something + natural in it, that these men, shut off from the world, should pour at the + feet of one woman the worship that otherwise would have been given to + twenty; and partly there was something mean in their envy of one another. + If she had raised her little finger, I suppose, she might have married any + one out of twenty of them. + </p> + <p> + Then I came. I do not think I was prettier; I do not think I was so pretty + as she was. I was certainly not as handsome. But I was vital, and I was + new, and she was old—they all forsook her and followed me. They + worshipped me. It was to my door that the flowers came; it was I had + twenty horses offered me when I could only ride one; it was for me they + waited at street corners; it was what I said and did that they talked of. + Partly I liked it. I had lived alone all my life; no one ever had told me + I was beautiful and a woman. I believed them. I did not know it was simply + a fashion, which one man had set and the rest followed unreasoningly. I + liked them to ask me to marry them, and to say, No. I despised them. The + mother heart had not swelled in me yet; I did not know all men were my + children, as the large woman knows when her heart is grown. I was too + small to be tender. I liked my power. I was like a child with a new whip, + which it goes about cracking everywhere, not caring against what. I could + not wind it up and put it away. Men were curious creatures, who liked me, + I could never tell why. Only one thing took from my pleasure; I could not + bear that they had deserted her for me. I liked her great dreamy blue + eyes, I liked her slow walk and drawl; when I saw her sitting among men, + she seemed to me much too good to be among them; I would have given all + their compliments if she would once have smiled at me as she smiled at + them, with all her face breaking into radiance, with her dimples and + flashing teeth. But I knew it never could be; I felt sure she hated me; + that she wished I was dead; that she wished I had never come to the + village. She did not know, when we went out riding, and a man who had + always ridden beside her came to ride beside me, that I sent him away; + that once when a man thought to win my favour by ridiculing her slow drawl + before me I turned on him so fiercely that he never dared come before me + again. I knew she knew that at the hotel men had made a bet as to which + was the prettier, she or I, and had asked each man who came in, and that + the one who had staked on me won. I hated them for it, but I would not let + her see that I cared about what she felt towards me. + </p> + <p> + She and I never spoke to each other. + </p> + <p> + If we met in the village street we bowed and passed on; when we shook + hands we did so silently, and did not look at each other. But I thought + she felt my presence in a room just as I felt hers. + </p> + <p> + At last the time for my going came. I was to leave the next day. Some one + I knew gave a party in my honour, to which all the village was invited. + </p> + <p> + It was midwinter. There was nothing in the gardens but a few dahlias and + chrysanthemums, and I suppose that for two hundred miles round there was + not a rose to be bought for love or money. Only in the garden of a friend + of mine, in a sunny corner between the oven and the brick wall, there was + a rose tree growing which had on it one bud. It was white, and it had been + promised to the fair haired girl to wear at the party. + </p> + <p> + The evening came; when I arrived and went to the waiting-room, to take off + my mantle, I found the girl there already. She was dressed in pure white, + with her great white arms and shoulders showing, and her bright hair + glittering in the candle-light, and the white rose fastened at her breast. + She looked like a queen. I said “Good-evening,” and turned away quickly to + the glass to arrange my old black scarf across my old black dress. + </p> + <p> + Then I felt a hand touch my hair. + </p> + <p> + “Stand still,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I looked in the glass. She had taken the white rose from her breast, and + was fastening it in my hair. + </p> + <p> + “How nice dark hair is; it sets off flowers so.” She stepped back and + looked at me. “It looks much better there!” + </p> + <p> + I turned round. + </p> + <p> + “You are so beautiful to me,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Y-e-s,” she said, with her slow Colonial drawl; “I’m so glad.” + </p> + <p> + We stood looking at each other. + </p> + <p> + Then they came in and swept us away to dance. All the evening we did not + come near to each other. Only once, as she passed, she smiled at me. + </p> + <p> + The next morning I left the town. + </p> + <p> + I never saw her again. + </p> + <p> + Years afterwards I heard she had married and gone to America; it may or + may not be so—but the rose—the rose is in the box still! When + my faith in woman grows dim, and it seems that for want of love and + magnanimity she can play no part in any future heaven; then the scent of + that small withered thing comes back:—spring cannot fail us. + </p> + <p> + Matjesfontein, South Africa. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. “THE POLICY IN FAVOUR OF PROTECTION—“. + </h2> + <h3> + Was it Right?