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diff --git a/old/1458-0.txt b/old/1458-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7928205 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1458-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1280 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dream Life and Real Life, by Olive Schreiner + +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: Dream Life and Real Life + +Author: Olive Schreiner + +Posting Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #1458] +Release Date: September, 1998 +Last Updated: October 12, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Sue Asscher + + + + + +DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE + +A Little African Story + +by Olive Schreiner + +Author of “The Story of an African Farm” and “Dreams” + + +Dedication. + +To My Brother Fred, + +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. + + + +Contents. + +I. Dream Life and Real Life; a Little African Story. + +II. The Woman’s Rose. + +III. “The Policy in Favour of Protection--“. + + +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. + +Kraal--A sheepfold. + +Krantz--A precipice. + +Sluit--A deep fissure, generally dry, in which the superfluous torrents +of water are carried from the karoo plains after thunderstorms. + +Stoep--A porch. + + + + +I. DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE; A LITTLE AFRICAN STORY. + +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. + +By and by she was so tired, and the sun was so hot, she laid her head +against the milk-bush, and dropped asleep. + +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. + +It was a beautiful dream. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +“Do you think you will have any supper this evening?” said the Boer. + +“No,” said Jannita. + +“What do you think you will have?” + +“I don’t know,” said Jannita. + +“Give me your whip,” said the Boer to Dirk, the Hottentot. + +***** + +The moon was all but full that night. Oh, but its light was beautiful! + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +She began to think now. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +***** + +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. + +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! + +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. + +“Oh, this is my little home!” she said. + +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. + +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. + +“It is so nice here,” she thought as she went to sleep, “I will stay +here always.” + +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. + +In her sleep she shivered, and half awoke. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +She crept to the door and made an opening in the branches with her +fingers. + +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. + +She held her breath. Not a cony in all the rocks was so still. + +“They can never find me here,” she said; and she knelt, and listened to +every word they said. She could hear it all. + +“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.” + +“You are sure there is no one else on the farm?” said the navvy. + +“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.” + +“But suppose,” said the navvy, “he should have the gun at his bedside, +and loaded!” + +“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.” + +She listened to every word, and they talked on. + +Afterwards, the little Bushman, who crouched over the fire, sat up +suddenly, listening. + +“Ha! what is that?” he said. + +A Bushman is like a dog: his ear is so fine he knows a jackal’s tread +from a wild dog’s. + +“I heard nothing,” said the navvy. + +“I heard,” said the Hottentot; “but it was only a cony on the rocks.” + +“No cony, no cony,” said the Bushman; “see, what is that there moving in +the shade round the point?” + +“Nothing, you idiot!” said the navvy. “Finish your meat; we must start +now.” + +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. + +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. + +It was not far to run now. Only the narrow path between the high rocks +and the river. + +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. + +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. + +“I cannot help them now!” she cried, and sank down on the ground, with +her little hands clasped before her. + +***** + +“Awake, awake!” said the farmer’s wife; “I hear a strange noise; +something calling, calling, calling!” + +The man rose, and went to the window. + +“I hear it also,” he said; “surely some jackal’s at the sheep. I will +load my gun and go and see.” + +“It sounds to me like the cry of no jackal,” said the woman; and when he +was gone she woke her daughter. + +“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!’” + +The women looked at each other; then they went to the kitchen, and made +a great fire; and they sang psalms all the while. + +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.” + +***** + +Next day a navvy had returned to the railway works. + +“Where have you been so long?” his comrades asked. + +“He keeps looking over his shoulder,” said one, “as though he thought he +should see something there.” + +“When he drank his grog today,” said another, “he let it fall, and +looked round.” + +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. + +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. + +Lily Kloof, South Africa. + + + + +II. THE WOMAN’S ROSE. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She and I never spoke to each other. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then I felt a hand touch my hair. + +“Stand still,” she said. + +I looked in the glass. She had taken the white rose from her breast, and +was fastening it in my hair. + +“How nice dark hair is; it sets off flowers so.” She stepped back and +looked at me. “It looks much better there!” + +I turned round. + +“You are so beautiful to me,” I said. + +“Y-e-s,” she said, with her slow Colonial drawl; “I’m so glad.” + +We stood looking at each other. + +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. + +The next morning I left the town. + +I never saw her again. + +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. + +Matjesfontein, South Africa. + + + + +III. “THE POLICY IN FAVOUR OF PROTECTION--“. + +Was it Right?--Was it Wrong? + +A woman sat at her desk in the corner of a room; behind her a fire burnt +brightly. + +Presently a servant came in and gave her a card. + +“Say I am busy and can see no one now. I have to finish this article by +two o’clock.” + +The servant came back. The caller said she would only keep her a moment: +it was necessary she should see her. + +The woman rose from her desk. “Tell the boy to wait. Ask the lady to +come in.” + +A young woman in a silk dress, with a cloak reaching to her feet, +entered. She was tall and slight, with fair hair. + +“I knew you would not mind. I wished to see you so!” + +The woman offered her a seat by the fire. “May I loosen your cloak?--the +room is warm.” + +“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. + +“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!” + +The woman on the hearth-rug looked down at her. + +“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.” + +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?” + +“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!” + +“And what do you want me to do?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Now you must go; I have my work to finish.” + +The younger woman put her arms round her. “Oh, you are so good and +beautiful!” + +The silk dress and the fur cloak rustled out of the room. + +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.” + +She tore it across and wrote the words: “No, I shall not be at liberty.” + +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.” + +The servant went out. She walked up and down with her hands folded above +her head. + +***** + +Two months after, the older woman stood before the fire. The door opened +suddenly, and the younger woman came in. + +“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. + +“Sit down. Yes, it is quite true.” + +“Oh, it is so terrible, and I didn’t know anything! Did you ever say +anything to him?” She caught the woman’s hands. + +“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. + +“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?” + +“Yes, it is quite true.” + +“He can’t love her. They say he’s only marrying her for her rank and her +money.” + +The woman turned quickly. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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!” + +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.” + +“Oh, I could never bear to see her; it would kill me. And they are so +happy together today! He is loving her so!” + +“Don’t you want him to be happy?” The older woman looked down at her. +“Have you never loved him, at all?” + +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!” + +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. + +“No, it can never come for me. If once I have loved a thing, I love it +for ever. I can never forget.” + +“Love is not the only end in life. There are other things to live for.” + +“Oh, yes, for you! To me love is everything!” + +“Now, you must go, dear.” + +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.” + +The older woman took her hand. + +“I want to ask something of you.” + +“What is it?” + +“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.” + +“Oh, I will do anything you ask me to. You are so good and great.” + +“Oh, good and great!--if you knew! Now go, dear.” + +“I have not kept you from your work, have I?” + +“No; I have not been working lately. Good-by, dear.” + +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. + +A year after; it was early spring again. + +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. + +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:-- + +“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. + +“I hope you are enjoying this beautiful spring weather. + +“Yours, always full of gratitude and love, + +“E--.” + +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. + +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. + +Cape Town, South Africa, 1892. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Dream Life and Real Life, by Olive Schreiner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 1458-0.txt or 1458-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/5/1458/ + +Produced by Sue Asscher + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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