—Was it Wrong? + </h3> + <p> + A woman sat at her desk in the corner of a room; behind her a fire burnt + brightly. + </p> + <p> + Presently a servant came in and gave her a card. + </p> + <p> + “Say I am busy and can see no one now. I have to finish this article by + two o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + The servant came back. The caller said she would only keep her a moment: + it was necessary she should see her. + </p> + <p> + The woman rose from her desk. “Tell the boy to wait. Ask the lady to come + in.” + </p> + <p> + A young woman in a silk dress, with a cloak reaching to her feet, entered. + She was tall and slight, with fair hair. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would not mind. I wished to see you so!” + </p> + <p> + The woman offered her a seat by the fire. “May I loosen your cloak?—the + room is warm.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted so to come and see you. You are the only person in the world who + could help me! I know you are so large, and generous, and kind to other + women!” She sat down. Tears stood in her large blue eyes: she was pulling + off her little gloves unconsciously. + </p> + <p> + “You know Mr.—” (she mentioned the name of a well-known writer): “I + know you meet him often in your work. I want you to do something for me!” + </p> + <p> + The woman on the hearth-rug looked down at her. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t tell my father or my mother, or any one else; but I can tell + you, though I know so little of you. You know, last summer he came and + stayed with us a month. I saw a great deal of him. I don’t know if he + liked me; I know he liked my singing, and we rode together—I liked + him more than any man I have ever seen. Oh, you know it isn’t true that a + woman can only like a man when he likes her; and I thought, perhaps, he + liked me a little. Since we have been in town we have asked, but he has + never come to see us. Perhaps people have been saying something to him + about me. You know him, you are always meeting him, couldn’t you say or do + anything for me?” She looked up with her lips white and drawn. “I feel + sometimes as if I were going mad! Oh, it is so terrible to be a woman!” + The woman looked down at her. “Now I hear he likes another woman. I don’t + know who she is, but they say she is so clever, and writes. Oh, it is so + terrible, I can’t bear it.” + </p> + <p> + The woman leaned her elbow against the mantelpiece, and her face against + her hand. She looked down into the fire. Then she turned and looked at the + younger woman. “Yes,” she said, “it is a very terrible thing to be a + woman.” She was silent. She said with some difficulty: “Are you sure you + love him? Are you sure it is not only the feeling a young girl has for an + older man who is celebrated, and of whom every one is talking?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been nearly mad. I haven’t slept for weeks!” She knit her little + hands together, till the jewelled rings almost cut into the fingers. “He + is everything to me; there is nothing else in the world. You, who are so + great, and strong, and clever, and who care only for your work, and for + men as your friends, you cannot understand what it is when one person is + everything to you, when there is nothing else in the world!” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know!” She looked up. “A woman knows what she can do. Don’t + tell him that I love him.” She looked up again. “Just say something to + him. Oh, it’s so terrible to be a woman; I can’t do anything. You won’t + tell him exactly that I love him? That’s the thing that makes a man hate a + woman, if you tell it him plainly.” + </p> + <p> + “If I speak to him I must speak openly. He is my friend. I cannot fence + with him. I have never fenced with him in my own affairs.” She moved as + though she were going away from the fireplace, then she turned and said: + “Have you thought of what love is between a man and a woman when it means + marriage? That long, long life together, day after day, stripped of all + romance and distance, living face to face: seeing each other as a man sees + his own soul? Do you realize that the end of marriage is to make the man + and woman stronger than they were; and that if you cannot, when you are an + old man and woman and sit by the fire, say, ‘Life has been a braver and a + freer thing for us, because we passed it hand in hand, than if we had + passed through it alone,’ it has failed? Do you care for him enough to + live for him, not tomorrow, but when he is an old, faded man, and you an + old, faded woman? Can you forgive him his sins and his weaknesses, when + they hurt you most? If he were to lie a querulous invalid for twenty + years, would you be able to fold him in your arms all that time, and + comfort him, as a mother comforts her little child?” The woman drew her + breath heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I love him absolutely! I would be glad to die, if only I could once + know that he loved me better than anything in the world!” + </p> + <p> + The woman stood looking down at her. “Have you never thought of that other + woman; whether she could not perhaps make his life as perfect as you?” she + asked, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no woman ever could be to him what I would be. I would live for him. + He belongs to me.” She bent herself forward, not crying, but her shoulders + moving. “It is such a terrible thing to be a woman, to be able to do + nothing and say nothing!” + </p> + <p> + The woman put her hand on her shoulder; the younger woman looked up into + her face; then the elder turned away and stood looking into the fire. + There was such quiet, you could hear the clock tick above the + writing-table. + </p> + <p> + The woman said: “There is one thing I can do for you. I do not know if it + will be of any use—I will do it.” She turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are so great and good, so beautiful, so different from other + women, who are always thinking only of themselves! Thank you so much. I + know I can trust you. I couldn’t have told my mother, or any one but you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you must go; I have my work to finish.” + </p> + <p> + The younger woman put her arms round her. “Oh, you are so good and + beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + The silk dress and the fur cloak rustled out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The woman who was left alone walked up and down, at last faster and + faster, till the drops stood on her forehead. After a time she went up to + the table; there was written illegibly in a man’s hand on a fragment of + manuscript paper: “Can I come to see you this afternoon?” Near it was a + closed and addressed envelope. She opened it. In it were written the + words: “Yes, please, come.” + </p> + <p> + She tore it across and wrote the words: “No, I shall not be at liberty.” + </p> + <p> + She closed them in an envelope and addressed them. Then she rolled up the + manuscript on the table and rang the bell. She gave it to the servant. + “Tell the boy to give this to his master, and say the article ends rather + abruptly; they must state it is to be continued; I will finish it + tomorrow. As he passes No. 20 let him leave this note there.” + </p> + <p> + The servant went out. She walked up and down with her hands folded above + her head. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Two months after, the older woman stood before the fire. The door opened + suddenly, and the younger woman came in. + </p> + <p> + “I had to come—I couldn’t wait. You have heard, he was married this + morning? Oh, do you think it is true? Do help me!” She put out her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down. Yes, it is quite true.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is so terrible, and I didn’t know anything! Did you ever say + anything to him?” She caught the woman’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw him again after the day you were here,—so I could not + speak to him,—but I did what I could.” She stood looking passively + into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “And they say she is quite a child, only eighteen. They say he only saw + her three times before he proposed to her. Do you think it is true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is quite true.” + </p> + <p> + “He can’t love her. They say he’s only marrying her for her rank and her + money.” + </p> + <p> + The woman turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “What right have you to say that? No one but I know him. What need has he + of any one’s rank or wealth? He is greater than them all! Older women may + have failed him; he has needed to turn to her beautiful, fresh, young life + to compensate him. She is a woman whom any man might have loved, so young + and beautiful; her family are famed for their intellect. If he trains her, + she may make him a better wife than any other woman would have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I can’t bear it—I can’t bear it!” The younger woman sat + down in the chair. “She will be his wife, and have his children.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” The elder woman moved quickly. “One wants to have the child, and + lay its head on one’s breast and feed it.” She moved quickly. “It would + not matter if another woman bore it, if one had it to take care of.” She + moved restlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I couldn’t bear it to be hers. When I think of her I feel as if I + were dying; all my fingers turn cold; I feel dead. Oh, you were only his + friend; you don’t know!” + </p> + <p> + The older spoke softly and quickly, “Don’t you feel a little gentle to her + when you think she’s going to be his wife and the mother of his child? I + would like to put my arms round her and touch her once, if she would let + me. She is so beautiful, they say.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I could never bear to see her; it would kill me. And they are so + happy together today! He is loving her so!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you want him to be happy?” The older woman looked down at her. + “Have you never loved him, at all?” + </p> + <p> + The younger woman’s face was covered with her hands. “Oh, it’s so + terrible, so dark! and I shall go on living year after year, always in + this awful pain! Oh, if I could only die!” + </p> + <p> + The older woman stood looking into the fire; then slowly and measuredly + she said, “There are times, in life, when everything seems dark, when the + brain reels, and we cannot see that there is anything but death. But, if + we wait long enough, after long, long years, calm comes. It may be we + cannot say it was well; but we are contented, we accept the past. The + struggle is ended. That day may come for you, perhaps sooner than you + think.” She spoke slowly and with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “No, it can never come for me. If once I have loved a thing, I love it for + ever. I can never forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Love is not the only end in life. There are other things to live for.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, for you! To me love is everything!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you must go, dear.” + </p> + <p> + The younger woman stood up. “It has been such a comfort to talk to you. I + think I should have killed myself if I had not come. You help me so. I + shall always be grateful to you.” + </p> + <p> + The older woman took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask something of you.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot quite explain to you. You will not understand. But there are + times when something more terrible can come into a life than it should + lose what it loves. If you have had a dream of what life ought to be, and + you try to make it real, and you fail; and something you have killed out + in your heart for long years wakes up and cries, ‘Let each man play his + own game, and care nothing for the hand of his fellow! Each man for + himself. So the game must be played!’ and you doubt all you have lived + for, and the ground seems washing out under your feet—.” She paused. + “Such a time has come to me now. If you would promise me that if ever + another woman comes to seek your help, you will give it to her, and try to + love her for my sake, I think it will help me. I think I should be able to + keep my faith.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I will do anything you ask me to. You are so good and great.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good and great!—if you knew! Now go, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not kept you from your work, have I?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have not been working lately. Good-by, dear.” + </p> + <p> + The younger woman went; and the elder knelt down by the chair, and wailed + like a little child when you have struck it and it does not dare to cry + loud. + </p> + <p> + A year after; it was early spring again. + </p> + <p> + The woman sat at her desk writing; behind her the fire burnt brightly. She + was writing a leading article on the causes which in differing peoples + lead to the adoption of Free Trade or Protectionist principles. + </p> + <p> + The woman wrote on quickly. After a while the servant entered and laid a + pile of letters on the table. “Tell the boy I shall have done in fifteen + minutes.” She wrote on. Then she caught sight of the writing on one of the + letters. She put down her pen, and opened it. It ran so:— + </p> + <p> + “Dear Friend,—I am writing to you, because I know you will rejoice + to hear of my great happiness. Do you remember how you told me that day by + the fire to wait, and after long, long years I should see that all was for + the best? That time has come sooner than we hoped. Last week in Rome I was + married to the best, noblest, most large-hearted of men. We are now in + Florence together. You don’t know how beautiful all life is to me. I know + now that the old passion was only a girl’s foolish dream. My husband is + the first man I have ever truly loved. He loves me and understands me as + no other man ever could. I am thankful that my dream was broken; God had + better things in store for me. I don’t hate that woman any more; I love + every one! How are you, dear? We shall come and see you as soon as we + arrive in England. I always think of you so happy in your great work and + helping other people. I don’t think now it is terrible to be a woman; it + is lovely. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are enjoying this beautiful spring weather. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, always full of gratitude and love, + </p> + <p> + “E—.” + </p> + <p> + The woman read the letter: then she stood up and walked towards the fire. + She did not re-read it, but stood with it open in her hand, looking down + into the blaze. Her lips were drawn in at the corners. Presently she tore + the letter up slowly, and watched the bits floating down one by one into + the grate. Then she went back to her desk, and began to write, with her + mouth still drawn in at the corners. After a while she laid her arm on the + paper and her head on her arm, and seemed to go to sleep there. + </p> + <p> + Presently the servant knocked; the boy was waiting. “Tell him to wait ten + minutes more.” She took up her pen—“The Policy of the Australian + Colonies in favour of Protection is easily understood—” she waited—“when + one considers the fact—the fact—;” then she finished the + article. + </p> + <p> + Cape Town, South Africa, 1892. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1458 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |