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diff --git a/2492-h/2492-h.htm b/2492-h/2492-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22cc267 --- /dev/null +++ b/2492-h/2492-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7009 @@ +<?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> + Orpheus in Mayfair and Other Stories And Sketches, by Maurice Baring + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Orpheus in Mayfair and Other Stories and +Sketches, by Maurice Baring + +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: Orpheus in Mayfair and Other Stories and Sketches + +Author: Maurice Baring + +Release Date: April 3, 2006 [EBook #2492] +Last Updated: October 31, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORPHEUS IN MAYFAIR AND OTHER *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ORPHEUS IN MAYFAIR <br /> <br /> AND OTHER STORIES AND SKETCHES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + BY MAURICE BARING + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO ETHEL SMYTH + </h3> + <h5> + NOTE + </h5> + <h5> + Most of the stories and sketches in this book have appeared in the <i>Morning + Post</i>. One of them was published in the <i>Westminster Gazette</i>. I + have to thank the editors and proprietors concerned for their kindness in + allowing me to republish them. <br /> <br /> + </h5> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ORPHEUS IN MAYFAIR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE CRICKET MATCH AN INCIDENT AT A PRIVATE + SCHOOL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE SHADOW OF A MIDNIGHT A GHOST STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> JEAN FRANCOIS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE FLUTE OF CHANG LIANG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> “WHAT IS TRUTH?” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> A LUNCHEON-PARTY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> FETE GALANTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE GARLAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE SPIDER’S WEB </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> EDWARD II. AT BERKELEY CASTLE BY AN + EYE-WITNESS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE ISLAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE MAN WHO GAVE GOOD ADVICE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> RUSSALKA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE OLD WOMAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> DR. FAUST’S LAST DAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE FLUTE-PLAYER’S STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> A CHINAMAN ON OXFORD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> VENUS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE FIRE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE CONQUEROR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE IKON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE THIEF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> THE STAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> CHUN WA </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + ORPHEUS IN MAYFAIR + </h2> + <p> + Heraclius Themistocles Margaritis was a professional musician. He was a + singer and a composer of songs; he wrote poetry in Romaic, and composed + tunes to suit rhymes. But it was not thus that he earned his daily bread, + and he was poor, very poor. To earn his livelihood he gave lessons, music + lessons during the day, and in the evening lessons in Greek, ancient and + modern, to such people (and these were rare) who wished to learn these + languages. He was a young man, only twenty-four, and he had married, + before he came of age, an Italian girl called Tina. They had come to + England in order to make their fortune. They lived in apartments in the + Hereford Road, Bayswater. + </p> + <p> + They had two children, a little girl and a little boy; they were very much + in love with each other, as happy as birds, and as poor as church mice. + For Heraclius Themistocles got but few pupils, and although he had sung in + public at one or two concerts, and had not been received unfavourably, he + failed to obtain engagements to sing in private houses, which was his + ambition. He hoped by this means to become well known, and then to be able + to give recitals of his own where he would reveal to the world those tunes + in which he knew the spirit of Hellas breathed. The whole desire of his + life was to bring back and to give to the world the forgotten but undying + Song of Greece. In spite of this, the modest advertisement which was to be + found at concert agencies announcing that Mr. Heraclius Themistocles + Margaritis was willing to attend evening parties and to give an exhibition + of Greek music, ancient and modern, had as yet met with no response. After + he had been a year in England the only steps towards making a fortune were + two public performances at charity matinees, one or two pupils in + pianoforte playing, and an occasional but rare engagement for stray pupils + at a school of modern languages. + </p> + <p> + It was in the middle of the second summer after his arrival that an + incident occurred which proved to be the turning point of his career. A + London hostess was giving a party in honour of a foreign Personage. It had + been intimated that some kind of music would be expected. The hostess had + neither the means nor the desire to secure for her entertainment stars of + the first magnitude, but she gathered together some lesser lights—a + violinist, a pianist, and a singer of French drawing-room melodies. On the + morning of the day on which her concert was to be given, the hostess + received a telegram from the singer of French drawing-room melodies to say + that she had got a bad cold, and could not possibly sing that night. The + hostess was in despair, but a musical friend of hers came to the rescue, + and promised to obtain for her an excellent substitute, a man who sang + Greek songs. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When Margaritis received the telegram from Arkwright’s Agency that he was + to sing that night at A—— House, he was overjoyed, and could + scarcely believe his eyes. He at once communicated the news to Tina, and + they spent hours in discussing what songs he should sing, who the good + fairy could have been who recommended him, and in building castles in the + air with regard to the result of this engagement. He would become famous; + they would have enough money to go to Italy for a holiday; he would give + concerts; he would reveal to the modern world the music of Hellas. + </p> + <p> + About half-past four in the afternoon Margaritis went out to buy himself + some respectable evening studs from a large emporium in the neighbourhood. + When he returned, singing and whistling on the stairs for joy, he was met + by Tina, who to his astonishment was quite pale, and he saw at a glance + that something had happened. + </p> + <p> + “They’ve put me off!” he said. “Or it was a mistake. I knew it was too + good to be true.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not that,” said Tina, “it’s Carlo!” Carlo was their little boy, who + was nearly four years old. + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Margaritis. + </p> + <p> + Tina dragged him into their little sitting-room. “He is ill,” she said, + “very ill, and I don’t know what’s the matter with him.” + </p> + <p> + Margaritis turned pale. “Let me see him,” he said. “We must get a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor is coming: I went for him at once,” she said. And then they + walked on tiptoe into the bedroom where Carlo was lying in his cot, + tossing about, and evidently in a raging fever. Half an hour later the + doctor came. Margaritis and Tina waited, silent and trembling with + anxiety, while he examined the child. At last he came from the bedroom + with a grave face. He said that the child was very seriously ill, but that + if he got through the night he would very probably recover. + </p> + <p> + “I must send a telegram,” said Margaritis to Tina. “I cannot possibly go.” + Tina squeezed his hand, and then with a brave smile she went back to the + sick-room. + </p> + <p> + Margaritis took a telegraph form out of a shabby leather portfolio, sat + down before the dining-table on which the cloth had been laid for tea (for + the sitting-room was the dining-room also), and wrote out the telegram. + And as he wrote his tears fell on the writing and smudged it. His grief + overcame him, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “What the + Fates give with one hand,” he thought to himself, “they take away with + another!” Then he heard himself, he knew not why, invoking the gods of + Greece, the ancient gods of Olympus, to help him. And at that moment the + whole room seemed to be filled with a strange light, and he saw the + wonderful figure of a man with a shining face and eyes that seemed + infinitely sad and at the same time infinitely luminous. The figure held a + lyre, and said to him in Greek:— + </p> + <p> + “It is well. All will be well. I will take your place at the concert!” + </p> + <p> + When the vision had vanished, the half written telegram on his table had + disappeared also. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The party at A—— House that night was brilliant rather than + large. In one of the drawing-rooms there was a piano, in front of which + were six or seven rows of gilt chairs. The other rooms were filled with + shifting groups of beautiful women, and men wearing orders and medals. + There was a continuous buzz of conversation, except in the room where the + music was going on; and even there in the background there was a subdued + whispering. The violinist was playing some elaborate nothings, and + displaying astounding facility, but the audience did not seem to be much + interested, for when he stopped, after some faint applause, conversation + broke loose like a torrent. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope,” said some one to the lady next him, “that the music will be + over soon. One gets wedged in here, one doesn’t dare move, and one had to + put up with having one’s conversation spoilt and interrupted.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an extraordinary thing,” answered the lady, “that nobody dares give + a party in London without some kind of entertainment. It <i>is</i> such a + mistake!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the fourth and last item on the programme began, which was + called “Greek Songs by Heraclius Themistocles Margaritis.” + </p> + <p> + “He certainly looks like a Greek,” said the lady who had been talking; “in + fact if his hair was cut he would be quite good-looking.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my idea of a Greek,” whispered her neighbour. “He is too fair. I + thought Greeks were dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said the lady, and the first song began. It was a strange thread + of sound that came upon the ears of the listeners, rather high and + piercing, and the accompaniment (Margaritis accompanied himself) was + twanging and monotonous like the sound of an Indian tom-tom. The same + phrase was repeated two or three times over, the melody seemed to consist + of only a very few notes, and to come over and over again with + extraordinary persistence. Then the music rose into a high shrill call and + ended abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” asked the lady. “Has he forgotten the words?” + </p> + <p> + “I think the song is over,” said the man. “That’s one comfort at any rate. + I hate songs which I can’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + But their comments were stopped by the beginning of another song. The + second song was soft and very low, and seemed to be almost entirely on one + note. It was still shorter than the first one, and ended still more + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he’s a Greek at all,” said the man. “His songs are just + like the noise of bagpipes.” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay he’s a Scotch,” said the lady. “Scotchmen are very clever. But + I must say his songs are short.” + </p> + <p> + An indignant “Hush!” from a musician with long hair who was sitting not + far off heralded the beginning of the third song. It began on a high note, + clear and loud, so that the audience was startled, and for a moment or two + there was not a whisper to be heard in the drawing-room. Then it died away + in a piteous wail like the scream of a sea-bird, and the high insistent + note came back once more, and this process seemed to be repeated several + times till the sad scream prevailed, and stopped suddenly. A little + desultory clapping was heard, but it was instantly suppressed when the + audience became aware that the song was not over. + </p> + <p> + “He’s going on again,” whispered the man. A low, long note was heard like + the drone of a bee, which went on, sometimes rising and sometimes getting + lower, like a strange throbbing sob; and then once more it ceased. The + audience hesitated a moment, being not quite certain whether the music was + really finished or not. Then when they saw Margaritis rise from the piano, + some meagre well-bred applause was heard, and an immense sigh of relief. + The people streamed into the other rooms, and the conversation became loud + and general. + </p> + <p> + The lady who had talked went quickly into the next room to find out what + was the right thing to say about the music, and if possible to get the + opinion of a musician. + </p> + <p> + Sir Anthony Holdsworth, who had translated Pindar, was talking to Ralph + Enderby, who had written a book on “Modern Greek Folk Lore.” + </p> + <p> + “It hurts me,” said Sir Anthony, “to hear ancient Greek pronounced like + that. It is impossible to distinguish the words; besides which its wrong + to pronounce ancient Greek like modern Greek. Did you understand it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ralph Enderby, “I did not. If it is modern Greek it was + certainly wrongly pronounced. I think the man must be singing some kind of + Asiatic dialect—unless he’s a fraud.” + </p> + <p> + Hard by there was another group discussing the music: Blythe, the musical + critic, and Lawson, who had the reputation of being a great connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + “He’s distinctly clever,” Blythe was saying; “the songs are amusing + ‘pastiches’ of Eastern folk song.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think he’s clever,” said Lawson, “but there’s nothing original in + it, and besides, as I expect you noticed, two of the songs were gross + plagiarisms of De Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Clever, but not original,” said the lady to herself. “That’s it.” And two + hostesses who had overheard this conversation made up their minds to get + Margaritis for their parties, for they scented the fact that he would + ultimately be talked about. But most of the people did not discuss the + music at all. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the music had stopped, James Reddaway, who was a Member of + Parliament, left the house and went home. He was engrossed in politics, + and had little time at his disposal for anything else. As soon as he got + home he went up to his wife’s bedroom; she had not been able to go to the + party owing to a sudden attack of neuralgia. She asked him to tell her all + about it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “there were the usual people there, and there was some + music: some violin and piano playing, to which I didn’t listen. After that + a man sang some Greek songs, and a curious thing happened to me. When it + began I felt my head swimming, and then I entirely lost account of my + surroundings. I forgot the party, the drawing-room and the people, and I + seemed to be sitting on the rocks of a cliff near a small bay; in front of + me was the sea: it was a kind of blue green, but far more blue or at least + of quite a different kind of blue than any I have seen. It was + transparent, and the sky above it was like a turquoise. Behind me the + cliff merged into a hill which was covered with red and white flowers, as + bright as a Persian carpet. On the beach in front, a tall man was + standing, wading in the water, little bright waves sparkling round his + feet. He was tall and dark, and he was spearing a lot of little silver + fish which were lying on the sand with a small wooden trident; and + somewhere behind me a voice was singing. I could not see where it came + from, but it was wonderfully soft and delicious, and a lot of wild bees + came swarming over the flowers, and a green lizard came right up close to + me, and the air was burning hot, and there was a smell of thyme and mint + in it. And then the song stopped, and I came to myself, and I was back + again in the drawing-room. Then when the man began to sing again, I again + lost consciousness, and I seemed to be in a dark orchard on a breathless + summer night. And somewhere near me there was a low white house with an + opening which might have been a window, shrouded by creepers and growing + things. And in it there was a faint light. And from the house came the + sound of a sad love-song; and although I had never heard the song before I + understood it, and it was about the moon and the Pleiads having set, and + the hour passing, and the voice sang, ‘But I sleep alone!’ And this was + repeated over and over again, and it was the saddest and most beautiful + thing I had ever heard. And again it stopped, and I was back again in the + drawing-room. Then when the singer began his third song I felt cold all + over, and at the same time half suffocated, as people say they feel when + they are nearly drowning. I realised that I was in a huge, dark, empty + space, and round me and far off in front of me were vague shadowy forms; + and in the distance there was something which looked like two tall + thrones, pillared and dim. And on one of the thrones there was the dark + form of a man, and on the other a woman like a queen, pale as marble, and + unreal as a ghost, with great grey eyes that shone like moons. In front of + them was another form, and he was singing a song, and the song was so sad + and so beautiful that tears rolled down the shadowy cheeks of the ghosts + in front of me. And all at once the singer gave a great cry of joy, and + something white and blinding flashed past me and disappeared, and he with + it. But I remained in the same place with the dark ghosts far off in front + of me. And I seemed to be there an eternity till I heard a cry of + desperate pain and anguish, and the white form flashed past me once more, + and vanished, and with it the whole thing, and I was back again in the + drawing-room, and I felt faint and giddy, and could not stay there any + longer.” + </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> + THE CRICKET MATCH AN INCIDENT AT A PRIVATE SCHOOL + </h2> + <h3> + To Winston Churchill + </h3> + <p> + It was a Saturday afternoon in June. St. James’s School was playing a + cricket match against Chippenfield’s. The whole school, which consisted of + forty boys, with the exception of the eleven who were playing in the + match, were gathered together near the pavilion on the steep, grassy bank + which faced the cricket ground. It was a swelteringly hot day. One of the + masters was scoring in the pavilion; two of the boys sat under the post + and board where the score was recorded in big white figures painted on the + black squares. Most of the boys were sitting on the grass in front of the + pavilion. + </p> + <p> + St. James’s won the toss and went in first. After scoring 5 for the first + wicket they collapsed; in an hour and five minutes their last wicket fell. + They had only made 27 runs. Fortune was against St. James’s that day. + Hitchens, their captain, in whom the school confidently trusted, was + caught out in his first over. And Wormald and Bell minor, their two best + men, both failed to score. + </p> + <p> + Then Chippenfield’s went in. St. James’s fast bowlers, Blundell and + Anderson minor, seemed unable to do anything against the Chippenfield’s + batsmen. The first wicket went down at 70. + </p> + <p> + The boys who were looking on grew listless: three of them, Gordon, Smith, + and Hart minor, wandered off from the pavilion further up the slope of the + hill, where there was a kind of wooden scaffolding raised for letting off + fireworks on the 5th of November. The headmaster, who was a fanatical + Conservative, used to burn on that anniversary effigies of Liberal + politicians such as Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Chamberlain, who was at that + time a Radical; while the boys whose politics were Conservative, and who + formed the vast majority, cheered, and kicked the Liberals, of whom there + were only eight. + </p> + <p> + Smith, Gordon, and Hart minor, three little boys aged about eleven, were + in the third division of the school. They were not in the eleven, nor had + they any hopes of ever attaining that glory, which conferred the privilege + of wearing white flannel instead of grey flannel trousers, and a white + flannel cap with a red Maltese cross on it. To tell the truth, the + spectacle of this seemingly endless game, in which they did not have even + the satisfaction of seeing their own side victorious, began to weigh on + their spirits. + </p> + <p> + They climbed up on to the wooden scaffolding and organised a game of their + own, an utterly childish game, which consisted of one boy throwing some + dried horse chestnuts from the top of the scaffolding into the mouth of + the boy at the bottom. They soon became engrossed in their occupation, and + were thoroughly enjoying themselves, when one of the masters, Mr. + Whitehead by name, came towards them with a face like thunder, biting his + knuckles, a thing which he did when he was very angry. + </p> + <p> + “Go indoors at once,” he said. “Go up to the third division school-room + and do two hours’ work. You can copy out the Greek irregular verbs.” + </p> + <p> + The boys, taken completely by surprise, but accepting this decree as they + accepted everything else, because it never occurred to them it could be + otherwise, trotted off, not very disconsolate, to the school-room. It was + very hot out of doors; it was cool in the third division school-room. + </p> + <p> + They got out their steel pens, their double-lined copy books, and began + mechanically copying out the Greek irregular verbs, with which they were + so superficially familiar, and from which they were so fundamentally + divorced. + </p> + <p> + “Whitey,” said Gordon, “was in an awful wax!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” said Smith. “I’d just as soon sit here as look on at that + beastly match.” + </p> + <p> + “But why,” said Hart, “have we got to do two hours’ work?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Gordon, “he’s just in a wax, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + And the matter was not further discussed. At six o’clock the boys had tea. + The cricket match had, of course, resulted in a crushing and overwhelming + defeat for St. James’s. The rival eleven had been asked to tea; there were + cherries for tea in their honour. + </p> + <p> + When Gordon, Smith, and Hart minor entered the dining-room they at once + perceived that an atmosphere of gloom and menacing storm was overhanging + the school. Their spirits had hitherto been unflagging; they sat next to + each other at the tea-table, but no sooner had they sat down than they + were seized by that terrible, uncomfortable feeling so familiar to + schoolboys, that something unpleasant was impending, some crime, some + accusation; some doom, the nature of which they could not guess, was lying + in ambush. This was written on the headmaster’s face. The headmaster sat + at a square table in the centre of the dining-room. The boys sat round on + the further side of three tables which formed the three sides of the + square room. + </p> + <p> + The meal passed in gloomy silence. Gordon, Smith and Hart began a fitful + conversation, but a message was immediately passed up to them from Mr. + Whitehead, who sat at the bottom of one of the tables, to stop talking. At + the end of tea the guests filed out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The headmaster stood up and rapped on his table with a knife. + </p> + <p> + “The whole school,” he said, “will come to the library in ten minutes’ + time.” + </p> + <p> + The boys left the dining-room. They began to whisper to one another with + bated breath. “What’s the matter?” And the boys of the second division + shook their heads ominously, and pointing to Gordon, Smith, and Hart, + said: “You’re in for it this time!” The boys of the first division were + too important to take any notice of the rest of the school, and retired to + the first division school-room in dignified silence. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later the whole school was assembled in the library, from + which one flight of stairs led to the upper storeys. The staircase was + shrouded from view by a dark curtain hanging from a Gothic arch; it was + through this curtain that the headmaster used dramatically to appear on + important occasions, and it was up this staircase that boys guilty of + cardinal offences were led off to corporal punishment. + </p> + <p> + The boys waited in breathless silence. Acute suspense was felt by the + whole school, but by none so keenly as by Gordon, Smith, and Hart minor. + These three little boys felt perfectly sick with fear of the unknown and + the terror of having in some unknown way made themselves responsible for + the calamity which would perhaps vitally affect the whole school. + </p> + <p> + Presently a rustle was heard, and the headmaster swept down the staircase + and through the curtain, robed in the black silk gown of an LL.D. He stood + at a high desk which was placed opposite the staircase in front of the + boys, who sat, in the order of their divisions, on rows of chairs. The + three assistant masters walked in from a side door, also in their gowns, + and took seats to the right and left of the headmaster’s desk. There was a + breathless silence. + </p> + <p> + The headmaster began to speak in grave and icily cold tones; his face was + contracted by a permanent frown. + </p> + <p> + “I had thought,” he said, “that there were in this school some boys who + had a notion of gentlemanly behaviour, manly conduct, and common decency. + I see that I was mistaken. The behaviour of certain of you to-day—I + will not mention them because of their exceeding shame, but you will all + know whom I mean. . . .” At this moment all the boys turned round and + looked hard at Gordon, Smith, and Hart minor, who blushed scarlet, and + whose eyes filled with tears. . . . “The less said about the matter the + better,” continued the headmaster, “but I confess that it is difficult for + me to understand how any one, however young, can be so hardened and so + wanton as to behave in the callous and indecent way in which certain of + you—I need not mention who—have behaved to-day. You have + disgraced the school in the eyes of strangers; you have violated the laws + of hospitality and courtesy; you have shown that in St. James’s there is + not a gleam of patriotism, not a spark of interest in the school, not a + touch of that ordinary common English manliness, that sense for the + interests of the school and the community which makes Englishmen what they + are. The boys who have been most guilty in this matter have already been + punished, and I do not propose to punish them further; but I had intended + to take the whole school for an expedition to the New Forest next week. + That expedition will be put off: in fact it will never take place. Only + the eleven shall go, and I trust that another time the miserable idlers + and loafers who have brought this shame, this disgrace on the school, who + have no self-respect and no self-control, who do not know how to behave + like gentlemen, who are idle, vulgar and depraved, will learn by this + lesson to mend their ways and to behave better in the future. But I am + sorry to say that it is not only the chief offenders, who, as I have + already said, have been punished, who are guilty in the matter. Many of + the other boys, although they did not descend to the depths of vulgar + behaviour reached by the culprits I have mentioned, showed a considerable + lack of patriotism by their apathy and their lack of attention while the + cricket match was proceeding this afternoon. I can only hope this may be a + lesson to you all; but while I trust the chief offenders will feel + specially uncomfortable, I wish to impress upon you that you are all, with + the exception of the eleven, in a sense guilty.” + </p> + <p> + With these words the headmaster swept out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The boys dispersed in whispering groups. Gordon, Smith, and Hart minor, + when they attempted to speak, were met with stony silence; they were + boycotted and cut by the remaining boys. + </p> + <p> + Gordon and Smith slept in two adjoining cubicles, and in a third adjoining + cubicle was an upper division boy called Worthing. That night, after they + had gone to bed, Gordon asked Worthing whether, among all the guilty, one + just man had not been found. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” he said, “Campbell minor, who put up the score during the + cricket match, was attentive right through the game, and wouldn’t he be + allowed to go to the New Forest with the eleven?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Worthing, “he whistled twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Gordon, “I didn’t know that. Of course, he can’t go!” + </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> + THE SHADOW OF A MIDNIGHT A GHOST STORY + </h2> + <p> + It was nine o’clock in the evening. Sasha, the maid, had brought in the + samovar and placed it at the head of the long table. Marie Nikolaevna, our + hostess, poured out the tea. Her husband was playing Vindt with his + daughter, the doctor, and his son-in-law in another corner of the room. + And Jameson, who had just finished his Russian lesson—he was working + for the Civil Service examination—was reading the last number of the + <i>Rouskoe Slovo</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Have you found anything interesting, Frantz Frantzovitch?” said Marie + Nikolaevna to Jameson, as she handed him a glass of tea. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have,” answered the Englishman, looking up. His eyes had a clear + dreaminess about them, which generally belongs only to fanatics or + visionaries, and I had no reason to believe that Jameson, who seemed to be + common sense personified, was either one or the other. “At least,” he + continued, “it interests me. And it’s odd—very odd.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Marie Nikolaevna. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to tell you what it is would mean a long story which you wouldn’t + believe,” said Jameson; “only it’s odd—very odd.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us the story,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “As you won’t believe a word of it,” Jameson repeated, “it’s not much use + my telling it.” + </p> + <p> + We insisted on hearing the story, so Jameson lit a cigarette, and began:— + </p> + <p> + “Two years ago,” he said, “I was at Heidelberg, at the University, and I + made friends with a young fellow called Braun. His parents were German, + but he had lived five or six years in America, and he was practically an + American. I made his acquaintance by chance at a lecture, when I first + arrived, and he helped me in a number of ways. He was an energetic and + kind-hearted fellow, and we became great friends. He was a student, but he + did not belong to any <i>Korps</i> or <i>Bursenschaft</i>, he was working + hard then. Afterwards he became an engineer. When the summer <i>Semester</i> + came to an end, we both stayed on at Heidelberg. One day Braun suggested + that we should go for a walking tour and explore the country. I was only + too pleased, and we started. It was glorious weather, and we enjoyed + ourselves hugely. On the third night after we had started we arrived at a + village called Salzheim. It was a picturesque little place, and there was + a curious old church in it with some interesting tombs and relics of the + Thirty Years War. But the inn where we put up for the night was even more + picturesque than the church. It had been a convent for nuns, only the + greater part of it had been burnt, and only a quaint gabled house, and a + kind of tower covered with ivy, which I suppose had once been the belfry, + remained. We had an excellent supper and went to bed early. We had been + given two bedrooms, which were airy and clean, and altogether we were + satisfied. My bedroom opened into Braun’s, which was beyond it, and had no + other door of its own. It was a hot night in July, and Braun asked me to + leave the door open. I did—we opened both the windows. Braun went to + bed and fell asleep almost directly, for very soon I heard his snores. + </p> + <p> + “I had imagined that I was longing for sleep, but no sooner had I got into + bed than all my sleepiness left me. This was odd, because we had walked a + good many miles, and it had been a blazing hot day, and up till then I had + slept like a log the moment I got into bed. I lit a candle and began + reading a small volume of Heine I carried with me. I heard the clock + strike ten, and then eleven, and still I felt that sleep was out of the + question. I said to myself: ‘I will read till twelve and then I will + stop.’ My watch was on a chair by my bedside, and when the clock struck + eleven I noticed that it was five minutes slow, and set it right. I could + see the church tower from my window, and every time the clock struck—and + it struck the quarters—the noise boomed through the room. + </p> + <p> + “When the clock struck a quarter to twelve I yawned for the first time, + and I felt thankful that sleep seemed at last to be coming to me. I left + off reading, and taking my watch in my hand I waited for midnight to + strike. This quarter of an hour seemed an eternity. At last the hands of + my watch showed that it was one minute to twelve. I put out my candle and + began counting sixty, waiting for the clock to strike. I had counted a + hundred and sixty, and still the clock had not struck. I counted up to + four hundred; then I thought I must have made a mistake. I lit my candle + again, and looked at my watch: it was two minutes past twelve. And still + the clock had not struck! + </p> + <p> + “A curious uncomfortable feeling came over me, and I sat up in bed with my + watch in my hand and longed to call Braun, who was peacefully snoring, but + I did not like to. I sat like this till a quarter past twelve; the clock + struck the quarter as usual. I made up my mind that the clock must have + struck twelve, and that I must have slept for a minute—at the same + time I knew I had not slept—and I put out my candle. I must have + fallen asleep almost directly. + </p> + <p> + “The next thing I remember was waking with a start. It seemed to me that + some one had shut the door between my room and Braun’s. I felt for the + matches. The match-box was empty. Up to that moment—I cannot tell + why—something—an unaccountable dread—had prevented me + looking at the door. I made an effort and looked. It was shut, and through + the cracks and through the keyhole I saw the glimmer of a light. Braun had + lit his candle. I called him, not very loudly: there was no answer. I + called again more loudly: there was still no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Then I got out of bed and walked to the door. As I went, it was gently + and slightly opened, just enough to show me a thin streak of light. At + that moment I felt that some one was looking at me. Then it was instantly + shut once more, as softly as it had been opened. There was not a sound to + be heard. I walked on tiptoe towards the door, but it seemed to me that I + had taken a hundred years to cross the room. And when at last I reached + the door I felt I could not open it. I was simply paralysed with fear. And + still I saw the glimmer through the key-hole and the cracks. + </p> + <p> + “Suddenly, as I was standing transfixed with fright in front of the door, + I heard sounds coming from Braun’s room, a shuffle of footsteps, and + voices talking low but distinctly in a language I could not understand. It + was not Italian, Spanish, nor French. The voices grew all at once louder; + I heard the noise of a struggle and a cry which ended in a stifled groan, + very painful and horrible to hear. Then, whether I regained my + self-control, or whether it was excess of fright which prompted me, I + don’t know, but I flew to the door and tried to open it. Some one or + something was pressing with all its might against it. Then I screamed at + the top of my voice, and as I screamed I heard the cock crow. + </p> + <p> + “The door gave, and I almost fell into Braun’s room. It was quite dark. + But Braun was waked by my screams and quietly lit a match. He asked me + gently what on earth was the matter. The room was empty and everything was + in its place. Outside the first greyness of dawn was in the sky. + </p> + <p> + “I said I had had a nightmare, and asked him if he had not had one as + well; but Braun said he had never slept better in his life. + </p> + <p> + “The next day we went on with our walking tour, and when we got back to + Heidelberg Braun sailed for America. I never saw him again, although we + corresponded frequently, and only last week I had a letter from him, dated + Nijni Novgorod, saying he would be at Moscow before the end of the month. + </p> + <p> + “And now I suppose you are all wondering what this can have to do with + anything that’s in the newspaper. Well, listen,” and he read out the + following paragraph from the <i>Rouskoe Slovo</i>:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Samara, II, ix. In the centre of the town, in the Hotel —, + a band of armed swindlers attacked a German engineer + named Braun and demanded money. On his refusal one of the + robbers stabbed Braun with a knife. The robbers, taking the + money which was on him, amounting to 500 roubles, got away. + Braun called for assistance, but died of his wounds in the + night. It appears that he had met the swindlers at a + restaurant.” + </pre> + <p> + “Since I have been in Russia,” Jameson added, “I have often thought that I + knew what language it was that was talked behind the door that night in + the inn at Salzheim, but now I know it was Russian.” + </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> + JEAN FRANCOIS + </h2> + <p> + Jean Francois was a vagabond by nature, a balladmonger by profession. Like + many poets in many times, he found that the business of writing verse was + more amusing than lucrative; and he was constrained to supplement the + earnings of his pen and his guitar by other and more profitable work. He + had run away from what had been his home at the age of seven (he was a + foundling, and his adopted father was a shoe-maker), without having learnt + a trade. When the necessity arose he decided to supplement the art of + balladmongering by that of stealing. He was skilful in both arts: he wrote + verse, sang ballads, picked pockets (in the city), and stole horses (in + the country) with equal facility and success. Some of his verse has + reached posterity, for instance the “Ballads du Paradis Peint,” which he + wrote on white vellum, and illustrated himself with illuminations in red, + blue and gold, for the Dauphin. It ends thus in the English version of a + Balliol scholar:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prince, do not let your nose, your Royal nose, + Your large Imperial nose get out of joint; + Forbear to criticise my perfect prose— + Painting on vellum is my weakest point. +</pre> + <p> + Again, the <i>ballade</i> of which the “Envoi” runs:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prince, when you light your pipe with radium spills, + Especially invented for the King— + Remember this, the worst of human ills: + Life without matches is a dismal thing, +</pre> + <p> + is, in reality, only a feeble adaptation of his “Priez pour feu le vrai + tresor de vie.” + </p> + <p> + But although Jean Francois was not unknown during his lifetime, and + although, as his verse testifies, he knew his name would live among those + of the enduring poets after his death, his life was one of rough hardship, + brief pleasures, long anxieties, and constant uncertainty. Sometimes for a + few days at a time he would live in riotous luxury, but these rare epochs + would immediately be succeeded by periods of want bordering on starvation. + Besides which he was nearly always in peril of his life; the shadow of the + gallows darkened his merriment, and the thought of the wheel made bitter + his joy. Yet in spite of this hazardous and harassing life, in spite of + the sharp and sudden transitions in his career, in spite of the menace of + doom, the hint of the wheel and the gallows, his fund of joy remained + undiminished, and this we see in his verse, which reflects with equal + vividness his alternate moods of infinite enjoyment and unmitigated + despair. For instance, the only two triolets which have survived from his + “Trente deux Triolets joyeux and tristes” are an example of his twofold + temperament. They run thus in the literal and exact translations of them + made by an eminent official:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wish I was dead, + And lay deep in the grave. + I’ve a pain in my head, + I wish I was dead. + In a coffin of lead— + With the Wise and the Brave— + I wish I was dead, + And lay deep in the grave. +</pre> + <p> + This passionate utterance immediately preceded, in the original text, the + following verses in which his buoyant spirits rise once more to the + surface:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thank God I’m alive + In the light of the Sun! + It’s a quarter to five; + Thank God I’m alive! + Now the hum of the hive + Of the world has begun, + Thank God I’m alive + In the light of the Sun! +</pre> + <p> + A more plaintive, in fact a positively wistful note, which is almost + incongruous amongst the definite and sharply defined moods of Jean + Francois, is struck in the sonnet of which only the first line has reached + us: “I wish I had a hundred thousand pounds.” (“Voulentiers serais pauvre + avec dix mille escus.”) But in nearly all his verse, whether joyous as in + the “Chant de vin et vie,” or gloomy as in the “Ballade des Treize + Pendus,” there is a curious recurrent aspiration towards a warm fire, a + sure and plentiful supper, a clean bed, and a long, long sleep. Whether + Jean Francois moped or made merry, and in spite of the fact that he + enjoyed his roving career and would not have exchanged it for the throne + of an Emperor or the money-bags of Croesus, there is no doubt that he + experienced the burden of an immense fatigue. He was never quite warm + enough; always a little hungry; and never got as much sleep as he desired. + A place where he could sleep his fill represented the highest joys of + Heaven to him; and he looked forward to Death as a traveller looks forward + to a warm inn where (its terrible threshold once passed), a man can sleep + the clock round. Witness the sonnet which ends (the translation is mine):— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For thou has never turned + A stranger from thy gates or hast denied, + O hospitable Death, a place to rest. +</pre> + <p> + And it is of his death and not of his life or works which I wish to tell, + for it was singular. He died on Christmas Eve, 1432. The winter that year + in the north of France was, as is well known, terrible for its severe + cold. The rich stayed at home, the poor died, and the unfortunate third + estate of gipsies, balladmongers, tinkers, tumblers, and thieves had no + chance of displaying their dexterity. In fact, they starved. Ever since + the 1st of December Jean Francois had been unable to make a silver penny + either by his song or his sleight of hand. Christmas was drawing near, and + he was starving; and this was especially bitter to him, as it was his + custom (for he was not only a lover of good cheer, but a good Catholic and + a strict observer of fasts and feasts) to keep the great day of + Christendom fittingly. This year he had nothing to keep it with. Luck + seemed to be against him; for three days before Christmas he met in a dark + side street of the town the rich and stingy Sieur de Ranquet. He picked + the pocket of that nobleman, but owing to the extreme cold his fingers + faltered, and he was discovered. He ran like a hare and managed easily + enough to outstrip the miser, and to conceal himself in a den where he was + well known. But unfortunately the matter did not end there. The Sieur de + Ranquet was influential at Court; he was implacable as well as avaricious, + and his disposition positively forbade him to forgive any one who had + nearly picked his pocket. Besides which he knew that Jean had often stolen + his horses. He made a formal complaint at high quarters, and a warrant was + issued against Jean, offering a large sum in silver coin to the man who + should bring him, alive or dead, to justice. + </p> + <p> + Now the police were keenly anxious to make an end of Jean. They knew he + was guilty of a hundred thefts, but such was his skill that they had never + been able to convict him; he had often been put in prison, but he had + always been released for want of evidence. This time no mistake was + possible. So Jean, aware of the danger, fled from the city and sought a + gipsy encampment in a neighbouring forest, where he had friends. These + gipsy friends of his were robbers, outlaws, murderers and horse-stealers + all of them, and hardened criminals; they called themselves gipsies, but + it was merely a courtesy title. + </p> + <p> + On Christmas Eve—it was snowing hard—Jean was walking through + the forest towards the town, ready for a desperate venture, for in the + camp they were starving, and he was sick almost to death of his hunted, + miserable life. As he plunged through the snow he heard a moan, and he saw + a child sitting at the roots of a tall tree crying. He asked what was the + matter. The child—it was a little boy about five years old—said + that it had run away from home because its nurse had beaten it, and had + lost its way. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live?” asked Jean. + </p> + <p> + “My father is the Sieur de Ranquet,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + At that moment Jean heard the shouts of his companions in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “I want to go home,” said the little boy quietly. “You must take me home,” + and he put his hand into Jean’s hand and looked up at him and smiled. + </p> + <p> + Jean thought for a moment. The boy was richly dressed; he had a large ruby + cross hanging from a golden collar worth many hundred gold pieces. Jean + knew well what would happen if his gipsy companions came across the child. + They would kill it instantly. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Jean, “climb on my back.” + </p> + <p> + The little boy climbed on to his back, and Jean trudged through the snow. + In an hour’s time they reached the Sieur de Ranquet’s castle; the place + was alive with bustling men and flaring torches, for the Sieur’s heir had + been missed. + </p> + <p> + The Sieur looked at Jean and recognised him immediately. Jean was a public + character, and especially well known to the Sieur de Ranquet. A few words + were whispered. The child was sent to bed, and the archers civilly lead + Jean to his dungeon. Jean was tired and sleepy. He fell asleep at once on + the straw. They told him he would have to get up early the next morning, + in time for a long, cold journey. The gallows, they added, would be ready. + </p> + <p> + But in the night Jean dreamed a dream: he saw a child in glittering + clothes and with a shining face who came into the dungeon and broke the + bars. + </p> + <p> + The child said: “I am little St. Nicholas, the children’s friend, and I + think you are tired, so I’m going to take you to a quiet place.” + </p> + <p> + Jean followed the child, who led him by the hand till they came to a nice + inn, very high up on the top of huge mountains. There was a blazing log + fire in the room, a clean warm bed, and the windows opened on a range of + snowy mountains, bright as diamonds. And the stars twinkled in the sky + like the candles of a Christmas tree. + </p> + <p> + “You can go to bed here,” said St. Nicholas, “nobody will disturb you, and + when you do wake you will be quite happy and rested. Good-night, Jean.” + And he went away. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The next day in the dawn, when the archers came to fetch Jean, they found + he was fast asleep. They thought it was almost a pity to wake him, because + he looked so happy and contented in his sleep; but when they tried they + found it was impossible. + </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> + THE FLUTE OF CHANG LIANG + </h2> + <h3> + To P. Kershaw + </h3> + <p> + The village was called Moe-tung. It was on the edge of the big main road + which leads from Liao-yang to Ta-shi-chiao. It consisted of a few baked + mud-houses, a dilapidated temple, a wall, a clump of willows, and a pond. + One of the houses I knew well; in its square open yard, in which the rude + furniture of toil lay strewn about, I had halted more than once for my + midday meal, when riding from Liao-yang to the South. I had been + entertained there by the owner of the house, a brawny husbandman and his + fat brown children, and they had given me eggs and Indian corn. Now it was + empty; the house was deserted; the owner, his wife and his children, had + all gone, to the city probably, to seek shelter. We occupied the house; + and the Cossacks at once made a fire with the front door and any fragments + of wood they could find. The house was converted into a stable and a + kitchen, and the officers’ quarters were established in another smaller + building across the road, on the edge of a great plain, which was bright + green with the standing giant millet. + </p> + <p> + This smaller cottage had an uncultivated garden in front of it, and a kind + of natural summer-house made by the twining of a pumpkin plant which + spread its broad leaves over some stakes. We lay down to rest in this + garden. About five miles to the north of us was the town of Liao-yang; to + the east in the distance was a range of pale blue hills, and immediately + in front of us to the south, and scarcely a mile off, was the big hill of + Sho-shantze. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and we had been on the + move since two o’clock in the morning. The Cossacks brought us tea and + pancakes, and presently news came from the town that the big battle would + be fought the next day: the big battle; the real battle, which had been + expected for so long and which had been constantly put off. There was a + complete stillness everywhere. The officers unpacked their valises and + their camp-beds. Every one arranged his bed and his goods in his chosen + place, and it seemed as if we had merely begun once more to settle down + for a further period of siesta in the long picnic which had been going on + for the last two months. Nobody was convinced in spite of the authentic + news which we had received, that the Japanese would attack the next day. + </p> + <p> + The sunset faded into a twilight of delicious summer calm. + </p> + <p> + From the hills in the east came the noise of a few shots fired by the + batteries there, and a captive balloon soared slowly, like a soap-bubble, + into the eastern sky. I walked into the village; here and there fires were + burning, and I was attracted by the sight of the deserted temple in which + the wooden painted gods were grinning, bereft of their priest and of their + accustomed dues. I sat down on the mossy steps of the little wooden + temple, and somewhere, either from one of the knolls hard by or from one + of the houses, came the sound of a flute, or rather of some primitive + wooden pipe, which repeated over and over again a monotonous and + piercingly sad little tune. I wondered whether it was one of the soldiers + playing, but I decided this could not be the case, as the tune was more + eastern than any Russian tune. On the other hand, it seemed strange that + any Chinaman should be about. The tune continued to break the perfect + stillness with its iterated sadness, and a vague recollection came into my + mind of a Chinese legend or poem I had read long ago in London, about a + flute-player called Chang Liang. But I could not bring my memory to work; + its tired wheels all seemed to be buzzing feebly in different directions, + and my thoughts came like thistledown and seemed to elude all efforts of + concentration. And so I capitulated utterly to my drowsiness, and fell + asleep as I sat on the steps of the temple. + </p> + <p> + I thought I had been sleeping for a long time and had woken before the + dawn: the earth was misty, although the moon was shining; and I was no + longer in the temple, but back once more at the edge of the plain. “They + must have fetched me back while I slept,” I thought to myself. But when I + looked round I saw no trace of the officers, nor of the Cossacks, nor of + the small house and the garden, and, stranger still, the millet had been + reaped and the plain was covered with low stubble, and on it were pitched + some curiously-shaped tents, which I saw were guarded by soldiers. But + these soldiers were Chinamen, and yet unlike any Chinamen I had ever seen; + for some of them carried halberds, the double-armed halberds of the period + of Charles I., and others, halberds with a crescent on one side, like + those which were used in the days of Henry VII. And I then noticed that a + whole multitude of soldiers were lying asleep on the ground, armed with + two-edged swords and bows and arrows. And their clothes seemed unfamiliar + and brighter than the clothes which Chinese soldiers wear nowadays. + </p> + <p> + As I wondered what all this meant, a note of music came stealing through + the night, and at first it seemed to be the same tune as I heard in the + temple before I dropped off to sleep; but presently I was sure that this + was a mistake, for the sound was richer and more mellow, and like that of + a bell, only of an enchanted bell, such as that which is fabled to sound + beneath the ocean. And the music seemed to rise and fall, to grow clear + and full, and just as it was floating nearer and nearer, it died away in a + sigh: but as it did so the distant hills seemed to catch it and to send it + back in the company of a thousand echoes, till the whole night was filled + and trembling with an unearthly chorus. The sleeping soldiers gradually + stirred and sat listening spellbound to the music. And in the eyes of the + sentries, who were standing as motionless as bronze statues in front of + the tents, I could see the tears glistening. And the whole of the sleeping + army awoke from its slumber and listened to the strange sound. From the + tents came men in glittering silks (the Generals, I supposed) and listened + also. The soldiers looked at each other and said no word. And then all at + once, as though obeying some silent word of command given by some unseen + captain, one by one they walked away over the plain, leaving their tents + behind them. They all marched off into the east, as if they were following + the music into the heart of the hills, and soon, of all that great army + which had been gathered together on the plain, not one man was left. Then + the music changed and seemed to grow different and more familiar, and with + a start I became aware that I had been asleep and dreaming, and that I was + sitting on the temple steps once more in the twilight, and that not far + off, round a fire, some soldiers were singing. It was a dream, and my + sleep could not have been a long one, for it was still twilight and the + darkness had not yet come. + </p> + <p> + Fully awake now, I remembered clearly the old legend which had haunted me, + and had taken shape in my dream. It was that of an army which on the night + before the battle had heard the flute of Chang Liang. By his playing he + had brought before the rude soldiers the far-off scenes of their + childhood, which they had not looked upon for years—the sights and + sounds of their homes, the faces and the spots which were familiar to them + and dear. And they, as they heard this music, and felt these memories well + up in their hearts, were seized with a longing and a desire for home so + potent and so imperative that one by one they left the battlefield in + silence, and when the enemy came at the dawn, they found the plain + deserted and empty, for in one minute the flute of Chang Liang had stolen + the hearts of eight thousand men. + </p> + <p> + And I felt certain that I had heard the flute of Chang Liang this night + and that the soldiers had heard it too; for now round a fire a group of + them were listening to the song of one of their comrades, a man from the + south, who was singing of the quiet waters of the Don, and of a Cossack + who had come back to his native land after many days and found his true + love wedded to another. I felt it was the flute of Chang Liang which had + prompted the southerner to sing, and without doubt the men saw before them + the great moon shining over the broad village street in the dark July and + August nights, and heard the noise of dancing and song and the cheerful + rhythmic accompaniment of the concertina. Or (if they came from the south) + they saw the smiling thatched farms, whitewashed, or painted in light + green distemper, with vines growing on their walls; or again, they felt + the smell of the beanfields in June, and saw in their minds’ eye the + panorama of the melting snows, when at a fairy touch the long winter is + defeated, the meadows are flooded, and the trees seem to float about in + the shining water like shapes invoked by a wizard. They saw these things + and yearned towards them with all their hearts, here in this uncouth + country where they were to fight a strange people for some unaccountable + reason. But Chang Liang had played his flute to them in vain. It was in + vain that he had tried to lure them back to their homes, and in vain that + he had melted their hearts with the memories of their childhood. For the + battle began at dawn the next morning, and when the enemy attacked they + found an army there to meet them; and the battle lasted for two days on + this very spot; and many of the men to whom Chang Liang had brought back + through his flute the sights and the sounds of their childhood, were fated + never to hear again those familiar sounds, nor to see the land and the + faces which they loved. + </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> + “WHAT IS TRUTH?” + </h2> + <h3> + To E. I. Huber + </h3> + <p> + Sitting opposite me in the second-class carriage of the express train + which was crawling at a leisurely pace from Moscow to the south was a + little girl who looked as if she were about twelve years old, with her + mother. The mother was a large fair-haired person, with a good-natured + expression. They had a dog with them, and the little girl, whose whole + face twitched every now and then from St. Vitus’ dance, got out at nearly + every station to buy food for the dog. On the same side of the carriage, + in the opposite corner, another lady (thin, fair, and wearing a pince-nez) + was reading the newspaper. She and the mother of the child soon made + friends over the dog. That is to say, the dog made friends with the + strange lady and was reproved by its mistress, and the strange lady said: + “Please don’t scold him. He is not in the least in my way, and I like + dogs.” They then began to talk. + </p> + <p> + The large lady was going to the country. She and her daughter had been + ordered to go there by the doctor. She had spent six weeks in Moscow under + medical treatment, and they had now been told to finish this cure with a + thorough rest in the country air. The thin lady asked her the name of her + doctor, and before ascertaining what was the disease in question, + recommended another doctor who had cured a friend of hers, almost as + though by miracle, of heart disease. The large lady seemed interested and + wrote down the direction of the marvellous physician. She was herself + suffering, she said, from a nervous illness, and her daughter had St. + Vitus’ dance. They were so far quite satisfied with their doctor. They + talked for some time exclusively about medical matters, comparing notes + about doctors, diseases, and remedies. The thin lady said she had been + cured of all her ills by aspirin and cinnamon. + </p> + <p> + In the course of the conversation the stout lady mentioned her husband, + who, it turned out, was the head of the gendarmerie in a town in Siberia, + not far from Irkutsk. This seemed to interest the thin lady immensely. She + at once asked what were his political views, and what she herself thought + about politics. + </p> + <p> + The large lady seemed to be reluctant to talk politics and evaded the + questions for some time, but after much desultory conversation, which + always came back to the same point, she said:— + </p> + <p> + “My husband is a Conservative; they call him a ‘Black Hundred,’ but it’s + most unfair and untrue, because he is a very good man and very just. He + has his own opinions and he is sincere. He does not believe in the + revolution or in the revolutionaries. He took the oath to serve the + Emperor when everything went quietly and well, and now, although I have + often begged him to leave the Service, he says it would be very wrong to + leave just because it is dangerous. ‘I have taken the oath,’ he says, ‘and + I must keep it.’” + </p> + <p> + Here she stopped, but after some further questions on the part of the thin + lady, she said: “I never had time or leisure to think of these questions. + I was married when I was sixteen. I have had eight children, and they all + died one after the other except this one, who was the eldest. I used to + see political exiles and prisoners, and I used to feel sympathy for them. + I used to hear about people being sent here and there, and sometimes I + used to go down on my knees to my husband to do what he could for them, + but I never thought about there being any particular idea at the back of + all this.” Then after a short pause she added: “It first dawned on me at + Moscow. It was after the big strike, and I was on my way home. I had been + staying with some friends in the country, and I happened by chance to see + the funeral of that man Bauman, the doctor, who was killed. I was very + much impressed when I saw that huge procession go past, all the men + singing the funeral march, and I understood that Bauman himself had + nothing to do with it. Who cared about Bauman? But I understood that he + was a symbol. I saw that there must be a big idea which moves all these + people to give up everything, to go to prison, to kill, and be killed. I + understood this for the first time at that funeral. I cried when the crowd + went past. I understood there was a big idea, a great cause behind it all. + Then I went home. + </p> + <p> + “There were disorders in Siberia: you know in Siberia we are much freer + than you are. There is only one society. The officials, the political + people, revolutionaries, exiles, everybody, in fact, all meet constantly. + I used to go to political meetings, and to see and talk with the Liberal + and revolutionary leaders. Then I began to be disappointed because what + had always struck me as unjust was that one man, just because he happened + to be, say, Ivan Pavlovitch, should be able to rule over another man who + happened to be, say, Ivan Ivanovitch. And now that these Republics were + being made, it seemed that the same thing was beginning all over again—that + all the places of authority were being seized and dealt out amongst + another lot of people who were behaving exactly like those who had + authority before. The arbitrary authority was there just the same, only it + had changed hands, and this puzzled me very much, and I began to ask + myself, ‘Where is the truth?’” + </p> + <p> + “What did your husband think?” asked the thin lady. + </p> + <p> + “My husband did not like to talk about these things,” she answered. “He + says, ‘I am in the Service, and I have to serve. It is not my business to + have opinions.’” + </p> + <p> + “But all those Republics didn’t last very long,” rejoined the thin lady. + </p> + <p> + “No,” continued the other; “we never had a Republic, and after a time they + arrested the chief agitator, who was the soul of the revolutionary + movement in our town, a wonderful orator. I had heard him speak several + times and been carried away. When he was arrested I saw him taken to + prison, and he said ‘Good-bye’ to the people, and bowed to them in the + street in such an exaggerated theatrical way that I was astonished and + felt uncomfortable. Here, I thought, is a man who can sacrifice himself + for an idea, and who seemed to be thoroughly sincere, and yet he behaves + theatrically and poses as if he were not sincere. I felt more puzzled than + ever, and I asked my husband to let me go and see him in prison. I thought + that perhaps after talking to him I could solve the riddle, and find out + once for all who was right and who was wrong. My husband let me go, and I + was admitted into his cell. + </p> + <p> + “‘You know who I am,’ I said, ‘since I am here, and I am admitted inside + these locked doors?’ He nodded. Then I asked him whether I could be of any + use to him. He said that he had all that he wanted; and like this the ice + was broken, and I asked him presently if he believed in the whole + movement. He said that until the 17th of October, when the Manifesto had + been issued, he had believed with all his soul in it; but the events of + the last months had caused him to change his mind. He now thought that the + work of his party, and, in fact, the whole movement, which had been going + on for over fifty years, had really been in vain. ‘We shall have,’ he + said, ‘to begin again from the very beginning, because the Russian people + are not ready for us yet, and probably another fifty years will have to go + by before they are ready.’ + </p> + <p> + “I left him very much perplexed. He was set free not long afterwards, in + virtue of some manifesto, and because there had been no disorders in our + town and he had not been the cause of any bloodshed. Soon after he came + out of prison my husband met him, and he said to my husband: ‘I suppose + you will not shake hands with me?’ And my husband replied: ‘Because our + views are different there is no reason why both of us should not be honest + men,’ and he shook hands with him.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation now became a discussion about the various ideals of + various people and parties holding different political views. The large + lady kept on expressing the puzzled state of mind in which she was. + </p> + <p> + The whole conversation, of which I have given a very condensed report, was + spread over a long time, and often interrupted. Later they reached the + subject of political assassination, and the large lady said:— + </p> + <p> + “About two months after I came home that year, one day when I was out + driving with my daughter in a sledge the revolutionaries fired six shots + at us from revolvers. We were not hit, but one bullet went through the + coachman’s cap. Ever since then I have had nervous fits and my daughter + has had St. Vitus’ dance. We have to go to Moscow every year to be + treated. And it is so difficult. I don’t know how to manage. When I am at + home I feel as if I ought to go, and when I am away I never have a + moment’s peace, because I cannot help thinking the whole time that my + husband is in danger. A few weeks after they shot at us I met some of the + revolutionary party at a meeting, and I asked them why they had shot at + myself and my daughter. I could have understood it if they had shot at my + husband. But why at us? He said: ‘When the wood is cut down, the chips fly + about.‘[*] And now I don’t know what to think about it all. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] A Russian proverb. +</pre> + <p> + “Sometimes I think it is all a mistake, and I feel that the + revolutionaries are posing and playing a part, and that so soon as they + get the upper hand they will be as bad as what we have now; and then I say + to myself, all the same they are acting in a cause, and it is a great + cause, and they are working for liberty and for the people. And, then, + would the people be better off if they had their way? The more I think of + it the more puzzled I am. Who is right? Is my husband right? Are they + right? Is it a great cause? How can they be wrong if they are imprisoned + and killed for what they believe? Where is the truth, and what is truth?” + </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> + A LUNCHEON-PARTY + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Bergmann was a widow. She was American by birth and marriage, and + English by education and habits. She was a fair, beautiful woman, with + large eyes and a white complexion. Her weak point was ambition, and + ambition with her took the form of luncheon-parties. + </p> + <p> + It was one summer afternoon that she was seized with the great idea of her + life. It consisted in giving a luncheon-party which should be more + original and amusing than any other which had ever been given in London. + The idea became a mania. It left her no peace. It possessed her like venom + or like madness. She could think of nothing else. She racked her brains in + imagining how it could be done. But the more she was harassed by this aim + the further off its realisation appeared to her to be. At last it began to + weigh upon her. She lost her spirits and her appetite; her friends began + to remark with anxiety on the change in her behaviour and in her looks. + She herself felt that the situation was intolerable, and that success or + suicide lay before her. + </p> + <p> + One evening towards the end of June, as she was sitting in her lovely + drawing-room in her house in Mayfair, in front of her tea-table, on which + the tea stood untasted, brooding over the question which unceasingly + tormented her, she cried out, half aloud:— + </p> + <p> + “I’d sell my soul to the devil if he would give me what I wish.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the footman entered the room and said there was a gentleman + downstairs who wished to speak with her. + </p> + <p> + “What is his name?” asked Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + The footman said he had not caught the gentleman’s name, and he handed her + a card on a tray. + </p> + <p> + She took the card. On it was written:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MR. NICHOLAS L. SATAN, + I, Pandemonium Terrace, + BURNING MARLE, HELL. + Telephone, No. I Central. +</pre> + <p> + “Show him up,” said Mrs. Bergmann, quite naturally, as though she had been + expecting the visitor. She wondered at her own behaviour, and seemed to + herself to be acting inevitably, as one does in dreams. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Satan was shown in. He had a professional air about him, but not of + the kind that suggests needy or even learned professionalism. He was dark; + his features were sharp and regular, his eyes keen, his complexion pale, + his mouth vigorous, and his chin prominent. He was well dressed in a frock + coat, black tie, and patent leather boots. He would never have been taken + for a conjurer or a shop-walker, but he might have been taken for a + slightly depraved Art-photographer who had known better days. He sat down + near the tea-table opposite Mrs. Bergmann, holding his top hat, which had + a slight mourning band round it, in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, madam,” he spoke with an even American intonation, “you + wish to be supplied with a guest who will make all other luncheon-parties + look, so to speak, like thirty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is just what I want,” answered Mrs. Bergmann, who continued to + be surprised at herself. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon there’s no one living who’d suit,” said Mr. Satan, “and + I’d better supply you with a celebrity of <i>a</i> former generation.” He + then took out a small pocket-book from his coat pocket, and quickly + turning over its leaves he asked in a monotonous tone: “Would you like a + Philosopher? Anaxagoras, Aristotle, Aurelius, M.?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no,” answered Mrs. Bergmann with decision, “they would ruin any + luncheon.” + </p> + <p> + “A Saint?” suggested Mr. Satan, “Antony, Ditto of Padua, Athanasius, + Augustine, Anselm?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, no,” said Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “A Theologian, good arguer?” asked Mr. Satan, “Aquinas, T?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” interrupted Mrs. Bergmann, “for heaven’s sake don’t always give me + the A’s, or we shall never get on to anything. You’ll be offering me Adam + and Abel next.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Satan, “Latimer, Laud—Historic + Interest, Church and Politics combined,” he added quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want a clergyman,” said Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “Artist?” said Mr. Satan, “Andrea del Sarto, Angelo, M., Apelles?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re going back to the A’s,” interrupted Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “Bellini, Benvenuto Cellini, Botticelli?” he continued imperturbably. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the use of them when I can get Sargent every day?” asked Mrs. + Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “A man of action, perhaps? Alexander, Bonaparte, Caesar, J., Cromwell, O., + Hannibal?” + </p> + <p> + “Too heavy for luncheon,” she answered, “they would do for <i>dinner</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Plain statesman? Bismarck, Count; Chatham, Lord; Franklin, B; Richelieu, + Cardinal.” + </p> + <p> + “That would make the members of the Cabinet feel uncomfortable,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “A Monarch? Alfred; beg pardon, he’s an A. Richard III., Peter the Great, + Louis XI., Nero?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Bergmann. “I can’t have a Royalty. It would make it too + stiff.” + </p> + <p> + “I have it,” said Mr. Satan, “a highwayman: Dick Turpin; or a + housebreaker: Jack Sheppard or Charles Peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no,” said Mrs. Bergmann, “they might steal the Sevres.” + </p> + <p> + “A musician? Bach or Beethoven?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “He’s getting into the B’s now,” thought Mrs. Bergmann. “No,” she added + aloud, “we should have to ask him to play, and he can’t play Wagner, I + suppose, and musicians are so touchy.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I have it,” said Mr. Satan, “a wit: Dr. Johnson, Sheridan, Sidney + Smith?” + </p> + <p> + “We should probably find their jokes dull <i>now</i>,” said Mrs. Bergmann, + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Miscellaneous?” inquired Mr. Satan, and turning over several leaves of + his notebook, he rattled out the following names: “Alcibiades, kind of + statesman; Beau Brummel, fop; Cagliostro, conjurer; Robespierre, + politician; Charles Stuart, Pretender; Warwick, King-maker; Borgia, A., + Pope; Ditto, C., toxicologist; Wallenstein, mercenary; Bacon, Roger, man + of science; Ditto, F., dishonest official; Tell, W., patriot; Jones, Paul, + pirate; Lucullus, glutton; Simon Stylites, eccentric; Casanova, loose + liver; Casabianca, cabin-boy; Chicot, jester; Sayers, T., prize-fighter; + Cook, Captain, tourist; Nebuchadnezzar, food-faddist; Juan, D., lover; + Froissart, war correspondent; Julian, apostate?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see,” said Mrs. Bergmann, “we must have some one everybody has + heard of?” + </p> + <p> + “David Garrick, actor and wit?” suggested Mr. Satan. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no good having an actor nobody has seen act,” said Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “What about a poet?” asked Mr. Satan, “Homer, Virgil, Dante, Byron, + Shakespeare?” + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare!” she cried out, “the very thing. Everybody has heard of + Shakespeare, more or less, and I expect he’d get on with everybody, and + wouldn’t feel offended if I asked Alfred Austin or some other poet to meet + him. Can you get me Shakespeare?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mr. Satan, “day and date?” + </p> + <p> + “It must be Thursday fortnight,” said Mrs. Bergmann. “And what, ah—er—your + terms?” + </p> + <p> + “The usual terms,” he answered. “In return for supernatural service + rendered you during your lifetime, your soul reverts to me at your death.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bergmann’s brain began to work quickly. She was above all things a + practical woman, and she immediately felt she was being defrauded. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot consent to such terms,” she said. “Surely you recognise the + fundamental difference between this proposed contract and those which you + concluded with others—with Faust, for instance? They sold the full + control of their soul after death on condition of your putting yourself at + their entire disposal during the whole of their lifetime, whereas you ask + me to do the same thing in return for a few hours’ service. The proposal + is preposterous.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Satan rose from his chair. “In that case, madam,” he said, “I have the + honour to wish you a good afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a moment,” said Mrs. Bergmann, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t arrive + at a compromise. I am perfectly willing that you should have the control + over my soul for a limited number of years—I believe there are + precedents for such a course—let us say a million years.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten million,” said Mr. Satan, quietly but firmly. + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” answered Mrs. Bergmann, “we will take no notice of leap + year, and we will count 365 days in every year.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mr. Satan, with an expression of somewhat ruffled + dignity, “we always allow leap year, but, of course, thirteen years will + count as twelve.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mrs. Bergmann with equal dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps you will not mind signing the contract at once,” said Mr. + Satan, drawing from his pocket a type-written page. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bergmann walked to the writing-table and took the paper from his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Over the stamp, please,” said Mr. Satan. + </p> + <p> + “Must I—er—sign it in blood?” asked Mrs. Bergmann, + hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “You can if you like,” said Mr. Satan, “but I prefer red ink; it is + quicker and more convenient.” + </p> + <p> + He handed her a stylograph pen. + </p> + <p> + “Must it be witnessed?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “these kind of documents don’t need a witness.” + </p> + <p> + In a firm, bold handwriting Mrs. Bergmann signed her name in red ink + across the sixpenny stamp. She half expected to hear a clap of thunder and + to see Mr. Satan disappear, but nothing of the kind occurred. Mr. Satan + took the document, folded it, placed it in his pocket-book, took up his + hat and gloves, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. William Shakespeare will call to luncheon on Thursday week. At what + hour is the luncheon to be?” + </p> + <p> + “One-thirty,” said Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “He may be a few minutes late,” answered Mr. Satan. “Good afternoon, + madam,” and he bowed and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bergmann chuckled to herself when she was alone. “I have done him,” + she thought to herself, “because ten million years in eternity is nothing. + He might just as well have said one second as ten million years, since + anything less than eternity in eternity is nothing. It is curious how + stupid the devil is in spite of all his experience. Now I must think about + my invitations.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The morning of Mrs. Bergmann’s luncheon had arrived. She had asked + thirteen men and nine women. + </p> + <p> + But an hour before luncheon an incident happened which nearly drove Mrs. + Bergmann distracted. One of her guests, who was also one of her most + intimate friends, Mrs. Lockton, telephoned to her saying she had quite + forgotten, but she had asked on that day a man to luncheon whom she did + not know, and who had been sent to her by Walford, the famous professor. + She ended the message by saying she would bring the stranger with her. + </p> + <p> + “What is his name?” asked Mrs. Bergmann, not without intense irritation, + meaning to put a veto on the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “His name is——” and at that moment the telephone communication + was interrupted, and in spite of desperate efforts Mrs. Bergmann was + unable to get on to Mrs. Lockton again. She reflected that it was quite + useless for her to send a message saying that she had no room at her + table, because Angela Lockton would probably bring the stranger all the + same. Then she further reflected that in the excitement caused by the + presence of Shakespeare it would not really much matter whether there was + a stranger there or not. A little before half-past one the guests began to + arrive. Lord Pantry of Assouan, the famous soldier, was the first comer. + He was soon followed by Professor Morgan, an authority on Greek + literature; Mr. Peebles, the ex-Prime Minister; Mrs. Hubert Baldwin, the + immensely popular novelist; the fascinating Mrs. Rupert Duncan, who was + lending her genius to one of Ibsen’s heroines at that moment; Miss Medea + Tring, one of the latest American beauties; Corporal, the + portrait-painter; Richard Giles, critic and man of letters; Hereward + Blenheim, a young and rising politician, who before the age of thirty had + already risen higher than most men of sixty; Sir Horace Silvester, + K.C.M.G., the brilliant financier, with his beautiful wife Lady Irene; + Professor Leo Newcastle, the eminent man of science; Lady Hyacinth + Gloucester, and Mrs. Milden, who were well known for their beauty and + charm; Osmond Hall, the paradoxical playwright; Monsieur Faubourg, the + psychological novelist; Count Sciarra, an Italian nobleman, about fifty + years old, who had written a history of the Popes, and who was now staying + in London; Lady Herman, the beauty of a former generation, still extremely + handsome; and Willmott, the successful actor-manager. They were all + assembled in the drawing-room upstairs, talking in knots and groups, and + pervaded by a feeling of pleasurable excitement and expectation, so much + so that conversation was intermittent, and nearly everybody was talking + about the weather. The Right Hon. John Lockton, the eminent lawyer, was + the last guest to arrive. + </p> + <p> + “Angela will be here in a moment,” he explained; “she asked me to come on + first.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bergmann grew restless. It was half-past one, and no Shakespeare. She + tried to make her guests talk, with indifferent success. The expectation + was too great. Everybody was absorbed by the thought of what was going to + happen next. Ten minutes passed thus, and Mrs. Bergmann grew more and more + anxious. + </p> + <p> + At last the bell rang, and soon Mrs. Lockton walked upstairs, leading with + her a quite insignificant, ordinary-looking, middle-aged, rather portly + man with shiny black hair, bald on the top of his head, and a blank, + good-natured expression. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so sorry to be so late, Louise, dear,” she said. “Let me introduce + Mr. —— to you.” And whether she had forgotten the name or not, + Mrs. Bergmann did not know or care at the time, but it was mumbled in such + a manner that it was impossible to catch it. Mrs. Bergmann shook hands + with him absent-mindedly, and, looking at the clock, saw that it was ten + minutes to two. + </p> + <p> + “I have been deceived,” she thought to herself, and anger rose in her + breast like a wave. At the same time she felt the one thing necessary was + not to lose her head, or let anything damp the spirits of her guests. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll go down to luncheon directly,” she said. “I’m expecting some one + else, but he probably won’t come till later.” She led the way and + everybody trooped downstairs to the dining-room, feeling that + disappointment was in store for them. Mrs. Bergmann left the place on her + right vacant; she did not dare fill it up, because in her heart of hearts + she felt certain Shakespeare would arrive, and she looked forward to a <i>coup + de theatre</i>, which would be quite spoilt if his place was occupied. On + her left sat Count Sciarra; the unknown friend of Angela Lockton sat at + the end of the table next to Willmott. + </p> + <p> + The luncheon started haltingly. Angela Lockton’s friend was heard saying + in a clear voice that the dust in London was very trying. + </p> + <p> + “Have you come from the country?” asked M. Faubourg. “I myself am just + returned from Oxford, where I once more admired your admirable English + lawns—<i>vos pelouses seculaires</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the stranger, “I only came up to town to-day, because it seems + indeed a waste and a pity to spend the finest time of the year in London.” + </p> + <p> + Count Sciarra, who had not uttered a word since he had entered the house, + turned to his hostess and asked her whom she considered, after herself, to + be the most beautiful woman in the room, Lady Irene, Lady Hyacinth, or + Mrs. Milden? + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Milden,” he went on, “has the smile of La Gioconda, and hands and + hair for Leonardo to paint. Lady Gloucester,” he continued, leaving out + the Christian name, “is English, like one of Shakespeare’s women, + Desdemona or Imogen; and Lady Irene has no nationality, she belongs to the + dream worlds of Shelley and D’Annunzio: she is the guardian Lady of + Shelley’s ‘Sensitiva,’ the vision of the lily. ‘Quale un vaso liturgico + d’argento.’ And you, madame, you take away all my sense of criticism. + ‘Vous me troublez trop pour que je definisse votre genre de beaute.’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Milden was soon engaged in a deep tete-a-tete with Mr. Peebles, who + was heard every now and then to say, “Quite, quite,” Miss Tring was + holding forth to Silvester on French sculpture, and Silvester now and + again said: “Oh! really!” in the tone of intense interest which his + friends knew indicated that he was being acutely bored. Lady Hyacinth was + discussing Socialism with Osmond Hall, Lady Herman was discussing the + theory of evolution with Professor Newcastle, Mrs. Lockton, the question + of the French Church, with Faubourg; and Blenheim was discharging molten + fragments of embryo exordiums and perorations on the subject of the stage + to Willmott; in fact, there was a general buzz of conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been to see Antony and Cleopatra?” asked Willmott of the + stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the neighbour, “I went last night; many authors have treated + the subject, and the version I saw last night was very pretty. I couldn’t + get a programme so I didn’t see who——” + </p> + <p> + “I think my version,” interrupted Willmott, with pride, “is admitted to be + the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is your version!” said the stranger. “I beg your pardon, I think + you treated the subject very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Willmott, “it is ungrateful material, but I think I made + something fine of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, no doubt,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Do tell us,” Mrs. Baldwin was heard to ask M. Faubourg across the table, + “what the young generation are doing in France? Who are the young + novelists?” + </p> + <p> + “There are no young novelists worth mentioning,” answered M. Faubourg. + </p> + <p> + Miss Tring broke in and said she considered “Le Visage Emerveille,” by the + Comtesse de Noailles, to be the most beautiful book of the century, with + the exception, perhaps, of the “Tagebuch einer Verlorenen.” + </p> + <p> + But from the end of the table Blenheim’s utterance was heard + preponderating over that of his neighbours. He was making a fine speech on + the modern stage, comparing an actor-manager to Napoleon, and commenting + on the campaigns of the latter in detail. + </p> + <p> + Quite heedless of this Mr. Willmott was carrying on an equally impassioned + but much slower monologue on his conception of the character of Cyrano de + Bergerac, which he said he intended to produce. “Cyrano,” he said, “has + been maligned by Coquelin. Coquelin is a great artist, but he did not + understand Cyrano. Cyrano is a dreamer, a poet; he is a martyr of thought + like Tolstoi, a sacrifice to wasted, useless action, like Hamlet; he is a + Moliere come too soon, a Bayard come too late, a John the Baptist of the + stage, calling out in vain in the wilderness—of bricks and mortar; + he is misunderstood;—an enigma, an anachronism, a premature herald, + a false dawn.” + </p> + <p> + Count Sciarra was engaged in a third monologue at the head of the table. + He was talking at the same time to Mrs. Bergmann, Lady Irene, and Lady + Hyacinth about the devil. “Ah que j’aime le diable!” he was saying in low, + tender tones. “The devil who creates your beauty to lure us to + destruction, the devil who puts honey into the voice of the siren, the + dolce sirena— + </p> + <p> + “Che i marinari in mezzo il mar dismaga” + </p> + <p> + (and he hummed this line in a sing-song two or three times over)—“the + devil who makes us dream and doubt, and who made life interesting by + persuading Eve to eat the silver apple—what would life have been if + she had not eaten the apple? We should all be in the silly trees of the + Garden of Eden, and I should be sitting next to you” (he said to Mrs. + Bergmann), “without knowing that you were beautiful; que vous etes belle + et que vous etes desirable; que vous etes puissante et caline, que je fais + naufrage dans une mer d’amour—e il naufragio m’e dolce in questo + mare—en un mot, que je vous aime.” + </p> + <p> + “Life outside the garden of Eden has many drawbacks,” said Mrs. Bergmann, + who, although she was inwardly pleased by Count Sciarra’s remarks, saw by + Lady Irene’s expression that she thought he was mad. + </p> + <p> + “Aucun ‘drawback,’” answered Sciarra, “n’egalerait celui de comtempler les + divins contours feminins sans un frisson. Pensez donc si Madame Bergmann——” + </p> + <p> + “Count Sciarra,” interrupted Mrs. Bergmann, terrified of what was coming + next, “do tell me about the book you are writing on Venice.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lockton was at that moment discussing portraiture in novels with M. + Faubourg, and during a pause Miss Tring was heard to make the following + remark: “And is it true M. Faubourg, that ‘Cecile’ in ‘La Mauvaise Bonte’ + is a portrait of some one you once loved and who treated you very badly?” + </p> + <p> + M. Faubourg, a little embarrassed, said that a creative artist made a + character out of many originals. + </p> + <p> + Then, seeing that nobody was saying a word to his neighbour, he turned + round and asked him if he had been to the Academy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the stranger; “it gets worse every year doesn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Corporal’s pictures are always worth seeing,” said Faubourg. + </p> + <p> + “I think he paints men better than women,” said the stranger; “he doesn’t + flatter people, but of course his pictures are very clever.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the attention of the whole table was monopolised by Osmond + Hall, who began to discuss the scenario of a new play he was writing. “My + play,” he began, “is going to be called ‘The King of the North Pole.’ I + have never been to the North Pole, and I don’t mean to go there. It’s not + necessary to have first-hand knowledge of technical subjects in order to + write a play. People say that Shakespeare must have studied the law, + because his allusions to the law are frequent and accurate. That does not + prove that he knew law any more than the fact that he put a sea in Bohemia + proves that he did not know geography. It proves he was a dramatist. He + wanted a sea in Bohemia. He wanted lawyer’s ‘shop.’ I should do just the + same thing myself. I wrote a play about doctors, knowing nothing about + medicine: I asked a friend to give me the necessary information. + Shakespeare, I expect, asked his friends to give him the legal information + he required.” + </p> + <p> + Every allusion to Shakespeare was a stab to Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare’s knowledge of the law is very thorough,” broke in Lockton. + </p> + <p> + “Not so thorough as the knowledge of medicine which is revealed in my + play,” said Hall. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare knew law by intuition,” murmured Willmott, “but he did not + guess what the modern stage would make of his plays.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope not,” said Giles. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare,” said Faubourg, “was a psychologue; he had the power, I + cannot say it in English, de deviner ce qu’il ne savait pas en puisant + dans le fond et le trefond de son ame.” + </p> + <p> + “Gammon!” said Hall; “he had the power of asking his friends for the + information he required.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think,” asked Giles, “that before he wrote ‘Time delves the + parallel on beauty’s brow,’ he consulted his lawyer as to a legal metaphor + suitable for a sonnet?” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think,” asked Mrs. Duncan, “that he asked his female relations + what it would feel like to be jealous of Octavia if one happened to be + Cleopatra?” + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare was a married man,” said Hall, “and if his wife found the + MSS. of his sonnets lying about he must have known a jealous woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare evidently didn’t trouble his friends for information on + natural history, not for a playwright,” said Hall. “I myself should not + mind what liberty I took with the cuckoo, the bee, or even the basilisk. I + should not trouble you for accurate information on the subject; I should + not even mind saying the cuckoo lays eggs in its own nest if it suited the + dramatic situation.” + </p> + <p> + The whole of this conversation was torture to Mrs. Bergmann. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare,” said Lady Hyacinth, “had a universal nature; one can’t help + thinking he was almost like God.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what people will say of me a hundred years hence,” said Hall; + “only it is to be hoped they’ll leave out the ‘almost.’” + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare understood love,” said Lady Herman, in a loud voice; “he knew + how a man makes love to a woman. If Richard III. had made love to me as + Shakespeare describes him doing it, I’m not sure that I could have + resisted him. But the finest of all Shakespeare’s men is Othello. That’s a + real man. Desdemona was a fool. It’s not wonderful that Othello didn’t see + through Iago; but Desdemona ought to have seen through him. The stupidest + woman can see through a clever man like him; but, of course, Othello was a + fool too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” broke in Mrs. Lockton, “if Napoleon had married Desdemona he would + have made Iago marry one of his sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “I think Desdemona is the most pathetic of Shakespeare’s heroines,” said + Lady Hyacinth; “don’t you think so, Mr. Hall?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s easy enough to make a figure pathetic, who is strangled by a + nigger,” answered Hall. “Now if Desdemona had been a negress Shakespeare + would have started fair.” + </p> + <p> + “If only Shakespeare had lived later,” sighed Willmott, “and understood + the condition of the modern stage, he would have written quite + differently.” + </p> + <p> + “If Shakespeare had lived now he would have written novels,” said + Faubourg. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Baldwin, “I feel sure you are right there.” + </p> + <p> + “If Shakespeare had lived now,” said Sciarra to Mrs. Bergmann, “we + shouldn’t notice his existence; he would be just un monsieur comme tout le + monde—like that monsieur sitting next to Faubourg,” he added in a + low voice. + </p> + <p> + “The problem about Shakespeare,” broke in Hall, “is not how he wrote his + plays. I could teach a poodle to do that in half an hour. But the problem + is—What made him leave off writing just when he was beginning to + know how to do it? It is as if I had left off writing plays ten years + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the stranger, hesitatingly and modestly, “he had made + enough money by writing plays to retire on his earnings and live in the + country.” + </p> + <p> + Nobody took any notice of this remark. + </p> + <p> + “If Bacon was really the playwright,” said Lockton, “the problem is a very + different one.” + </p> + <p> + “If Bacon had written Shakespeare’s plays,” said Silvester, “they wouldn’t + have been so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “There seems to me to be only one argument,” said Professor Morgan, “in + favour of the Bacon theory, and that is that the range of mind displayed + in Shakespeare’s plays is so great that it would have been child’s play + for the man who wrote Shakespeare’s plays to have written the works of + Bacon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hall, “but because it would be child’s play for the man who + wrote my plays to have written your works and those of Professor Newcastle—which + it would—it doesn’t prove that you wrote my plays.” + </p> + <p> + “Bacon was a philosopher,” said Willmott, “and Shakespeare was a poet—a + dramatic poet; but Shakespeare was also an actor, an actor-manager, and + only an actor-manager could have written the plays.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of the Bacon theory?” asked Faubourg of the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the stranger, “that we shall soon have to say eggs and + Shakespeare instead of eggs and Bacon.” + </p> + <p> + This remark caused a slight shudder to pass through all the guests, and + Mrs. Bergmann felt sorry that she had not taken decisive measures to + prevent the stranger’s intrusion. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare wrote his own plays,” said Sciarra, “and I don’t know if he + knew law, but he knew <i>le coeur de la femme</i>. Cleopatra bids her + slave find out the colour of Octavia’s hair; that is just what my wife, my + Angelica, would do if I were to marry some one in London while she was at + Rome.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Gladstone used to say,” broke in Lockton, “that Dante was inferior to + Shakespeare, because he was too great an optimist.” + </p> + <p> + “Dante was not an optimist,” said Sciarra, “about the future life of + politicians. But I think they were both of them pessimists about man and + both optimists about God.” + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare,” began Blenheim; but he was interrupted by Mrs. Duncan who + cried out:— + </p> + <p> + “I wish he were alive now and would write me a part, a real woman’s part. + The women have so little to do in Shakespeare’s plays. There’s Juliet; but + one can’t play Juliet till one’s forty, and then one’s too old to look + fourteen. There’s Lady Macbeth; but she’s got nothing to do except walk in + her sleep and say, ‘Out, damned spot!’ There were not actresses in his + days, and of course it was no use writing a woman’s part for a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have been born in France,” said Faubourg, “Racine’s women are + created for you to play.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you’ve got Sarah,” said Mrs. Duncan, “you don’t want anyone else.” + </p> + <p> + “I think Racine’s boring,” said Mrs. Lockton, “he’s so artificial.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t say that,” said Giles, “Racine is the most exquisite of poets, + so sensitive, so acute, and so harmonious.” + </p> + <p> + “I like Rostand better,” said Mrs. Lockton. + </p> + <p> + “Rostand!” exclaimed Miss Tring, in disgust, “he writes such bad verses—du + caoutchouc—he’s so vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said Willmott, “he’s an amateur. He has never written + professionally for his bread but only for his pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “But in that sense,” said Giles, “God is an amateur.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess,” said Peebles, “that I cannot appreciate French poetry. I can + read Rousseau with pleasure, and Bossuet; but I cannot admire Corneille + and Racine.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody writes plays now,” said Faubourg, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “I have never written a play,” said Lord Pantry. + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Lockton. + </p> + <p> + “But nearly everyone at this table has,” said Faubourg. “Mrs. Baldwin has + written ‘Matilda,’ Mr. Giles has written a tragedy called ‘Queen Swaflod,’ + I wrote a play in my youth, my ‘Le Menetrier de Parme’; I’m sure Corporal + has written a play. Count Sciarra must have written several; have you ever + written a play?” he said, turning to his neighbour, the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the stranger, “I once wrote a play called ‘Hamlet.’” + </p> + <p> + “You were courageous with such an original before you,” said Faubourg, + severely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the stranger, “the original was very good, but I think,” he + added modestly, “that I improved upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “Encore un faiseur de paradoxes!” murmured Faubourg to himself in disgust. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Willmott was giving Professor Morgan the benefit of his + views on Greek art, punctuated with allusions to Tariff Reform and + devolution for the benefit of Blenheim. + </p> + <p> + Luncheon was over and cigarettes were lighted. Mrs. Bergmann had quite + made up her mind that she had been cheated, and there was only one thing + for which she consoled herself, and that was that she had not waited for + luncheon but had gone down immediately, since so far all her guests had + kept up a continuous stream of conversation, which had every now and then + become general, though they still every now and then glanced at the empty + chair and wondered what the coming attraction was going to be. Mrs. Milden + had carried on two almost interrupted tete-a-tetes, first with one of her + neighbours, then with the other. In fact everybody had talked, except the + stranger, who had hardly spoken, and since Faubourg had turned away from + him in disgust, nobody had taken any further notice of him. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baldwin, remarking this, good-naturedly leant across the table and + asked him if he had come to London for the Wagner cycle. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, “I came for the Horse Show at Olympia.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Count Sciarra, having finished his third cigarette, turned + to his hostess and thanked her for having allowed him to meet the most + beautiful women of London in the most beautiful house in London, and in + the house of the most beautiful hostess in London. + </p> + <p> + “J’ai vu chez vous,” he said, “le lys argente et la rose blanche, mais + vous etes la rose ecarlate, la rose d’amour dont le parfum vivra dans mon + coeur comme un poison dore (and here he hummed in a sing-song):— + </p> + <p> + ‘Io son, cantava, Io son, dolce sirena’ Addio, dolce sirena.” + </p> + <p> + Then he suddenly and abruptly got up, kissed his hostess’s hand vehemently + three times, and said he was very sorry, but he must hasten to keep a + pressing engagement. He then left the room. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bergmann got up and said, “Let us go upstairs.” But the men had most + of them to go, some to the House of Commons, others to fulfil various + engagements. + </p> + <p> + The stranger thanked Mrs. Bergmann for her kind hospitality and left. And + the remaining guests, seeing that it was obvious that no further + attraction was to be expected, now took their leave reluctantly and went, + feeling that they had been cheated. + </p> + <p> + Angela Lockton stayed a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Who were you expecting, Louise, dear?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only an old friend,” said Mrs. Bergmann, “whom you would all have been + very glad to see. Only as he doesn’t want anybody to know he’s in London, + I couldn’t tell you all who he was.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me now,” said Mrs. Lockton; “you know how discreet I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I promised not to, dearest Angela,” she answered; “and, by the way, what + was the name of the man you brought with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I tell you? How stupid of me!” said Mrs. Lockton. “It’s a very + easy name to remember: Shakespeare, William Shakespeare.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FETE GALANTE + </h2> + <h3> + To Cecilia Fisher + </h3> + <p> + “The King said that nobody had ever danced as I danced to-night,” said + Columbine. “He said it was more than dancing, it was magic.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said Harlequin, “you never danced like that before.” + </p> + <p> + But Pierrot paid no heed to their remarks, and stared vacantly at the sky. + They were sitting on the deserted stage of the grass amphitheatre where + they had been playing. Behind them were the clumps of cypress trees which + framed a vista of endless wooden garden and formed their drop scene. They + were sitting immediately beneath the wooden framework made of two upright + beams and one horizontal, which formed the primitive proscenium, and from + which little coloured lights had hung during the performance. The King and + Queen and their lords and ladies who had looked on at the living puppet + show had all left the amphitheatre; they had put on their masks and their + dominoes, and were now dancing on the lawns, whispering in the alleys and + the avenues, or sitting in groups under the tall dark trees. Some of them + were in boats on the lake, and everywhere one went, from the dark + boscages, came sounds of music, thin, tinkling tunes played on guitars by + skilled hands, and the bird-like twittering and whistling of flageolets. + </p> + <p> + “The King said I looked like a moon fairy,” said Columbine to Pierrot. + Pierrot only stared at the sky and laughed inanely. “If you persist in + slighting me like this,” she whispered in his ear, in a whisper which was + like a hiss, “I will abandon you for ever. I will give my heart to + Harlequin, and you shall never see me again.” But Pierrot continued to + stare at the sky, and laughed once more inanely. Then Columbine got up, + her eyes flashing with rage; taking Harlequin by the arm she dragged him + swiftly away. They danced across the grass semi-circle of the amphitheatre + and up the steps away into the alleys. Pierrot was left alone with + Pantaloon, who was asleep, for he was old and clowning fatigued him. Then + Pierrot left the amphitheatre also, and putting a black mask on his face + he joined the revellers who were everywhere dancing, whispering, talking, + and making music in subdued tones. He sought out a long lonely avenue, in + one side of which there nestled, almost entirely concealed by bushes and + undergrowth, a round open Greek temple. Right at the end of the avenue a + foaming waterfall splashed down into a large marble basin, from which a + tall fountain rose, white and ghostly, and made a sobbing noise. Pierrot + went towards the temple, then he turned back and walked right into the + undergrowth through the bushes, and lay down on the grass, and listened to + the singing of the night-jar. The whole garden that night seemed to be + sighing and whispering; there was a soft warm wind, and a smell of mown + hay in the air, and an intoxicating sweetness came from the bushes of + syringa. Columbine and Harlequin also joined the revellers. They passed + from group to group, with aimless curiosity, pausing sometimes by the + artificial ponds and sometimes by the dainty groups of dancers, whose + satin and whose pearls glimmered faintly in the shifting moonlight, for + the night was cloudy. At last they too were tired of the revel, they + wandered towards a more secluded place and made for the avenue which + Pierrot had sought. On their way they passed through a narrow grass walk + between two rows of closely cropped yew hedges. There on a marble seat a + tall man in a black domino was sitting, his head resting on his hands; and + between the loose folds of his satin cloak, one caught the glint of + precious stones. When they had passed him Columbine whispered to + Harlequin: “That is the King. I caught sight of his jewelled collar.” They + presently found themselves in the long avenue at the end of which were the + waterfall and the fountain. They wandered on till they reached the Greek + temple, and there suddenly Columbine put her finger on her lips. Then she + led Harlequin back a little way and took him round through the undergrowth + to the back of the temple, and, crouching down in the bushes, bade him + look. In the middle of the temple there was a statue of Eros holding a + torch in his hands. Standing close beside the statue were two figures, a + man dressed as a Pierrot, and a beautiful lady who wore a grey satin + domino. She had taken off her mask and pushed back the hood from her hair, + which was encircled by a diadem made of something shining and silvery, and + a ray of moonlight fell on her face, which was as delicate as the petal of + a flower. Pierrot was masked; he was holding her hand and looking into her + eyes, which were turned upwards towards his. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Queen!” whispered Columbine to Harlequin. And once more putting + her finger on her lips, she deftly led him by the hand and noiselessly + threaded her way through the bushes and back into the avenue, and without + saying a word ran swiftly with him to the place where they had seen the + King. He was still there, alone, his head resting upon his hands. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + In the temple the Queen was upbraiding her lover for his temerity in + having crossed the frontier into the land from which he had been banished + for ever, and for having dared to appear at the court revel disguised as + Pierrot. “Remember,” she was saying, “the enemies that surround us, the + dreadful peril, and the doom that awaits us.” And her lover said: “What is + doom, and what is death? You whispered to the night and I heard. You + sighed and I am here!” He tore the mask from his face, and the Queen + looked at him and smiled. At that moment a rustle was heard in the + undergrowth, and the Queen started back from him, whispering: “We are + betrayed! Fly!” And her lover put on his mask and darted through the + undergrowth, following a path which he and no one else knew, till he came + to an open space where his squire awaited him with horses, and they + galloped away safe from all pursuit. + </p> + <p> + Then the King walked into the temple and led the Queen back to the palace + without saying a word; but the whole avenue was full of dark men bearing + torches and armed with swords, who were searching the undergrowth. And + presently they found Pierrot who, ignorant of all that had happened, had + been listening all night to the song of the night-jar. He was dragged to + the palace and cast into a dungeon, and the King was told. But the revel + did not cease, and the dancing and the music continued softly as before. + The King sent for Columbine and told her she should have speech with + Pierrot in his prison, for haply he might have something to confess to + her. And Columbine was taken to Pierrot’s dungeon, and the King followed + her without her knowing it, and concealed himself behind the door, which + he set ajar. + </p> + <p> + Columbine upbraided Pierrot and said: “All this was my work. I have always + known that you loved the Queen. And yet for the sake of past days, tell me + the truth. Was it love or a joke, such as those you love to play?” + </p> + <p> + Pierrot laughed inanely. “It was a joke,” he said. “It is my trade to make + jokes. What else can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “You love the Queen nevertheless,” said Columbine, “of that I am sure, and + for that I have had my revenge.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a joke,” said Pierrot, and he laughed again. + </p> + <p> + And though she talked and raved and wept, she could get no other answer + from him. Then she left him, and the King entered the dungeon. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard what you said,” said the King, “but to me you must tell the + truth. I do not believe it was you who met the Queen in the temple; tell + me the truth, and your life shall be spared.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a joke,” said Pierrot, and he laughed. Then the King grew fierce + and stormed and threatened. But his rage and threats were in vain! for + Pierrot only laughed. Then the King appealed to him as man to man and + implored him to tell him the truth; for he would have given his kingdom to + believe that it was the real Pierrot who had met the Queen and that the + adventure had been a joke. Pierrot only repeated what he had said, and + laughed and giggled inanely. + </p> + <p> + At dawn the prison door was opened and three masked men led Pierrot out + through the courtyard into the garden. The revellers had gone home, but + here and there lights still twinkled and flickered and a stray note or two + of music was still heard. Some of the latest of the revellers were going + home. The dawn was grey and chilly; they led Pierrot through the alleys to + the grass amphitheatre, and they hanged him on the horizontal beam which + formed part of the primitive proscenium where he and Columbine had danced + so wildly in the night. They hanged him and his white figure dangled from + the beam as though he were still dancing; and the new Pierrot, who was + appointed the next day, was told that such would be the fate of all + mummers who went too far, and whose jokes and pranks overstepped the + limits of decency and good breeding. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GARLAND + </h2> + <p> + The <i>Referendarius</i> had three junior clerks to carry on the business + of his department, and they in their turn were assisted by two scribes, + who did most of the copying and kept the records. The work of the + Department consisted in filing and annotating the petitions and cases + which were referred from the lower Courts, through the channel of the <i>Referendarius</i>, + to the Emperor. + </p> + <p> + The three clerks and their two scribes occupied a high marble room in the + spacious office. It was as yet early in April, but, nevertheless, the sun + out of doors was almost fierce. The high marble rooms of the office were + cool and stuffy at the same time, and the spring sunshine without, the + soft breeze from the sea, the call of the flower-sellers in the street, + and the lazy murmur of the town had, in these shaded, musty, and + parchment-smelling halls, diffused an atmosphere of laziness which + inspired the clerks in question with an overwhelming desire to do nothing. + </p> + <p> + There was, indeed, no pressing work on hand. Only from time to time the <i>Referendarius</i>, + who occupied a room to himself next door to theirs, would communicate with + them through a hole in the wall, demanding information on some point or + asking to be supplied with certain documents. Then the clerks would make a + momentary pretence of being busy, and ultimately the scribes would find + either the documents or the information which were required. + </p> + <p> + As it was, the clerks were all of them engaged in occupations which were + remote from official work. The eldest of them, Cephalus by name—a + man who was distinguished from the others by a certain refined sobriety + both in his dark dress and in his quiet demeanour—was reading a + treatise on algebra; the second, Theophilus, a musician, whose tunic was + as bright as his flaming hair, was mending a small organ; and the third, + Rufinus, a rather pale, short-sighted, and untidy youth, was scribbling on + a tablet. The scribes were busy sorting old records and putting them away + in their permanent places. + </p> + <p> + Presently an official strolled in from another department. He was a + middle-aged, corpulent, and cheerful-looking man, dressed in gaudy + coloured tissue, on which all manner of strange birds were depicted. He + was bursting with news. + </p> + <p> + “Phocas is going to win,” he said. “It is certain.” + </p> + <p> + Cephalus looked vaguely up from his book and said: “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + Theophilus and Rufinus paid no attention to the remark. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” continued the new-comer cheerfully, “Who will come to the races + with me?” + </p> + <p> + As soon as he heard the word races, Rufinus looked up from his scribbling. + “I will come,” he said, “if I can get leave.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you cared for that sort of thing,” said Cephalus. + </p> + <p> + Rufinus blushed and murmured something about going every now and then. He + walked out of the room, and sought the <i>Referendarius</i> in the next + room. This official was reading a document. He did not look up when + Rufinus entered, but went on with his reading. At last, after a prolonged + interval, he turned round and said: “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “May I go to the races?” asked Rufinus. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the high official, “what about your work?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve finished everything,” said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + The Head of the Department assumed an air of mystery and coughed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I can very well see my way to letting you go,” he said. “I + am very sorry,” he added quickly, “and if it depended on me you should go + at once. But He,” he added—he always alluded to the Head of the + Office as He—“does not like it. He may come in at any moment and + find you gone. No; I’m afraid I can’t let you go to-day. Now, if it had + been yesterday you could have gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I should only be away an hour,” said Rufinus, tentatively. + </p> + <p> + “He might choose just that hour to come round. If it depended only on me + you should go at once,” and he laughed and slapped Rufinus on the back, + jocularly. + </p> + <p> + The clerk did not press the point further. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better get on with that index,” said the high official as Rufinus + withdrew. + </p> + <p> + He told the result of his interview to his sporting friend, who started + out by himself to the Hippodrome. + </p> + <p> + Rufinus settled down to his index. But he soon fell into a mood of + abstraction. The races and the games did not interest him in the least. It + was something else which attracted him. And, as he sat musing, the vision + of the Hippodrome as he had last seen it rose clearly before him. He saw + the seaweed-coloured marble; the glistening porticoes, adorned with the + masterpieces of Greece, crowded with women in gemmed embroideries and men + in white tunics hemmed with broad purple; he saw the Generals with their + barbaric officers—Bulgarians, Persians, Arabs, Slavs—the long + line of savage-looking prisoners in their chains, and the golden + breastplates of the standard-bearers. He saw the immense silk <i>velum</i> + floating in the azure air over that rippling sea of men, those hundreds of + thousands who swarmed on the marble steps of the Hippodrome. He saw the + Emperor in his high-pillared box, on his circular throne of dull gold, + surrounded by slaves fanning him with jewel-coloured plumes, and fenced + round with golden swords. + </p> + <p> + And opposite him, on the other side of the Stadium, the Empress, mantled + in a stiff pontifical robe, laden with heavy embroidered stuffs, her + little head framed like a portrait in a square crown of gold and diamonds, + whence chains of emeralds hung down to her breast; motionless as an idol, + impassive as a gilded mummy. + </p> + <p> + He saw the crowd of gorgeous women, grouped like Eastern flowers around + her: he saw one woman. He saw one form as fresh as a lily of the valley, + all white amidst that hard metallic splendour; frail as a dewy anemone, + slender as the moist narcissus. He saw one face like the chalice of a + rose, and amidst all those fiery jewels two large eyes as soft as dark + violets. And the sumptuous Court, the plumes, the swords, the standards, + the hot, vari-coloured crowd melted away and disappeared, so that when the + Emperor rose and made the sign of the Cross over his people, first to the + right, and then to the left, and thirdly over the half-circle behind him, + and the singers of Saint Sofia and the Church of the Holy Apostles mingled + their bass chant with the shrill trebles of the chorus of the Hippodrome, + to the sound of silver organs, he thought that the great hymn of praise + was rising to her and to her alone; and that men had come from the + uttermost parts of the earth to pay homage to her, to sing her praise, to + kneel to her—to her, the wondrous, the very beautiful: peerless, + radiant, perfect. + </p> + <p> + A voice, followed by a cough, called from the hole in the wall; but + Rufinus paid no heed, so deeply sunk was he in his vision. + </p> + <p> + “Rufinus, the Chief is calling you,” said Cephalus. + </p> + <p> + Rufinus started, and hurried to the hole in the wall. The Head of the + Department gave him a message for an official in another department. + </p> + <p> + Rufinus hurried with the message downstairs and delivered it. On his way + back he passed the main portico on the ground floor. He walked out into + the street: it was empty. Everybody was at the games. + </p> + <p> + A dark-skinned country girl passed him singing a song about the swallow + and the spring. She was bearing a basket full of anemones, violets, + narcissi, wild roses, and lilies of the valley. + </p> + <p> + “Will you sell me your flowers?” he asked, and he held out a silver coin. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome to them,” said the girl. “I do not need your money.” + </p> + <p> + He took the flowers and returned to the room upstairs. The flowers filled + the stuffy place with an unwonted and wonderful fragrance. + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down and appeared to be once more busily engrossed in his + index. But side by side with the index he had a small tablet, and on this, + every now and then, he added or erased a word to a short poem. The sense + of it was something like this:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Rhodocleia, flowers of spring + I have woven in a ring; + Take this wreath, my offering, Rhodocleia. + + Here’s the lily, here the rose + Her full chalice shall disclose; + Here’s narcissus wet with dew, + Windflower and the violet blue. + Wear the garland I have made; + Crowned with it, put pride away; + For the wreath that blooms must fade; + Thou thyself must fade some day, Rhodocleia. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SPIDER’S WEB + </h2> + <h3> + To K. L. + </h3> + <p> + He heard the bell of the Badia sound hour after hour, and still sleep + refused its solace. He got up and looked through the narrow window. The + sky in the East was soft with that luminous intensity, as of a melted + sapphire, that comes just before the dawn. One large star was shining next + to the paling moon. He watched the sky as it grew more and more + transparent, and a fresh breeze blew from the hills. It was the second + night that he had spent without sleeping, but the weariness of his body + was as nothing compared with the aching emptiness which possessed his + spirit. Only three days ago the world had seemed to him starred and gemmed + like the Celestial City—an enchanted kingdom, waiting like a + sleeping Princess for the kiss of the adventurous conqueror; and now the + colours had faded, the dream had vanished, the sun seemed to be deprived + of his glory, and the summer had lost its sweetness. + </p> + <p> + His eye fell upon some papers which were lying loose upon his table. There + was an unfinished sonnet which he had begun three days ago. The octet was + finished and the first two lines of the sestet. He would never finish it + now. It had no longer any reason to be; for it was a cry to ears which + were now deaf, a question, an appeal, which demanded an answering smile, a + consenting echo; and the lips, the only lips which could frame that + answer, were dumb. He remembered that Casella, the musician, had asked him + a week ago for the text of a <i>canzone</i> which he had repeated to him + one day. He had promised to let him have it. The promise had entirely gone + out of his mind. Then he reflected that because the ship of his hopes and + dreams had been wrecked there was no reason why he should neglect his + obligations to his fellow-travellers on the uncertain sea. + </p> + <p> + He sat down and transcribed by the light of the dawn in his exquisite + handwriting the stanzas which had been the fruit of a brighter day. And + the memory of this dead joy was exceedingly bitter to him, so that he sat + musing for some time on the unutterable sadness which the ghosts of + perished joys bring to man in his misery, and a line of Virgil buzzed in + his brain; but not, as of yore, did it afford him the luxury of causeless + melancholy, but like a cruel finger it touched his open wound. The + ancients, he thought, knew how to bear misfortune. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Levius fit patientia + Quidquid corrigere est nefas. +</pre> + <p> + As the words occurred to him he thought how much better equipped he was + for the bitter trial, since had he not the certain hope of another life, + and of meeting his beloved in the spaces of endless felicity? Surely then + he should be able to bear his sorrow with as great a fortitude as the + pagan poets, who looked forward to nothing but the dust; to whom the + fabled dim country beyond the Styx was a cheerless dream, and to whom a + living dog upon the earth was more worthy of envy than the King of all + Elysium. He must learn of the ancients. + </p> + <p> + The magic of the lemon-coloured dawn had vanished now before the swift + daylight. Many bells were ringing in the city, and the first signs of life + were stirring in the streets. He searched for a little book, and read of + the consolation which Cicero gave to Laelius in the <i>De Amicitia</i>. + But he had not read many lines before he closed the book. His wound was + too fresh for the balm of reason and philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “Later,” he thought, “this will strengthen and help me, but not to-day; + to-day my wound must bleed and be allowed to bleed, for all the philosophy + in the world cannot lessen the fact that yesterday she was and to-day she + is not.” + </p> + <p> + He felt a desire to escape from his room, which had been the chapel of + such holy prayers, the shrine where so many fervent tapers of hope had + burnt, where so sweet an incense of dream had risen. He left his room and + hurried down the narrow stone stairs into the street. As he left the house + he turned to his right and walked on till he reached Or San Michele; there + he turned to his right again and walked straight on till he reached the + churches of Santa Reparata and San Giovanni. He entered San Giovanni and + said a brief prayer; then he took the nearest street, east of Santa + Reparata, to the Porta a ballo, and found himself beyond the walls of the + city. He walked towards Fiesole. + </p> + <p> + The glory of the sunrise was still in the sky, the fragrance of the + dawning summer (it was the 11th of June) was in the air. He walked towards + the East. The corn on the hills was green, and pink wild roses fringed + every plot of wheat. The grass was wet with dew. The city glittered in the + plain beneath, clean and fresh in the dazzling air; it seemed a part of + the pageant of summer, an unreal piece of imagery, distinct and clear-cut, + yet miraculous, like a mirage seen in mid-ocean. “Truly,” he thought, + “this is the city of the flower, and the lily is its fitting emblem.” + </p> + <p> + But while his heart went out towards his native town he felt a sharp pang + as he remembered that the flower of flowers, the queen of the lilies, had + been mowed down by the scythe, and the city which to him had heretofore + been an altar was now a tomb. The lovely Virgilian dirge, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Manibus date lilia plenis . . . + His saltem accumulem donis et fungar inani + Munere, +</pre> + <p> + rang in his ears, and he thought that he too must bring a gift and scatter + lilies on her grave; handfuls of lilies; but they must be unfading + flowers, wet with immortal tears. He pondered on this gift. It must be a + gift of song, a temple built in verse. But he was still unsatisfied. No + dirge, however tender and solemn; no elegy, however soft and majestic; no + song, however piteous, could be a sufficient offering for the glorious + being who had died in her youth and beauty. But what could he fashion or + build? He thought with envy of Arnolfo and of Giotto: the one with his + bricks could have built a tomb which would prove to be one of the wonders + of the world, and the other with his brush could have fixed her features + for ever, for the wonder of future generations. And yet was not his + instrument the most potent of all, his vehicle the most enduring? Stones + decayed, and colours faded, but verse remained, outliving bronze and + marble. Yes, his monument should be more lasting than all the masterpieces + of Giotto, than all the proud designs of Arnolfo; but how should it be? + </p> + <p> + He had reached a narrow lane at the foot of a steep hill covered with corn + and dotted with olives. He lay down under a hedge in the shade. The sun + was shining on two large bramble bushes which grew on the hedge opposite + him. Above him, on his right, was a tall cypress tree standing by itself, + and the corn plots stretched up behind him till they reached the rocky + summits tufted with firs. Between the two bramble bushes a spider had spun + a large web, and he was sitting in the midst of it awaiting his prey. But + the bramble and the web were still wet with the morning dew, whose little + drops glistened in the sunshine like diamonds. Every tiny thread and + filament of the web was dewy and lit by the newly-awakened sun. He lay on + his back in the shade and pondered on the shape and nature of his gift of + song, and on the deathless flowers that he must grow and gather and lay + upon her tomb. + </p> + <p> + The spider’s web caught his eye, and from where he lay the sight was + marvellous. The spider seemed like a small globe of fire in the midst of a + number of concentric silvery lines studded with dewy gems; it was like a + miniature sun in the midst of a system of gleaming stars. The delicate web + with its shining films and dewdrops seemed to him as he lay there to be a + vision of the whole universe, with all its worlds and stars revolving + around the central orb of light. It was as though a veil had been torn + away and he were looking on the naked glory of the spheres, the heart of + Heaven, the very home of God. + </p> + <p> + He looked and looked, his whole spirit filled with ineffable awe and + breathless humility. He lay gazing on the chance miracle of nature till a + passing cloud obscured the sun, and the spider’s web wore once more its + ordinary appearance. Then he arose with tears in his eyes and gave a great + sigh of thankfulness. + </p> + <p> + “I have found it,” he thought, “I will say of her what has never yet been + said of any woman. I will paint all Hell, all Purgatory, and all that is + in them, to make more glorious the glory of her abode, and I will reveal + to man that glory. I will show her in the circle of spotless flame, among + the rivers and rings of eternal light, which revolve around the inmost + heart, the fiery rose, and move obedient to the Love which moves the sun.” + And his thought shaped itself into verse and he murmured to himself: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EDWARD II. AT BERKELEY CASTLE BY AN EYE-WITNESS (With apologies to Mr. H. + Belloc) + </h2> + <p> + The King had not slept for three nights. He looked at his face in the + muddy pool of water which had settled in the worn flagstones of his prison + floor, and noticed that his beard was of a week’s growth. Beads of sweat + stood on his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot. In the room next door, + which was the canteen, the soldiers were playing on a drum. Over the tall + hills the dawn was ruffling the clouds. There was a faint glimmer on the + waters of the river. The footsteps of the gaolers were heard on the outer + rampart. At seven o’clock they brought the King a good dinner: they + allowed him burgundy from France, and yellow mead, and white bread baked + in the ovens of the Abbey, although he was constrained to drink out of + pewter, and plates were forbidden him. Eustace, his page, timidly offered + him music. The King bade him sing the “Lay of the Sussex Lass,” which + begins thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Triumphant, oh! triumphant now she stands, + Above my Sussex, and above my sea! + She stretches out her thin ulterior hands + Across the morning . . . +</pre> + <p> + But the King, to whom memories were portentous, called for another song + and Eustace sang a stave of that ballad which was made on the Pyrenees, + and which is still unfinished (for the modern world has no need of these + things), telling of how Lord Raymond drank in a little tent with + Charlemagne: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enormous through the morning the tall battalions run: + The men who fought with Charlemagne are very dearly done; + The wine is dark beneath the night, the stars are in the sky, + The hammer’s in the blacksmith’s hand in case he wants to try. + We’ll ride to Fontarabia, we’ll storm the stubborn wall, + And I call. + + And Uriel and his Seraphim are hammering a shield; + And twice along the valley has the horn of Roland pealed; + And Cleopatra on the Nile, Iseult in Brittany, + And Lancelot in Camelot, and Drake upon the sea; + And behind the young Republic are the fellows with the flag, + And I brag! +</pre> + <p> + The King listlessly opened his eyes and said that he had no stomach for + such song, and from the next door came the mutter of the drums. For on + that night—which was Candlemas—Thursday, or as we should now + call it “Friday”—the gaolers were keeping holiday, and drinking + English beer brewed in Sussex; for the beer of West England was not to + their liking, as any one who has walked down the old Roman Road through + Daglingworth, Brimpsfield, and Birdlip towards Cardigan on a warm summer’s + day can know. For a man may tramp that road and stop and ask for drink at + an inn, and receive nothing but Imperialist whisky, and drinks that annoy + rather than satisfy the great thirst of a Christian. + </p> + <p> + Outside, a little breeze had crept out of the West. The morning star was + paling over the Quantock Hills, and the King was mortally weary. “This day + three years ago,” he thought, “I was spurred and harnessed for the lists + in a tunic of mail, with an emerald on my shoulder-strap, and I was + tilting with my lord of Cleremont before Queen Isabella of France. The + birds were singing in Touraine, and the sun was beating on the lists; and + the minstrels of Val-es-Dunes were chanting the song of the men who died + for the Faith when they stormed Jerusalem. What is the lilt of that song,” + said the King, “which the singers of Val-es-Dunes sang?” And Eustace + pondered, for his memory was weak and he was overwrought by nights of + watching and days of vigilance; but presently he touched his strings and + sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The captains came from Normandy + In clamorous ships across the sea; + And from the trees in Gascony + The masts were cloven, tall and free. + And Turpin swung the helm and sang; + And stars like all the bells at Brie + From cloudy steeples rang. + + The rotten leaves are whirling down + Dishevelled from September’s crown; + The Emperors have left the town; + The Weald of Sussex, burnt and brown, + Is trampled by the kings. + And Harmuth gallops up the Down, + And, as he rides, he sings. + + He sings of battles and of wine, + Of boats that leap the bellowing brine, + Of April eyes that smile and shine, + Of Raymond and Lord Catiline + And Carthage by the sea, + Of saints, and of the Muses Nine + That dwell in Gascony. +</pre> + <p> + And to the King, as he heard this stave, came visions of his youth; of how + he had galloped from Woodstock to Stonesfield on a night of June within + eleven hours, with a company of minstrels, and of how during that long + feast at Arundel he made a song in the vernacular in praise of St. Anselm. + And he remembered that he owed a candle to that saint. For he had vowed + that if the wife of Westermain should meet him after the tournament he + would burn a tall candle at Canterbury before Michaelmas. But this had + escaped his mind, for it had been tossed hither and thither during days of + conflict which had come later, and he was not loth to believe that the + neglect of this service and the idle vow had been corner-stone of his + misfortunes, and had helped to bring about his miserable plight. + </p> + <p> + While these threads of memory glimmered in his mind the small tallow + rush-light which lit the dungeon flickered and went out. The chapel clock + struck six. The King made a gesture which meant that the time of music was + over, and Eustace went back to the canteen, where the men of the guard + were playing at dice by the light of smoky rush-lights. The King lay down + on his wooden pallet, whose linen was delicate and of lawn, embroidered + with his own cipher and crown. The pillow, which was stuffed with scented + rushes, was delicious to the cheek, and yielding. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + All that night in London Queen Isabella had been waiting for the news from + France. A storm was blowing across the Channel, and the ships (their + pilots were Germans, and bungled in reading the stars) making for the port + turned back towards Dunquerque. It was a storm such as, if you are in a + small boat, turns you back from Broughty Ferry to the Goodwin Sands. The + Queen, who took counsel of no one, was in two minds as to her daring deed, + and her hostage trembled in an uncertain grasp. In Saxony the banished + favourites talked wildly, cursing the counsels of London; but Saxony was + heedless and unmoved. And Piers Gaveston spoke heated words in vain. + </p> + <p> + The King, who was in that lethargic state of slumber, between sleep and + waking, heard a shuffle of steps beyond the door; a cold sweat broke once + more on his forehead, and he waved his left hand listlessly. Outside the + sun had risen, and a broad daylight flooded the wet meadows and the + brimming tide of the Severn, catching the sails of the boats that were + heeling and trembling on the ripple of the water, which was stirred by the + South wind. The King looked towards the window with weariness, expecting, + as far as his lethargy allowed, the advent of another monotonous day. + </p> + <p> + The door opened. The faces he saw by the gaoler’s torch were not those he + expected. The King, I say, looked towards them, and his hands trembled, + and the moisture on them glistened. They were dark, and one of them was + concealed by a silken mask. + </p> + <p> + Three men entered the dungeon. In the hands of the foremost of the three + glowed a red-hot iron, which was to be the manner of his doom. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ISLAND + </h2> + <p> + “Perhaps we had better not land after all,” said Lewis as he was stepping + into the boat; “we can explore this island on our way home.” + </p> + <p> + “We had much better land now,” said Stewart; “we shall get to Teneriffe + to-morrow in any case. Besides, an island that’s not on the chart is too + exciting a thing to wait for.” + </p> + <p> + Lewis gave in to his younger companion, and the two ornithologists, who + were on their way to the Canary Islands in search of eggs, were rowed to + shore. + </p> + <p> + “They had better fetch us at sunset,” said Lewis as they landed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we shall stay the night,” responded Stewart. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” said Lewis; but after a pause he told the sailors that + if they should be more than half an hour late they were not to wait, but + to come back in the morning at ten. Lewis and Stewart walked from the + sandy bay up a steep basaltic cliff which sloped right down to the beach. + </p> + <p> + “The island is volcanic,” said Stewart. + </p> + <p> + “All the islands about here are volcanic,” said Lewis. “We shan’t be able + to climb much in this heat,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “It will be all right when we get to the trees,” said Stewart. Presently + they reached the top of the cliff. The basaltic rock ceased and an open + grassy incline was before them covered with myrtle and cactus bushes; and + further off a thick wood, to the east of which rose a hill sparsely dotted + with olive trees. They sat down on the grass, panting. The sun beat down + on the dry rock; there was not a cloud in the sky nor a ripple on the + emerald sea. In the air there was a strange aromatic scent; and the + stillness was heavy. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it can be inhabited,” said Lewis. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it’s merely a volcanic island cast up by a sea disturbance,” + suggested Stewart. + </p> + <p> + “Look at those trees,” said Lewis, pointing to the wood in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “What about them?” asked Stewart. + </p> + <p> + “They are oak trees,” said Lewis. “Do you know why I didn’t want to land?” + he asked abruptly. “I am not superstitious, you know, but as I got into + the boat I distinctly heard a voice calling out: ‘Don’t land!’” + </p> + <p> + Stewart laughed. “I think it was a good thing to land,” he said. “Let’s go + on now.” + </p> + <p> + They walked towards the wood, and the nearer they got to it the more their + surprise increased. It was a thick wood of large oak trees which must + certainly have been a hundred years old. When they had got quite close to + it they paused. + </p> + <p> + “Before we explore the wood,” said Lewis, “let us climb the hill and see + if we can get a general view of the island.” + </p> + <p> + Stewart agreed, and they climbed the hill in silence. When they reached + the top they found it was not the highest point of the island, but only + one of several hills, so that they obtained only a limited view. The + valleys seemed to be densely wooded, and the oak wood was larger than they + had imagined. They laid down and rested and lit their pipes. + </p> + <p> + “No birds,” remarked Lewis gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t seen one—the island is extraordinarily still,” said + Stewart. The further they had penetrated inland the more oppressive and + sultry the air had become; and the pungent aroma they had noticed directly + was stronger. It was like that of mint, and yet it was not mint; and + although sweet it was not agreeable. The heat seemed to weigh even on + Stewart’s buoyant spirits, for he sat smoking in silence, and no longer + urged Lewis to continue their exploration. + </p> + <p> + “I think the island is inhabited,” said Lewis, “and that the houses are on + the other side. There are some sheep and some goats on that hill opposite. + Do you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Stewart, “I think they are mouflon, but I don’t think the + island is inhabited all the same.” No sooner were the words out of his + mouth than he started, and rising to his feet, cried: “Look there!” and he + pointed to a thin wreath of smoke which was rising from the wood. Their + languor seemed to leave them, and they ran down the hill and reached the + wood once more. Just as they were about to enter it Lewis stooped and + pointed to a small plant with white flowers and three oval-shaped leaves + rising from the root. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” he asked Stewart, who was the better botanist of the two. + The flowers were quite white, and each had six pointed petals. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a kind of garlic, I think,” said Stewart. Lewis bent down over it. + “It doesn’t smell,” he said. “It’s not unlike moly (<i>Allium flavum</i>), + only it’s white instead of yellow, and the flowers are larger. I’m going + to take it with me.” He began scooping away the earth with a knife so as + to take out the plant by the roots. After he had been working for some + minutes he exclaimed: “This is the toughest plant I’ve ever seen; I can’t + get it out.” He was at last successful, but as he pulled the root he gave + a cry of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no bulb,” he said. “Look! Only a black root.” + </p> + <p> + Stewart examined the plant. “I can’t make it out,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lewis wrapped the plant in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. They + entered the wood. The air was still more sultry here than outside, and the + stillness even more oppressive. There were no birds and not a vestige of + bird life. + </p> + <p> + “This exploration is evidently a waste of time as far as birds are + concerned,” remarked Lewis. At that moment there was a rustle in the + undergrowth, and five pigs crossed their path and disappeared, grunting. + Lewis started, and for some reason he could not account for, shuddered; he + looked at Stewart, who appeared unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + “They are not wild,” said Stewart. They walked on in silence. The place + and its heavy atmosphere had again affected their spirits. When they spoke + it was almost in a whisper. Lewis wished they had not landed, but he could + give no reason to himself for his wish. After they had been walking for + about twenty minutes they suddenly came on an open space and a low white + house. They stopped and looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “It’s got no chimney!” cried Lewis, who was the first to speak. It was a + one-storeyed building, with large windows (which had no glass in them) + reaching to the ground, wider at the bottom than at the top. The house was + overgrown with creepers; the roof was flat. They entered in silence by the + large open doorway and found themselves in a low hall. There was no + furniture and the floor was mossy. + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather like an Egyptian tomb,” said Stewart, and he shivered. The + hall led into a further room, which was open in the centre to the sky, + like the <i>impluvium</i> of a Roman house. It also contained a square + basin of water, which was filled by water bubbling from a lion’s mouth + carved in stone. Beyond the <i>impluvium</i> there were two smaller rooms, + in one of which there was a kind of raised stone platform. The house was + completely deserted and empty. Lewis and Stewart said little; they + examined the house in silent amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said Lewis, pointing to one of the walls. Stewart examined the + wall and noticed that there were traces on it of a faded painted + decoration. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like the wall paintings at Pompeii,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I think the house is modern,” remarked Lewis. “It was probably built by + some eccentric at the beginning of the nineteenth century, who did it up + in Empire style.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what time it is?” said Stewart, suddenly. “The sun has set + and it’s growing dark.” + </p> + <p> + “We must go at once,” said Lewis, “we’ll come back here to-morrow.” They + walked on in silence. The wood was dim in the twilight, a fitful breeze + made the trees rustle now and again, but the air was just as sultry as + ever. The shapes of the trees seemed fantastic and almost threatening in + the dimness, and the rustle of the leaves was like a human moan. Once or + twice they seemed to hear the grunting of pigs in the undergrowth and to + catch sight of bristly backs. + </p> + <p> + “We don’t seem to be getting any nearer the end,” said Stewart after a + time. “I think we’ve taken the wrong path.” They stopped. “I remember that + tree,” said Stewart, pointing to a twisted oak; “we must go straight on + from there to the left.” They walked on and in ten minutes’ time found + themselves once more at the back of the house. It was now quite dark. + </p> + <p> + “We shall never find the way now,” said Lewis. “We had better sleep in the + house.” They walked through the house into one of the furthest rooms and + settled themselves on the mossy platform. The night was warm and starry, + the house deathly still except for the splashing of the water in the + basin. + </p> + <p> + “We shan’t get any food,” Lewis said. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not hungry,” said Stewart, and Lewis knew that he could not have + eaten anything to save his life. He felt utterly exhausted and yet not at + all sleepy. Stewart, on the other hand, was overcome with drowsiness. He + lay down on the mossy platform and fell asleep almost instantly. Lewis lit + a pipe; the vague forebodings he had felt in the morning had returned to + him, only increased tenfold. He felt an unaccountable physical discomfort, + an inexplicable sensation of uneasiness. Then he realised what it was. He + felt there was someone in the house besides themselves, someone or + something that was always behind him, moving when he moved and watching + him. He walked into the <i>impluvium</i>, but heard nothing and saw + nothing. There were none of the thousand little sounds, such as the + barking of a dog, or the hoot of a night-bird, which generally complete + the silence of a summer night. Everything was uncannily still. He returned + to the room. He would have given anything to be back on the yacht, for + besides the physical sensation of discomfort and of the something watching + him he also felt the unmistakable feeling of impending danger that had + been with him nearly all day. + </p> + <p> + He lay down and at last fell into a doze. As he dozed he heard a subdued + noise, a kind of buzzing, such as is made by a spinning wheel or a shuttle + on a loom, and more strongly than ever he felt that he was being watched. + Then all at once his body seemed to grow stiff with fright. He saw someone + enter the room from the <i>impluvium</i>. It was a dim, veiled figure, the + figure of a woman. He could not distinguish her features, but he had the + impression that she was strangely beautiful; she was bearing a cup in her + hands, and she walked towards Stewart and bent over him, offering him the + cup. + </p> + <p> + Something in Lewis prompted him to cry out with all his might: “Don’t + drink! Don’t drink!” He heard the words echoing in the air, just as he had + heard the voice in the boat; he felt that it was imperative to call out, + and yet he could not: he was paralysed; the words would not come. He + formed them with his lips, but no sound came. He tried with all his might + to rise and scream, and he could not move. Then a sudden cold faintness + came upon him, and he remembered no more till he woke and found the sun + shining brightly. Stewart was lying with his eyes closed, moaning loudly + in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + Lewis tried to wake him. He opened his eyes and stared with a fixed, + meaningless stare. Lewis tried to lift him from the platform, and then a + horrible thing happened. Stewart struggled violently and made a snarling + noise, which froze the blood in Lewis’s veins. He ran out of the house + with cold beads of sweat on his forehead. He ran through the wood to the + shore, and there he found the boat. He rowed back to the yacht and fetched + some quinine. Then, together with the skipper, the steward, and some other + sailors, he returned to the ominous house. They found it empty. There was + no trace of Stewart. They shouted in the wood till they were hoarse, but + no answer broke the heavy stillness. + </p> + <p> + Then sending for the rest of the crew, Lewis organised a regular search + over the whole island. This lasted till sunset, and they returned in the + evening without having found any trace of Stewart or of any other human + being. In the night a high wind rose, which soon became a gale; they were + obliged to weigh anchor so as not to be dashed against the island, and for + twenty-four hours they underwent a terrific tossing. Then the storm + subsided as quickly as it had come. + </p> + <p> + They made for the island once more and reached the spot where they had + anchored three days before. There was no trace of the island. It had + completely disappeared. + </p> + <p> + When they reached Teneriffe the next day they found that everybody was + talking of the great tidal wave which had caused such great damage and + destruction in the islands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MAN WHO GAVE GOOD ADVICE + </h2> + <h3> + To Henry Cust + </h3> + <p> + When he was a child his baby brother came to him one day and said that + their elder brother, who was grown up, had got a beautiful small ship in + his room. Should he ask him for it? The child who gave good advice said: + “No, if you ask him for it he will say you are a spoilt child; but go and + play in his room with it before he gets up in the morning, and he will + give it to you.” The baby brother followed this advice, and sure enough + two days afterwards he appeared triumphant in the nursery with the ship in + his hands, saying: “He said I might choose, the ship or the picture-book.” + Now the picture-book was a coloured edition of Baron Munchausen’s + adventures; the boy who gave good advice had seen it and hankered for it. + As the baby brother had refused it there could be no harm in asking for + it, so the next time his elder brother sent him on an errand (it was to + fetch a pin-cushion from his room) judging the moment to be propitious, he + said to him: “May I have the picture-book that baby wouldn’t have?” “I + don’t like little boys who ask,” answered the big brother, and there the + matter ended. + </p> + <p> + The child who gave good advice went to school. There was a rage for stag + beetles at the school; the boys painted them and made them run races on a + chessboard. They imagined—rightly or wrongly—that some stag + beetles were much faster than others. A little boy called Bell possessed + the stag beetle which was the favourite for the coming races. Another boy + called Mason was consumed with longing for this stag beetle; and Bell had + said he would give it to him in exchange for Mason’s catapult, which was + famous in the school for the unique straightness of its two prongs. Mason + went to the boy who gave good advice and asked him for his opinion. “Don’t + swap it for your catty,” said the boy who gave good advice, “because + Bell’s stag beetle may not win after all; and even if it does stag beetles + won’t be the rage for very long; but a catty is always a catty, and yours + is the best in the school.” Mason took the advice. When the races came + off, the stag beetles were so erratic that no prize was awarded, and they + immediately ceased to be the rage. The rage for stag beetles was succeeded + by a rage for secret alphabets. One boy invented a secret alphabet made of + simple hieroglyphics, which was imparted only to a select few, who spent + their spare time in corresponding with each other by these cryptic signs. + The boy who gave good advice was not of those initiated into the mystery + of the cypher, and he longed to be. He made several overtures, but they + were all rejected, the reason being that boys of the second division could + not let a “third division squit” into their secret. At last the boy who + gave good advice offered to one of the initiated the whole of his stamp + collection in return for the secret of the alphabet. This offer was + accepted. The boy took the stamp collection, but the boy who gave good + advice received in return not the true alphabet but a sham one especially + manufactured for him. This he found out later; but recriminations were + useless; besides which the rage for secret alphabets soon died out and was + replaced by a rage for aquariums, newts, and natterjack toads. + </p> + <p> + The boy went to a public school. He was a fag. His fag-master had two + fags. One morning the other fag came to the boy who gave good advice and + said: “Clarke (he was the fag-master) told me three days ago to clean his + football boots. He’s been ‘staying out’ and hasn’t used them, and I + forgot. He’ll want them to-day, and now there isn’t time. I shall pretend + I did clean them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t do that,” said the boy who gave good advice, “because if you + say you have cleaned them he will lick you twice as much for having + cleaned them badly—say you forgot.” The advice was taken, and the + fag-master merely said: “Don’t forget again.” A little later the + fag-master had some friends to tea, and told the boy who gave good advice + to boil him six eggs for not more than three minutes and a half. The boy + who gave good advice, while they were on the fire, took part in a rag that + which was going on in the passage; the result was that the eggs remained + seven minutes in boiling water. They were hard. When the fag-master + pointed this out and asked his fag what he meant by it, the boy who gave + good advice persisted in his statement that they had been exactly three + minutes and a half in the saucepan, and that he had timed them by his + watch. So the fag-master caned him for telling lies. + </p> + <p> + The boy who gave good advice grew into a man and went to the university. + There he made friends with a man called Crawley, who went to a + neighbouring race meeting one day and lost two or three hundred pounds. + </p> + <p> + “I must raise the money from a money-lender somehow,” said Crawley to the + man who gave good advice, “and on no account must the Master hear of it or + he would send me down; or write home, which would be worse.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” said the man who gave good advice, “you must go + straight to the Master and tell him all about it. He will like you twice + as much for ever afterwards; he never minds people getting into scrapes + when he happens to like them, and he likes you and believes you have a + great career before you.” + </p> + <p> + Crawley went to the Master of the college and made a clean breast of it. + The Master told him he had been foolish—very foolish; but he + arranged the whole matter in such a manner that it never came to the ears + of Crawley’s extremely violent-tempered and puritanical father. + </p> + <p> + The man who gave good advice got a “First” in Mods, and everyone felt + confident he would get a first in Greats; he did brilliantly in nearly all + his papers; but during the Latin unseen a temporary and sudden lapse of + memory came over him and he forgot the English for <i>manubioe</i>, which + the day before he had known quite well means prize-money. In fact the word + was written on the first page of his note-book. The word was in his brain, + but a small shutter had closed on it for the moment and he could not + recall it. He looked over his neighbour’s shoulder. His neighbour had + translated it “booty.” He copied the word mechanically, knowing it was + wrong. As he did so he was detected and accused of cribbing. He denied the + charge, the matter was investigated, the papers were compared, and the man + who gave good advice was disqualified. In all his other papers he had done + incomparably better than anyone else. + </p> + <p> + When he left Oxford the man who gave good advice went into a Government + office. He had not been in it long before he perceived that by certain + simple reforms the work of the office could be done twice as effectually + and half as expensively. He embodied these reforms in a memorandum and + they were not long afterwards adopted. He became private secretary to + Snipe, a rising politician and persuaded him to change his party and his + politics. Snipe, owing to this advice, became a Cabinet Minister, and the + man who gave good advice, having inherited some money, stood for + Parliament himself. He stood as a Conservative at a General Election and + spoke eloquently to enthusiastic meetings. The wire-pullers prophecied an + overwhelming majority, when shortly before the poll, at one of his + meetings, he suddenly declared himself to be an Independent, and made a + speech violently in favour of Home Rule and conscription. The result was + that the Liberal Imperialist got in by a huge majority, and the man who + gave good advice was pelted with rotten eggs. + </p> + <p> + After this the man who gave good advice abandoned politics and took to + finance; in this branch of human affairs he made the fortune of several of + his friends, preventing some from putting their money in alluring South + African schemes, and advising others to risk theirs on events which seemed + to him certain, such as the election of a President or the short-lived + nature of a revolution; events which he foresaw with intuition amounting + to second-sight. At the same time he lost nearly all his own money by + investing it in a company which professed to have discovered a manner—cheap + and rapid—of transforming copper into platinum. He made the fortune + of a publisher by insisting on the publication of a novel which six + intelligent men had declared to be unreadable. It was called “The + Conscience of John Digby,” and when published it sold by thousands and + tens of thousands. But he lost the handsome reward he received for this + service by publishing at his own expense, on magnificent paper, an edition + of Rabelais’ works in their original tongue. He frequently spotted winners + for his friends and for himself, but any money that he won at a race + meeting he invariably lost coming home in the train on the Three Card + Trick. + </p> + <p> + Nor did he lose touch with politicians, and this brought about the final + catastrophe. A great friend of his, the eminent John Brooke, had the + chance of becoming Prime Minister. Parties were at that time in a state of + confusion. The question was, should his friend ally himself with or sever + himself for ever from Mr. Capax Nissy, the leader of the Liberal + Aristocracy Party, who seemed to have a large following? His friend, John + Brooke, gave a small dinner to his most intimate friends in order to talk + over the matter. The man who gave good advice was so eloquent, so cogent + in his reasoning, so acute in his perception, that he persuaded Brooke to + sever himself for ever from Capax Nissy. He persuaded all who were + present, with the exception of Mr. Short-Sight, a pig-headed man who + reasoned falsely. So annoyed did the man who gave good advice become with + Short-Sight, and so excited in his vexation, that he finally lost his + self-control, and hit him as hard as he could on the head—after + Short-Sight had repeated a groundless assertion for the seventh time—with + the poker. + </p> + <p> + Short-Sight died, and the man who gave good advice was convicted of wilful + murder. He gave admirable advice to his counsel, but threw away his own + case as soon as he entered the box himself, which he insisted on doing. He + was hanged in gaol at Reading. Many people whom he had benefited in + various ways visited him in prison, among others John Brooke, the Prime + Minister. It is said that he would certainly have been reprieved but for + the intemperate and inexcusable letters he wrote to the Home Secretary + from prison. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great tragedy—he was a clever man,” said Brooke after dinner + when they were discussing the misfortune at Downing Street; “a very clever + man, but he had no judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Snipe, the man whose private secretary the man who gave good + advice had been, “That’s it. It’s an awful thing—but he had no + judgment.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RUSSALKA + </h2> + <p> + Peter, or Petrushka, which was the name he was known by, was the + carpenter’s mate; his hair was like light straw, and his eyes were mild + and blue. He was good at his trade; a quiet and sober youth; thoughtful, + too, for he knew how to read and had read several books when he was still + a boy. A translation of “Monte Cristo” once fell into his hands, and this + story had kindled his imagination and stirred in him the desire to travel, + to see new countries and strange people. He had made up his mind to leave + the village and to try his luck in one of the big towns, when, before he + was eighteen, something happened to him which entirely changed the colour + of his thoughts and the range of his desires. It was an ordinary + experience enough: he fell in love. He fell in love with Tatiana, who + worked in the starch factory. Tatiana’s eyes were grey, her complexion was + white, her features small and delicate, and her hair a beautiful dark + brown with gold lights and black shadows in it; her movements were quick + and her glance keen; she was like a swallow. + </p> + <p> + It happened when the snows melted and the meadows were flooded; the first + fine day in April. The larks were singing over the plains, which were + beginning to show themselves once more under the melting snow; the sun + shone on the large patches of water, and turned the flooded meadows in the + valley into a fantastic vision. It was on a Sunday after church that this + new thing happened. He had often seen Tatiana before: that day she was + different and new to him. It was as if a bandage had been taken from his + eyes, and at the same moment he realised that Tatiana was a new Tatiana. + He also knew that the old world in which he had lived hitherto had + crumbled to pieces; and that a new world, far brighter and more wonderful, + had been created for him. As for Tatiana, she loved him at once. There was + no delay, no hesitation, no misunderstandings, no doubt: and at the first + not much speech; but first love came to them straight and swift, with the + first sunshine of the spring, as it does to the birds. + </p> + <p> + All the spring and summer they kept company and walked out together in the + evenings. When the snows entirely melted and the true spring came, it came + with a rush; in a fortnight’s time all the trees except the ash were + green, and the bees boomed round the thick clusters of pear-blossom and + apple-blossom, which shone like snow against the bright azure. During that + time Petrushka and Tatiana walked in the apple orchard in the evening and + they talked to each other in the divinest of all languages, the language + of first love, which is no language at all but a confused medley and + murmur of broken phrases, whisperings, twitterings, pauses, and silences—a + language so wonderful that it cannot be put down into speech or words, + although Shakespeare and the very great poets translate the spirit of it + into music, and the great musicians catch the echo of it in their song. + Then a fortnight later, when the woods were carpeted and thick with lilies + of the valley, Petrushka and Tatiana walked in the woods and picked the + last white violets, and later again they sought the alleys of the + landlord’s property, where the lilac bushes were a mass of blossom and + fragrance, and there they listened to the nightingale, the bird of spring. + Then came the summer, the fragrance of the beanfields, and the ripening of + corn and the wonderful long twilights, and July, when the corn, ripe and + tall and stiff, changed the plains into a vast rippling ocean of gold. + </p> + <p> + After the harvest, at the very beginning of autumn, they were to be + married. There had been a slight difficulty about money. Tatiana’s father + had insisted that Petrushka should produce a certain not very large sum; + but the difficulty had been overcome and the money had been found. There + were no more obstacles, everything was smooth and settled. Petrushka no + longer thought of travels in foreign lands; he had forgotten the old + dreams which “Monte Cristo” had once kindled in him. + </p> + <p> + It was in the middle of August that the carpenter received instructions + from the landowner to make some wooden steps and a small raft and to fix + them up on the banks of the river for the convenience of bathers. It did + not take the carpenter and Petrushka long to make these things, and one + afternoon Petrushka drove down to the river to fix them in their place. + The river was broad, the banks were wooded with willow trees, and the + undergrowth was thick, for the woods reached to the river bank, which was + flat, but which ended sheer above the water over a slope of mud and roots, + so that a bather needed steps or a raft or a springboard, so as to dive or + to enter and leave the water with comfort. + </p> + <p> + Petrushka put the steps in their place—which was where the wood + ended—and made fast the floating raft to them. Not far from the bank + the ground was marshy and the spot was suspected by some people of being + haunted by malaria. It was a still, sultry day. The river was like oil, + the sky clouded but not entirely overclouded, and among the high banks of + grey cloud there were patches of blue. + </p> + <p> + When Petrushka had finished the job, he sat on the wooden steps, and + rolling some tobacco into a primitive cigarette, contemplated the grey, + oily water and the willow trees. It was too late in the year, he thought, + to make a bathing place. He dipped his hand in the water: it was cold, but + not too cold. Yet in a fortnight’s time it would not be pleasant to bathe. + However, people had their whims, and he mused on the scheme of the + universe which ordained that certain people should have whims, and that + others should humour those whims whether they liked it or not. Many people—many + of his fellow-workers—talked of the day when the universal levelling + would take place and when all men could be equal. Petrushka did not much + believe in the advent of that day; he was not quite sure whether he + ardently desired it; in any case, he was very happy as he was. + </p> + <p> + At that moment he heard two sharp short sounds, less musical than a pipe + and not so loud or harsh as a scream. He looked up. A kingfisher had flown + across the oily water. Petrushka shouted; and the kingfisher skimmed over + the water once more and disappeared in the trees on the other side of the + river. Petrushka rolled and lit another cigarette. Presently he heard the + two sharp sounds once more, and the kingfisher darted again across the + water: a bit of fish was in its beak. It disappeared into the bank of the + river on the same side on which Petrushka was sitting, only lower down. + </p> + <p> + “Its nest must be there,” thought Petrushka, and he remembered that he had + heard it said that no one had ever been able to carry off a kingfisher’s + nest intact. Why should he not be the first person to do so? He was + skilful with his fingers, his touch was sure and light. It was evidently a + carpenter’s job, and few carpenters had the leisure or opportunity to look + for kingfishers’ nests. What a rare present it would be for Tatiana—a + whole kingfisher’s nest with every bone in it intact. + </p> + <p> + He walked stealthily through the bushes down the bank of the river, making + as little noise as possible. He thought he had marked the spot where the + kingfisher had dived into the bank. As he walked, the undergrowth grew + thicker and the path darker, for he had reached the wood, on the outskirts + and end of which was the spot where he had made the steps. He walked on + and on without thinking, oblivious of his surroundings, until he suddenly + realised that he had gone too far. Moreover, he must have been walking for + some time, for it was getting dark, or was it a thunder-shower? The air, + too, was unbearably sultry; he stopped and wiped his forehead with a big + print handkerchief. It was impossible to reach the bank from the place + where he now stood, as he was separated from it by a wide ditch of + stagnant water. He therefore retraced his footsteps through the wood. It + grew darker and darker; it must be, he thought, the evening deepening and + no storm. + </p> + <p> + All at once he started; he had heard a sound, a high pipe. Was it the + kingfisher? He paused and listened. Distinctly, and not far off in the + undergrowth, he heard a laugh, a woman’s laugh. It flashed across his mind + that it might be Tatiana, but it was not her laugh. Something rustled in + the bushes to the left of him; he followed the rustling and it led him + through the bushes—he had now passed the ditch—to the river + bank. The sun had set behind the woods from which he had just emerged; the + sky was as grey as the water, and there was no reflection of the sunset in + the east. Except the water and the trees he saw nothing; there was not a + sound to be heard, not a ripple on the river, not a whisper from the + woods. + </p> + <p> + Then all at once the stillness was broken again by quick rippling laughs + immediately behind him. He turned sharply round, and saw a woman in the + bushes: her eyes were large and green and sad; her hair straggling and + dishevelled; she was dressed in reeds and leaves; she was very pale. She + stared at him fixedly, and smiled, showing gleaming teeth, and when she + smiled there was no light nor laughter in her eyes, which remained sad and + green and glazed like those of a drowned person. She laughed again and ran + into the bushes. Petrushka ran after her, but although he was quite close + to her he lost all trace of her immediately. It was as if she had vanished + under the earth or into the air. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a Russalka,” thought Petrushka, and he shivered. Then he added to + himself, with the pride of the new scepticism he had learnt from the + factory hands: “There is no such thing; only women believe in such things. + It was some drunken woman.” + </p> + <p> + Petrushka walked quickly back to the edge of the wood, where he had left + his cart, and drove home. The next day was Sunday, and Tatiana noticed + that he was different—moody, melancholy, and absent-minded. She + asked him what was the matter; he said his head ached. Towards five + o’clock he told her—they were standing outside her cottage—that + he was obliged to go to the river to work. + </p> + <p> + “To-day is holiday,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I left something there yesterday: one of my tools. I must fetch it,” he + explained. + </p> + <p> + Tatiana looked at him, and her intuition told her, firstly, that this was + not true, and, secondly, that it was not well for Petrushka to go to the + river. She begged him not to go. Petrushka laughed and said he would be + back quickly. Tatiana cried, and implored him on her knees not to go. Then + Petrushka grew irritable and almost rough, and told her not to vex him + with foolishness. Reluctantly and sadly she gave in at last. + </p> + <p> + Petrushka went to the river, and Tatiana watched him go with a heavy + heart. She felt quite certain some disaster was about to happen. + </p> + <p> + At seven o’clock Petrushka had not yet returned, and he did not return + that night. The next morning the carpenter and two others went to the + river to look for him. They found his body in the shallow water, entangled + in the ropes of the raft he had made. He had been drowned, no doubt, in + setting the raft straight. + </p> + <p> + During all that Sunday night, Tatiana had said no word, nor had she moved + from her doorstep: it was only when they brought back the dripping body to + the village that she stirred, and when she saw it she laughed a dreadful + laugh, and the spirit went from her eyes, leaving a fixed stare. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD WOMAN + </h2> + <p> + The old woman was spinning at her wheel near a fire of myrtle boughs which + burnt fragrantly in the open yard. Through the stone columns the sea was + visible, smooth, dark, and blue; the low sun bathed the brown hills of the + coast in a golden mist. It was December. The shepherds were driving home + their flocks, the work of the day was done, and a noise of light laughter + and rippling talk came from the Slaves’ quarter. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the stone-flagged yard two little boys were playing at + quoits. Their eyes and hair were as dark as their brown skin, which had + been tanned by the sun. In one of the corners of the yard a fair-haired, + blue-eyed girl was nursing a kitten and singing it to sleep. The old woman + was singing too, or rather humming a tune to herself as she turned her + wheel. She was very old: her hair was white and silvery, and her face was + furrowed by a hundred wrinkles. Her eyes were blue as the sky, and perhaps + they had once been full of fire and laughter, but all that had been + quenched and washed out long ago, and Time, with his noiseless chisel, had + sharpened her delicate features and hollowed out her cheeks, which were as + white as ivory. But her hands as they twisted the wood were the hands of a + young woman, and seemed as though they had been fashioned by a rare + craftsman, so perfect were they in shape and proportion, as firm as carved + marble, as delicate as flowers. + </p> + <p> + The sun sank behind the hills of the coast, and a flood of scarlet light + spread along the West just above them, melting higher up into orange, and + still higher into a luminous blue, which turned to green later as the + evening deepened. The air was cool and sharp, and the little boys, who had + finished their game, drew near to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us a story,” said the elder of the two boys, as they curled + themselves up at the feet of the old woman. + </p> + <p> + “You know all my stories,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “That doesn’t matter,” said the boy. “You can tell us an old one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the old woman, “I suppose I must. There was once upon a time + a King and a Queen who had three sons and one daughter.” At the sound of + these words the little girl ran up and nestled in the folds of the old + woman’s long cloak. + </p> + <p> + “No, not that one,” one of the little boys interrupted, “tell us about the + Queen without a heart.” So the old woman began and said:— + </p> + <p> + “There was once upon a time a King and a Queen who had one daughter, and + they invited all the gods and goddesses to the feast which they gave in + honour of the birth of their child. The gods and goddesses came and gave + the child every gift they could think of; she was to be the most beautiful + woman in the whole world, she was to dance like the West wind, to laugh + like the stream, and to sing like the lark. Her hair should be made of + sunshine, and her eyes should be as the sea in midsummer. She should excel + in all things, in knowledge, in wit, and in skill; she should be fleet of + foot, a cunning harp-player, adept at all manner of woman-like crafts, and + deft with the needle and the spinning-wheel, and at the loom. Zeus himself + gave her stateliness and majesty, the Lord of the Sun gave a voice as of a + golden flute; Poseidon gave her the laughter of all the waves of the sea, + the King of the Underworld gave her a red ruby to wear on her breast more + precious than all the gems of the world. Artemis gave her swiftness and + radiance, Persephone the fragrance and the freshness of all the flowers of + spring; Pallas Athene gave her curious knowledge and pleasant speech; and, + lastly, the Seaborn Goddess breathed upon her and gave her the beauty of + the rose, the pearl, the dew, and the shells and the foam of the sea. But, + alas! the King and Queen had forgotten to ask one guest. The Goddess of + Envy and Discord had been left out, and she came unbidden, and when all + the gods and goddesses had given their gifts, she said: ‘I too have a gift + to give, a gift that will be more precious to her than any. I will give + her a heart that shall be proof against all the onsets of the world.’ So + saying the Goddess of Envy took away the child’s heart and put in its + place a heart of stone, hard as adamant, bright and glittering as a gem. + And the Goddess of Envy went her way mocking. The King and Queen were + greatly concerned, and they asked the gods and goddesses whether their + daughter would ever recover her human heart. They were told that the + Goddess of Envy would be obliged to give back the child’s heart to the man + who loved her enough to seek and to find it, and this would surely happen; + but when and how it was forbidden to them to reveal. + </p> + <p> + “The child grew up and became the wonder of the world. She was married to + a powerful King, and they lived in peace and plenty until the Goddess of + Envy once more troubled the child’s life. For owing to her subtle planning + a Prince was promised for wife the fairest woman in the world, and he took + the wife of the powerful King and carried her away to Asia to the + six-gated city. The King prepared a host of ships and armed men and sailed + to Asia to win back his wife. And he and his army fought for ten years + until the six-gated city was taken, and he brought his wife home once + more. Now during all the time the war lasted, although the whole world was + filled with the fame of the King’s wife and of her beauty, there was not + found one man who was willing to seek for her heart and to find it, for + some gave no credence to the tale, and others, believing it, reasoned that + the quest might last a life-time, and that by the time they accomplished + it the King’s wife would be an old woman, and there would be fairer women + in the world. Others, again, could not believe that in so perfect a woman + there could be any fault; they vowed her heart must be one with her + matchless beauty, and they said that even if the tale were true, they + preferred to worship her as she was, and they would not have her be + otherwise or changed by a hair’s breadth for all the world. Some, indeed, + did set out upon the quest, but abandoned it soon from weariness and + returned to bask in the beauty of the great Queen. + </p> + <p> + “The years went by. The Queen journeyed to Egypt, to the mountains of the + South, and the cities of the desert; to the Pillars of Hercules and to the + islands of the West. Wherever she went her fame spread like fire, and men + fought and died for a glimpse of her marvellous beauty; and wherever she + passed she left behind her strife and sorrow like a burning trail. After + many voyages she returned home and lived prosperously. The King her + husband died, her children grew up and married and bore children + themselves, and she continued to live peacefully in her palace. Her fame + and her glory brought her neither joy nor sorrow, nor did she heed the + spell that she cast on the hearts of men. + </p> + <p> + “One day a harp-player came to her palace and sang and played before her; + he made music so ravishing and so sad that all who heard him wept save the + Queen, who listened and smiled, listless and indifferent. But her smile + filled him with such a passion of wonder and worship that he resolved to + rest no more until he had found her heart, for he knew the tale. So he + sought the whole world over in vain; and for years and years he roamed the + world fruitlessly. At last one day in a far country he found a little bird + in a trap and he set it free, and in return the bird promised him that he + should find the Queen’s heart. All he had to do was to go home and to seek + the Queen’s palace. So the harper went home to the Queen’s palace, and + when he reached it he found the Queen had grown old; her hair was grey and + there were lines on her cheek. But she smiled on him, and he knelt down + before her, for he loved her more than ever, and to him she was as + beautiful as ever she had been. At that moment, for the first time in her + life the Queen’s eyes filled with tears, for her heart had been given back + to her. And that is all the story.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened to the harper?” asked one of the little boys. + </p> + <p> + “He lived in the palace and played to the Queen till he died.” + </p> + <p> + “And is the story true?” asked the other little boy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the old woman, “quite true.” + </p> + <p> + The boys jumped up and kissed the old woman, and the elder of them, + growing pensive, said:— + </p> + <p> + “Grandmother, were you ever young yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my child,” said the old woman, smiling, “I was once young—a + very long time ago.” + </p> + <p> + She got up, for the twilight had come and it was almost dark. She walked + into the house, and as she rose she was neither bowed nor bent, but she + trod the ground with a straightness which was not stiff but full of grace, + and she moved royally like a goddess. As she walked past the smoking + flames the children noticed that large tears were welling from her eyes + and trickling down her faded cheek. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DR. FAUST’S LAST DAY + </h2> + <p> + The Doctor got up at dawn, as was his wont, and as soon as he was dressed + he sat down at his desk in his library overlooking the sea, and immersed + himself in the studies which were the lodestar of his existence. His hours + were mapped out with rigid regularity like those of a school-boy, and his + methodical life worked as though by clockwork. He rose at dawn and read + without interruption until eight o’clock. He then partook of some light + food (he was a strict vegetarian), after which he walked in the garden of + his house, overlooking the Bay of Naples, until ten. From ten to twelve he + received sick people, peasants from the village, or any visitors that + needed his advice or his company. At twelve he ate a frugal meal. From one + o’clock until three he enjoyed a siesta. At three he resumed his studies, + which continued without interruption until six when he partook of a second + meal. At seven he took another stroll in the village or by the seashore + and remained out of doors until nine. He then withdrew into his study, and + at midnight went to bed. + </p> + <p> + It was, perhaps, the extreme regularity of his life, combined with the + strict diet which he observed, that accounted for his good health. This + day was his seventieth birthday, and his body was as vigorous and his mind + as alert as they had been in his fortieth year. His thick hair and beard + were scarcely grey, and the wrinkles on his white, thoughtful face were + rare. Yet the Doctor, when questioned as to the secret of his + youthfulness, being like many learned men fond of a paradox, used to reply + that diet and regularity had nothing to do with it, and that the Southern + sun and the climate of the Neapolitan coast, which he had chosen among all + places to be the abode of his old age, were in reality responsible for his + excellent health. + </p> + <p> + “I lead a regular life,” he used to say, “not in order to keep well, but + in order to get through my work. Unless my hours were mapped out regularly + I should be the prey of every idler in the place and I should never get + any work done at all.” + </p> + <p> + On this day, as it was his seventieth birthday, the Doctor had asked a few + friends to share his mid-day meal, and when he returned from his morning + stroll he sent for his housekeeper to give her a few final instructions. + The housekeeper, who was a voluble Italian peasant-woman, after receiving + his orders, handed him a piece of paper on which a few words were scrawled + in reddish-brown ink, saying it had been left by a Signore. + </p> + <p> + “What Signore?” asked the Doctor, as he perused the document, which + consisted of words in the German tongue to the effect that the writer + regretted his absence from the Doctor’s feast, but would call at midnight. + It was not signed. + </p> + <p> + “He was a Signore, like all Signores,” said the housekeeper; “he just left + the letter and went away.” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor was puzzled, and in spite of much cross-examination he was + unable to extract anything more beyond the fact that he was a “Signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I lay one place less?” asked the housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said the Doctor. “All my guests will be present.” And he + threw the piece of paper on the table. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper left the room, but she had not been gone many minutes + before she returned and said that Maria, the wife of the late Giovanni, + the baker, wished to speak to him. The Doctor nodded, and Maria burst into + the room, sobbing. + </p> + <p> + When her tears had somewhat subsided she told her story in broken + sentences. Her daughter, Margherita, who was seventeen years old, had been + allowed to spend the summer at Sorrento with her late father’s sister. + There, it appeared, she had met a “Signore,” who had given her jewels, + made love to her, promised her marriage, and held clandestine meetings + with her. Her aunt professed now to have been unaware of this; but Maria + assured the Doctor that her sister-in-law, who had the evil eye and had + more than once trafficked with Satan, must have had knowledge of the + business, even if she were not directly responsible, which was highly + probable. In the meantime Margherita’s brother Anselmo had returned from + the wars in the North, and, discovering the truth, had sworn to kill the + Signore unless he married Margherita. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you wish me to do?” asked the Doctor, after he had listened + to the story. + </p> + <p> + “Anything, anything,” she answered, “only calm my son Anselmo or else + there will be a disaster.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the Signore?” asked the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “The Conte Guido da Siena,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor reflected a moment, and then said: “I will see what can be + done. The matter can be arranged. Send your son to me later.” And then, + after scolding Maria for not having taken proper care of her daughter, he + sent her away. + </p> + <p> + As he did so he caught sight of the dirty piece of paper on his table. For + one second he had the impression that the letters on it were written in + blood, and he shivered, but the momentary hallucination and sense of + discomfort passed immediately. + </p> + <p> + At mid-day the guests arrived. They consisted of Dr. Cornelius, Vienna’s + most learned scholar; Taddeo Mainardi, the painter; a Danish student from + the University of Wittenberg; a young English nobleman, who was travelling + in Italy; and Guido da Siena, philosopher and poet, who was said to be the + handsomest man in Italy. The Doctor set before his guests a precious wine + from Cyprus, in which he toasted them, although as a rule he drank only + water. The meal was served in the cool loggia overlooking the bay, and the + talk, which was of the men and books of many climes, flowed like a + rippling stream on which the sunshine of laughter lightly played. + </p> + <p> + The student asked the Doctor whether in Italy men of taste took any + interest in the recent experiments of a French Huguenot, who professed to + be able to send people into a trance. Moreover, the patient when in the + trance, so it was alleged, was able to act as a bridge between the + material and the spiritual worlds, and the dead could be summoned and made + to speak through the unconscious patient. + </p> + <p> + “We take no thought of such things here,” said the Doctor. “In my youth, + when I studied in the North, experiments of that nature exercised a + powerful sway over my mind. I dabbled in alchemy; I tried and indeed + considered that I succeeded in raising spirits and visions; but two things + are necessary for such a study: youth, and the mists of the Northern + country. Here the generous sun kills such phantasies. There are no + phantoms here. Moreover, I am convinced that in all such experiments + success depends on the state of mind of the inquirer, which not only + persuades, but indeed compels itself by a strange magnetic quality to see + the vision it desires. In my youth I considered that I had evoked visions + of Satan and Helen of Troy, and what not—such things are fit for the + young. We greybeards have more serious things to occupy us, and when a man + has one foot in the grave, he has no time to waste.” + </p> + <p> + “To my mind,” said the painter, “this world has sufficient beauty and + mystery to satisfy the most ardent inquirer.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the Englishman, “is not this world a phantom and a dream as + insubstantial as the visions of the ardent mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Men and women are the only study fit for a man,” interrupted Guido, “and + as for the philosopher’s stone I have found it. I found it some months ago + in a garden at Sorrento. It is a pearl radiant with all the hues of the + rainbow.” + </p> + <p> + “With regard to that matter,” said the Doctor, “we will have some talk + later. The wench’s brother has returned from the war. We must find her a + husband.” + </p> + <p> + “You misunderstand me,” said Guido. “You do not think I am going to throw + my precious pearl to the swine? I have sworn to wed Margherita, and wed + her I shall, and that swiftly.” + </p> + <p> + “Such an act of folly would only lead,” said the Doctor, “to your + unhappiness and to hers. It is the selfish act of a fool. You must not + think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Guido, “you are young at seventy, Doctor, but you were old at + twenty-five, and you cannot know what these things mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I was young in my day,” said the Doctor, “and I found many such pearls; + believe me, they are all very well in their native shell. To move them is + to destroy their beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not understand,” said Guido. “I have loved countless times; but + she is different. You never felt the revelation of the real, true thing + that is different from all the rest and transforms a man’s life.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Doctor, “I confess that to me it was always the same + thing.” And for the second time that day the Doctor shivered, he knew not + why. + </p> + <p> + Soon after the meal was over the guests departed, and although the Doctor + detained Guido and endeavoured to persuade him to listen to the voice of + reason and commonsense, his efforts were in vain. Guido had determined to + wed Margherita. + </p> + <p> + “Besides which, if I left her now, I should bring shame and ruin on her,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor started—a familiar voice seemed to whisper in his ear: + “She is not the first one.” A strange shudder passed through him, and he + distinctly heard a mocking voice laughing. “Go your way,” he said, “but do + not come and complain to me if you bring unhappiness on yourself and her.” + </p> + <p> + Guido departed and the Doctor retired to enjoy his siesta. + </p> + <p> + For the first time during all the years he had lived at Naples the Doctor + was not able to sleep. “This and the hallucinations I have suffered from + to-day come from drinking that Cyprus wine,” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + He lay in the darkened room tossing uneasily on his bed and sleep would + not come to him. Stranger still, before his eyes fiery letters seemed to + dance before him in the air. At seven o’clock he went out into the garden. + Never had he beheld a more glorious evening. He strolled down towards the + seashore and watched the sunset. Mount Vesuvius seemed to have dissolved + into a rosy haze; the waves of the sea were phosphorescent. A fisherman + was singing in his boat. The sky was an apocalypse of glory and peace. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor sighed and watched the pageant of light until it faded and the + stars lit up the magical blue darkness. Then out of the night came another + song—a song which seemed familiar to the Doctor, although for the + moment he could not place it, about a King in the Northern Country who was + faithful to the grave and to whom his dying mistress a golden beaker gave. + </p> + <p> + “Strange,” thought the Doctor, “it must come from some Northern fishing + smack,” and he went home. + </p> + <p> + He sat reading in his study until midnight, and for the first time in + thirty years he could not fix his mind on his book. For the vision of the + sunset and the song of the Northern fisherman, which in some unaccountable + way brought back to him the days of his youth, kept on surging up in his + mind. + </p> + <p> + Twelve o’clock struck. He rose to go to bed, and as he did so he heard a + loud knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said the Doctor, but his voice faltered (“the Cyprus wine + again!” he thought), and his heart beat loudly. + </p> + <p> + The door opened and an icy draught blew into the room. The visitor + beckoned, but spoke no word, and Doctor Faust rose and followed him into + the outer darkness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FLUTE-PLAYER’S STORY + </h2> + <p> + There is a village in the South of England not far from the sea, which + possesses a curious inn called “The Green Tower.” Why it is called thus, + nobody knows. This inn must in days gone by have been the dwelling of some + well-to-do squire, but nothing now remains of its former prosperity, + except the square grey tower, partially covered with ivy, from which it + takes its name. The inn stands on the roadside, on the brow of a hill, and + at the top of the tower there is a room with four large windows, whence + you can see all over the wooded country. The ex-Prime Minister of a + foreign state, who had been driven from office and home by a revolution, + happening to pass the night in the inn and being of an eccentric + disposition, was so much struck with this room that he secured it, + together with two bedrooms, permanently for himself. He determined to + spend the rest of his life here, and as he was within certain limits not + unsociable, he invited his friends to come and stay with him on any + Saturday they pleased, without giving him notice. + </p> + <p> + Thus it happened that of a Saturday and Sunday there was nearly always a + mixed gathering of men at “The Green Tower”, and after they had dined they + would sit in the tower room and drink old Southern wines from the ex-Prime + Minister’s country, and talk, or tell each other stories. But the ex-Prime + Minister made it a stringent rule that at least one guest should tell one + story during his stay, for while he had been Prime Minister a Court + official had been in his service whose only duty it was to tell him a + story every evening, and this was the only thing he regretted of all his + former privileges. + </p> + <p> + On this particular Sunday, besides myself, the clerk, the flute-player, + the wine merchant (the friends of the ex-Prime Minister were exceedingly + various), and the scholar were present. They were smoking in the tower + room. It was summer, and the windows were wide open. Every inch of wall + which was not occupied by the windows was crowded with books. The clerk + was turning over the leaves of the ex-Prime Minister’s stamp collection + (which was magnificent), the flute-player was reading the score of + Handel’s flute sonatas (which was rare), the scholar was reading a + translation in Latin hexameters of the “Ring and the Book” (which the + ex-Prime Minister has written in his spare moments), and the wine merchant + was drinking generously of a curious red wine, which was very old. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the ex-Prime Minister, “that the flute-player has never + yet told us a story.” + </p> + <p> + The guests knew that this hint was imperative, and so putting away the + score, the flute-player said: “My story is called, ‘The Fiddler.’” And he + began:— + </p> + <p> + “This happened a long time ago in one of the German-speaking countries of + the Holy Roman Empire. There was a Count who lived in a large castle. He + was rich, powerful, and the owner of large lands. He had a wife, and one + daughter, who was dazzlingly beautiful, and she was betrothed to the + eldest son of a neighbouring lord. When I say betrothed, I mean that her + parents had arranged the marriage. She herself—her name was Elisinde—had + had no voice in the matter, and she disliked, or rather loathed, her + future husband, who was boorish, sullen, and ill-tempered; he cared for + nothing except hunting and deep drinking, and had nothing to recommend him + but his ducats and his land. But it was quite useless for Elisinde to cry + or protest. Her parents had settled the marriage and it was to be. She + understood this herself very well. + </p> + <p> + “All the necessary preparations for the wedding, which was to be held on a + splendid scale, were made. There was to be a whole week of feasting; and + tumblers and musicians came from distant parts of the country to take part + in the festivities and merry-making. In the village, which was close to + the castle, a fair was held, and the musicians, tumblers, and mountebanks, + who had thronged to it, performed in front of the castle walls for the + amusement of the Count’s guests. + </p> + <p> + “Among these strolling vagabonds was a fiddler who far excelled all the + others in skill. He drew the most ravishing tones from his instrument, + which seemed to speak in trills as liquid as those of the nightingale, and + in accents as plaintive as those of a human voice. And one of the inmates + of the castle was so much struck by the performance of this fiddler that + he told the Count of it, and the fiddler was commanded to come and play at + the Castle, after the banquet which was to be held on the eve of the + wedding. The banquet took place in great pomp and solemnity, and lasted + for many hours. When it was over the fiddler was summoned to the large + hall and bidden to play before the Lords and Ladies. + </p> + <p> + “The fiddler was a strange looking, tall fellow with unkempt fair hair, + and eyes that glittered like gold; but as he was dressed in tattered + uncouth rags (and they were his best too) he cut an extraordinary and + almost ridiculous figure amongst that splendid jewelled gathering. The + guests tittered when they saw him. But as soon as he began to play, their + tittering ceased, for never had they heard such music. + </p> + <p> + “He played—in view of the festive occasion—a joyous melody. + And, as he played, the air seemed full of sunlight, and the smell of wine + vats and the hum of bees round ripe fruit. The guests could not keep still + in their places, and at last the Count gave orders for a general dance. + The hall was cleared, and soon all the guests were breathlessly dancing to + the divine lilt of the fiddler’s melody. All except Elisinde who, when her + betrothed came forward to lead her to the dance, pleaded fatigue, and + remained seated in her chair, pale and distraught, and staring at the + fiddler. This did not, to tell the truth, displease her betrothed, who was + a clumsy dancer and had no ear for music. Breathless at last with + exhaustion the guests begged the untiring fiddler to pause while they + rested for a moment to get their breath. + </p> + <p> + “And while they were resting the fiddler played another tune. This time it + was a sad tune: a low, soft tune, liquid and lovely as a human voice. A + great hush came on the company. It seemed as if after the heat and + splendour of a summer’s day the calm of evening had fallen; the quiet of + the dusk, when the moon rises in the sky, still faintly yellow in the west + with the ebb of sunset, and pours on the stiff cornfields its cool, + silvery frost; and the trees quiver, as though they felt the freshness and + were relieved, and a breeze comes, almost imperceptible and not strong + enough to shake the boughs, from the sea; and a bird, hidden somewhere in + the leaves, sings a throbbing song. + </p> + <p> + “Everyone was spellbound, but none so much as Elisinde. The music seemed + to be speaking straight to her, to pierce the very core of her heart. It + was an inarticulate language which she understood better than any words. + She heard a lonely spirit crying out to her, that it understood her sorrow + and shared her pain. And large tears poured down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “The fiddler stopped playing, and for a moment or two no one spoke. At + last Elisinde’s betrothed gave a great yawn, and the spell was broken. + </p> + <p> + “‘You play very well—very well, indeed,’ said the Count. + </p> + <p> + “‘But that sad music is, I think, rather out of place to-day,’ said the + Countess. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, let us have another cheerful tune,’ said the Count. + </p> + <p> + “The fiddler struck up once more and played another dance. This time there + was an almost elfish magic in his melody. It took you captive; it was + irresistible; it called and commanded and compelled; you longed to follow, + follow, anywhere, over the hills, over the sea, to the end of the world. + </p> + <p> + “Elisinde rose from her chair as though the spirit of the music beckoned + her, but looking round she saw no partner to her taste. She sat down again + and stared at the fiddler. His eyes were fixed on her, and as she looked + at him his squalor and rags seemed to fade away and his blue eyes that + glittered like gold seemed to grow larger, and his hair to grow brighter + till it shone like fire. And he seemed to be caught in a rosy cloud of + light: tall, splendid, young, and glowing like a god. + </p> + <p> + “After this dance was over the Count rose, and he and his guests retired + to rest. The fiddler was given a purse full of money, and the Count gave + orders that he should be served refreshment in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Elisinde went up to her bedroom, which overlooked the garden. She threw + the window wide open and looked out into the starry darkness. It was a + breathless summer night. The air was full of warm scents. Lights still + twinkled in the village; now and again a dog barked, otherwise everything + was still. She leant out of the window, and cried bitterly because her lot + was loathsome to her, and she had not a friend in the world to whom she + could confide her sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “While she was thus sobbing she heard a rustling in the bushes beneath; + she looked down and she saw a face looking up towards her, a beautiful + face, glistening in the moonlight. It was the fiddler. + </p> + <p> + “‘Elisinde,’ he called to her in a low voice, ‘if you want to escape I + have the means. Come with me; I love you, and I will save you from your + doom.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I would come with you to the end of the world,’ she said, ‘but how can I + get away from this castle?’ + </p> + <p> + “He threw a rope ladder up to her. ‘Make it fast to the bar,’ he said, + ‘and let yourself down.’ + </p> + <p> + “She let herself down into the garden. ‘We can easily climb the wall with + this,’ he said; ‘but before you come I must tell you that if you will be + my bride your life will be hard and full of misery. Think before you + come.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Rather all the misery in the world,’ she said, ‘than the awful doom that + awaits me here. Besides which I love you, and we shall be very happy.’ + </p> + <p> + “They scaled the wall, and on the other side of it the fiddler had two + horses, waiting tied to the gate. They galloped through many villages, and + by the dawn they had reached a village far beyond the Count’s lands. Here + they stopped at an inn, and they were married by the priest that day. But + they did not stop in this village; they sought a further country, beyond + reach of all pursuit. They settled in a village, and the fiddler earned + his bread by his fiddling, and Elisinde kept their cottage neat and clean. + For awhile they were as happy as the day was long; the fiddler found + favour everywhere by his fiddling, and Elisinde ingratiated herself by her + gentle ways. But one day when Elisinde was lying in bed and the fiddler + had lulled her to sleep with his music, some neighbours, attracted by the + sound, passed the cottage and looked in at the window. And to their + astonishment they saw the fiddler sitting by a bed on which lay what + seemed to them to be a sleeping princess; and the whole cottage was full + of dazzling light, and the fiddler’s face shone, and his hair and his eyes + glittered like gold. They went away much frightened, and told the whole + village the news. + </p> + <p> + “Now there were already not a few of the villagers who looked askance on + the fiddler; and this incident set all the evil and envious tongues + wagging. When the fiddler went to play the next day at the inn men turned + away from him, and a child in the street threw a stone at him. Presently + he was warned that he had better swiftly fly or else he would be drowned + as a sorcerer. + </p> + <p> + “So he and Elisinde fled in the night to a neighbouring village. But soon + the dark rumours followed them, and they were forced to flee once more. + This happened again and again, till at last in the whole country there was + not a village which would receive them, and one night they were obliged to + take refuge in a barn, for Elisinde was expecting the birth of her child. + That night their child was born, a beautiful little boy, and an hour + afterwards Elisinde smiled and died. + </p> + <p> + “All that night the villagers heard from afar a piteous wailing music, + infinitely sad and beautiful, and those that heard it shuddered and + crossed themselves. + </p> + <p> + “The next day the villagers sought the barn, for they had resolved to + drown the sorcerer; but he was not there. All they found was the dead body + of Elisinde, and a little baby lying on some straw. The body of Elisinde + was covered with roses. And this was strange, for it was midwinter. The + fiddler had disappeared and was never heard of again, and an old + wood-cutter, who was too old to know any better, took charge of the baby. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you what happened to it another day.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “We wish to hear the end of your story,” said the ex-Prime Minister to the + flute-player. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the scholar, “and I want to know who the fiddler was.” + </p> + <p> + This conversation took place at the Green Tower two weeks after the + gathering I have already described. The same people were present; but + there was another guest, namely, the musician, who, unlike the + flute-player, was not an amateur. + </p> + <p> + “The child of Elisinde and the fiddler,” began the flute-player, “was, as + I have already told you, a boy. The woodcutter who took pity on him was + old and childless. He brought the baby to his hut, and gave it over to the + care of his wife. At first she pretended to be angry, and said that + nothing would persuade her to have anything to do with the child, and that + it was all they could do to feed themselves without picking up waifs in + the gutter; but she ended by looking after the baby with the utmost + tenderness and care, and by loving it as much as if it had been her own + child. The baby was christened Franz. As soon as he was able to walk and + talk there were two things about him which were remarkable. The first was + his hair, which glittered like sunlight; the second was his fondness for + all musical sounds. When he was four years old he had made himself a flute + out of a reed, and on this he played all day, imitating the song of the + birds. He was in his sixth year when an event happened which changed his + life. He was sitting in front of the woodcutter’s cottage one day, when a + bright cavalcade passed him. It was a nobleman from a neighbouring castle, + who was travelling to the city with his retainers. Among these was a + Kapellmeister, who organised the music of this nobleman’s household. The + moment he caught sight of Franz and heard his piping, he stopped, and + asked who he was. + </p> + <p> + “The woodcutter’s wife told him the story of the finding of the waif, to + which both the nobleman and himself listened with great interest. The + Kapellmeister said that they should take the child with them; that he + should be attached to the nobleman’s house and trained as a member of his + choir or his string band, according to his capacities. The nobleman, who + was passionately fond of music, and extremely particular with regard to + the manner of its performance, was delighted with the idea. The offer was + made to the woodcutter and his wife, and although she cried a good deal + they were both forced to recognise that they had no right to interfere + with the child’s good fortune. Moreover, the gift of a purse full of gold + (which the nobleman gave them) did not make the matter more distasteful. + </p> + <p> + “Finally it was settled that the child should go with the nobleman then + and there; and Franz took leave of his adopted parents, not without many + and bitter tears being shed on both sides. + </p> + <p> + “Franz travelled with the nobleman to a large city, and he became a member—the + youngest—of the nobleman’s household. He was taught his letters, + which he learnt with ease, and the rudiments of music, which he absorbed + with such astounding rapidity, that the Kapellmeister said that it seemed + as if he already knew everything that was taught him. When he was seven + years old, he could not only play several instruments, but he composed + fugues and sonatas. When the nobleman invited the magnates of the place to + listen to his musicians, Franz, the prodigy, was the centre of interest, + and very soon he became the talk of the town. At the age of ten he was an + accomplished organ player, and he played with skill on the flute and the + clavichord. + </p> + <p> + “He grew up a tall and handsome lad, with clear, dreamy eyes, and hair + that continued to glitter like sunlight. He was happy in the nobleman’s + household, for the nobleman and his wife were kind people; like the + woodcutter they were childless and came to look upon him as their own + child. He was a quiet youth, and so deeply engrossed in his music and his + studies that he seemed to be quite unaware of the outside world and its + inhabitants and its doings. But although he led a retired, studious life, + his fame had got abroad and had even reached the Emperor’s ears. + </p> + <p> + “When Franz was seventeen years old it happened that the Court was in need + of an organist. The Emperor’s curiosity had been aroused by what he had + heard of Franz, and one fine day the youth was summoned to Court to play + before his Majesty. This he did with such success that he was appointed + organist of the Court on the spot. + </p> + <p> + “He was sad at leaving the nobleman, but there was nothing to be done. The + Emperor’s wish was law. He became Court organist and he played the organ + in the Imperial chapel during Mass on Sundays. As before, he spent all his + leisure time in composing music. + </p> + <p> + “Now the Emperor had a daughter called Kunigmunde, who was beautiful and + wildly romantic. She was immediately spellbound by Franz’s music, and he + became the lodestar of her dreams. Often in the afternoon she would steal + up to the organ loft, where he was playing alone, and sit for hours + listening to his improvisations. They did not speak to each other much, + but ever since Franz had set eyes on her something new had entered into + his soul and spoke in his music, something tremulous and strange and + wonderful. + </p> + <p> + “For a year Franz’s life ran placidly and smoothly. He was made much of, + praised and petted; but now, as before, he seemed quite unaware of the + outside world and its doings, and he moved in a world of his own, only he + was no longer alone in his secret habitation, it was inhabited by another + shape, the beautiful dark-haired Princess Kunigmunde, and in her honour he + composed songs, minuets, sonatas, hymns, and triumphal marches. As was + only natural, there were not wanting at Court persons who were envious of + Franz, his talent, and his good fortune. And among them there was a + musician, a tenor in the Imperial choir, called Albrecht, who hated Franz + with his whole heart. He was a dark-eyed, dark-haired creature, slightly + deformed; he limped, and he had a sinister look as though of a satyr. + Nevertheless he was highly gifted and composed music of his own which, + although it was not radiant like that of Franz, was full of brilliance and + not without a certain compelling power. Albrecht revolved in his mind how + he might ruin Franz. He tried to excite the envy of the courtiers against + him, but Franz was such a modest fellow, so kindly and good-natured, that + it was not easy to make people dislike him. Nevertheless there were many + who were tired of hearing him praised, and many who were secretly tired of + the perpetual beauty and radiance of Franz’s music, and wished for + something new even though it should be ugly. + </p> + <p> + “An opportunity soon presented itself for Albrecht to carry out his evil + and envious designs. The Court Kapellmeister died, and not long after this + event a great feast was to be held at Court to celebrate Princess + Kunigmunde’s birthday. The Emperor had offered a prize, a wreath of gilt + laurels, as well as the post of Court Kapellmeister to him who should + compose the most beautiful piece of music in his daughter’s honour. Franz + seemed so certain of success that nobody even dared to compete with him + except Albrecht. + </p> + <p> + “When the hour of the contest came—it took place in the great + throne-room before the Emperor, the Empress, their sons, their daughters, + and the whole court after the banquet—Franz was the first to display + his work. He sat down at the clavichord and sang what he had composed in + honour of the Princess. He had made three little songs for her. Franz had + not much voice, but it had a peculiar wail in it, and he sang, like the + born and trained musician that he was, with that absolute mastery over his + means, that certain perfection of utterance, that power of conveying, to + the shade of a shade, the inmost spirit and meaning of the music which + only belong to those great and rare artists whose perfect art is alive + with the inspiration that cannot be learnt. + </p> + <p> + “The first song he sang was the call of a home-going shepherd to his flock + on the hills at sunset, and when he sang it he brought the largeness of + the dying evening and the solemn hills into the elegant throne-room. The + second song was the cry of a lonely fisherman on the river at midnight, + and as he sang it he brought the mystery of broad starlit waters into the + taper-lit, gilded hall. The third song was the song of the happy lover in + the orchard at dawn. And when he sang it he brought the smell of dewy + leaves and grass, the soaring radiance of spring and early morning, to + that powdered and silken assembly. The Court applauded him, but they were + astonished and slightly disappointed, for they had expected something + grand and complicated, and not three simple tunes. But the nobleman who + had educated Franz, and his Kapellmeister, who were among the guests, wept + tears in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Albrecht followed him. The swarthy singer sat down to the instrument and + struck a ringing chord. He had a pure and infinitely powerful tenor voice, + clear as crystal, loud as a clarion, strong, rich, and rippling. He sang a + love-song he had composed himself. He called it ‘The Homage of King Pan to + the Princess.’ It was voluptuous and vehement and sweet as honey, full of + bold conceits and audacious turns and trills, which startled the audience + and took their breath away. He sang his song with almost devilish skill + and power; and his warm, captivating voice rang through the room and shook + the tall window-panes, and finally died away like the vibrations of a + great bell. The whole Court shouted, delirious with applause, and + unanimously declared him to be the victor. A witty courtier said that + Marsyas had avenged himself on Apollo; but the nobleman and his + Kapellmeister snorted and sniffed and said nothing. Albrecht was given the + prize and appointed Kapellmeister to the Court without further discussion. + </p> + <p> + “When the ceremony was over, Franz, who was indifferent to his defeat, + went to the chapel of the palace, and lighting a candle, walked up into + the organ loft. There he played to himself another song, a hymn he had + composed in honour of Princess Kunigmunde. It was filled with rapture and + a breathless wonder, and in it his inmost soul spoke its unuttered love. + He had not sung this song in public, it was too sacred. As he played and + sang to himself in a low voice he was aware of a soft footstep. He started + and looked round, and there was the Princess, bright in silk and jewels, + with a pink rose in her powdered hair. She took this rose and laid it + lightly on the black keys. + </p> + <p> + “‘That is the prize,’ she said. ‘You won it, and I want to thank you. I + never knew music could be so beautiful.’ + </p> + <p> + “Franz looked at her, and said ‘Thank you.’ He had risen from his seat and + was about to go, but the light of his candle caught Princess Kunigmunde’s + brown eyes (which were wet with tears), and something rose like fire in + his breast and made him forget his bashfulness, his respect, and his sense + of decorum. + </p> + <p> + “‘Come with me,’ he said, in a broken voice. ‘Let us fly from this Court + to the hills and be happy.’ + </p> + <p> + “But the Princess shook her head sadly, and said: ‘Alas! It is impossible. + I am betrothed to the King of the Two Sicilies.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then Franz mastered himself once more, and said: ‘Of course, it is + impossible. I was mad.’ + </p> + <p> + “The Princess kissed her hand to him and fled. + </p> + <p> + “At that moment Franz heard a noise in the nave of the chapel; he looked + over the gallery of the organ loft, and saw sidling away in the darkness + the dim figure of a deformed man. + </p> + <p> + “That night Princess Kunigmunde had a strange dream. She thought she was + transported into a beautiful southern country where the azure sky seemed + to scintillate with the dust of myriads and myriads of diamonds, and to + sparkle with sunlight like dancing wine. The low blue hills were bare and + sparsely clothed with delicate trees, and the fields, sprinkled with + innumerable red, yellow, white and purple flowers, were bright as fabulous + Persian carpets. On a grassy knoll before her the rosy columns of a temple + shone in the gleaming dust of the atmosphere. Beside her there was a + running stream, on the bank of which grew a bay-tree. There was a chirping + of grasshoppers in the air, a noise of bees, and a delicious warm smell of + burnt grass and thyme and mint. + </p> + <p> + “Near the stream a man was standing; he was an ordinary man, and yet he + seemed to tower above the landscape without being unusually tall; his hair + was bright as gold, and his eyes, more lustrous still, reflected the + silvery blue sky and shone like opals. In his hands he held a golden lyre, + and around him a warm golden cloud seemed to rise, on a transparent aura + of light, like the glow of the sunset. In front of him there stood a + creature of the woods, a satyr, with pointed ears, cloven hoofs, and human + eyes, in his hairy hands holding a flute made out of a reed. + </p> + <p> + “Presently the satyr breathed on his flute and a wonderful note trembled + in the air, soft, low, and liquid. The note was followed by others, and a + stillness fell upon Nature; the birds ceased to sing, the grasshoppers + were still, the bees paused. All Nature was listening and the Princess was + conscious in her dream that there were others besides herself listening, + unseen shapes and sightless phantoms; a crowd, a multitude of attentive + ghosts, that were hidden from her sight. The melody rose and swelled in + stillness; it was melting and ravishing and bold with a human audacity. As + she listened it reminded her of something; she felt she had heard such + sounds before, though she could not remember where and when. But suddenly + it flashed across her that the music resembled Albrecht’s song; it was + Albrecht’s song, only transfigured as it were, and a thousand times more + beautiful in her dream than in reality. More beautiful, and at the same + time as though it belonged to the days of youth and spring which Albrecht + had never known. The satyr ceased playing and the pleasant noises of the + world began once more. The shining figure who stood before him looked on + the satyr with divine scorn and smiled a radiant, merciless smile. Then he + struck his lyre and Nature once more was dumb. + </p> + <p> + “But this time the magic was of another kind and a thousand times more + mighty; a song rose into the air which leapt and soared like a flame, + imperious as the flashing of a sword, triumphant as the waving of a + banner, wonderful as the dawn and fresh as the laughing sea. And once more + Princess Kunigmunde was aware that the music was familiar to her. She had + heard something like it in the chapel that evening, when in the darkness + Franz had played and sung the hymn that he had composed in her honour. + Only now it was more than human, unearthly and divine. As soon as he + ceased an eclipse seemed to darken the world, a thick cloud of rolling + darkness; there was a crash of thunder, a flash of lightning, and out of + the blackness came a piteous, human cry, the cry of a creature in anguish, + and then a faint moaning. + </p> + <p> + “Presently all was still, but the dark cloud remained, and she heard a + mocking laugh and the accents of a clear, scornful voice (she recognised + the voice, it was the voice of Albrecht), and the voice said: ‘Thou hast + conquered, Apollo, and cruelly hast thou used thy victory; and cruelly has + thou punished me for daring to challenge thy divine skill. It was mad + indeed to compete with a god; and yet shall I avenge my wrong and thy + harshness shall recoil on thee. For not even gods can be unjust with + impunity, and the Fates are above us all. And I shall be avenged; for all + thy sons shall suffer what I have suffered; and there is not one of them + that shall escape the doom and not share the fate of Marsyas the Satyr, + whom thou didst cruelly slay. The music and the skill which shall be their + inheritance shall be the cause to them of sorrow and grief unending and + pitiless pain and misery. Their life shall be as bitter to them as my + death has been to me. Their music shall fill the world with sweetness and + ravish the ears of listening nations, but to them it shall bring no joy; + for life like a cruel blade shall flay and lay bare their hearts, and + sorrow like a searching wind shall play upon their souls and make them + tremble, even as the scabbard of my body trembled in the breeze; and just + as from that trembling husk of what was once myself there came forth sweet + sounds, so shall it be with their souls, shivering and trembling in the + cold wind of life. Music shall come from them, but this music shall be + born of agony; nor shall they utter a single note that is not begotten of + sorrow or pain. And so shall the children of Apollo suffer and share the + pain of Marsyas. + </p> + <p> + “The voice died away, and a pitiful wail was heard as of a wind blowing + through the reeds of a river. And the Princess awoke, trembling with fear + of some unknown and impending disaster. + </p> + <p> + “The next morning Franz, as he walked into the chapel to practice on the + organ, was met by two soldiers, who bade him follow them, and he was shut + up in the prison of the palace. No word of explanation was given him; nor + had he any idea what the crime might be of which he was accused, or of his + ultimate fate. But in the evening, when the gaoler’s daughter brought him + his food, she made him a sign, and he found in his loaf of bread a rose, a + file, and a tiny scroll, on which the following words were written; + ‘Albrecht denounced you. Fly for your life. K.’ Later, when the gaolers + had gone to sleep, the gaoler’s daughter stole to his cell. She brought + him a rope, and a purse full of silver. He filed the bars and let himself + down into a narrow street of the city. + </p> + <p> + “By the time the sun rose he had left the city far behind him. He + journeyed on and on till he passed the frontier of the Emperor’s dominions + and reached a neighbouring State. By the time he came to a city he had + spent his money, and he was in rags and tatters; nevertheless, he managed + to earn his bread by making music in the streets, and after a time a + well-to-do citizen who noticed him took him into his house and entrusted + him with the task of teaching music to his sons and of playing him to + sleep in the evening. Franz spent his leisure hours in composing an opera + called ‘The Death of Adonis,’ into which he poured all the music of his + soul, all his love, his sorrow, and his infinite desire. He lived for this + only, and during all the hours he spent when he was not working at his + opera he was like a man in a dream, unconscious of the realities around + him. In a year his opera was finished. He took it to the Intendant of the + Ducal Theatre in the city and played it to him, and the Intendant, greatly + pleased, determined to have it performed without delay. The best singers + were allotted parts in it, and it was performed before the Arch-Duke and + his Court, and a multitude of people. + </p> + <p> + “The music told the story of Franz’s love; it was bright with all his + dreams, and sorrowful with his great despair. Never had such music been + heard; so sweet, so sunlit in its joys, so radiant in its sadness. But the + Arch-Duke and his Court, startled by the new accent of this music, and + influenced by the local and established musicians, who were envious of + this newcomer, listened in frigid silence, so that the common people in + the gallery dared not show signs of their delight. In fact, the opera was + a complete failure. Public opinion followed the Court, and found no words, + bad or strong enough to condemn what they called the new-fangled rubbish. + Among those who blamed the new work there was none so bitter as the + citizen whose children Franz had been teaching. For this man considered + himself to be a genius, and was inordinately vain, and his ignorance was + equal to his conceit. He dismissed Franz from his service. All doors were + now closed to him, and being on the verge of starvation he was reduced to + earning his bread in the streets by playing his pipe. This also proved + unsuccessful, and it was with difficulty that he earned a few pence every + day. + </p> + <p> + “At last he burnt all his manuscripts, and went into the hills; the hill + people welcomed him, but their kindness came too late; his heart was + broken, and when sickness came to him with the winter snow, he had no + longer any strength to resist it. The peasants found him one day lying + cold and stiff in his hut. They buried him on the hill-side. The night of + his funeral a strange fiddler with a shining face was seen standing beside + his grave and playing the most lovely tunes on a violin. + </p> + <p> + “The name of Franz was soon forgotten, but although he died obscure and + penniless he left a rich legacy. For he taught the hill-people three + songs, the songs he had sung at Court in honour of Princess Kunigmunde, + and they never died. They spread from the hills to the plains, from the + plains to the river, from the river to the woods, and indeed you can still + hear them on the hills of the north, on the great broad rivers of the + east, and in the orchards of the south.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CHINAMAN ON OXFORD + </h2> + <p> + “Yes, I am a student,” said the Chinaman, “And I came here to study the + English manners and customs.” + </p> + <p> + We were seated on the top of the electric tram which goes to Hampton + Court. It was a bitterly cold spring day. The suburbs of London were not + looking their best. + </p> + <p> + “I spent three days at Oxford last week,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a beautiful place, is it not?” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + The Chinaman smiled. “The country which you see from the windows of the + railway carriages,” he said, “on the way from Oxford to London strikes me + as being beautiful. It reminded me of the Chinese Plain, only it is + prettier. But the houses at Oxford are hideous: there is no symmetry about + them. The houses in this country are like blots on the landscape. In China + the houses are made to harmonise with the landscape just as trees do.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you see at Oxford?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I saw boat races,” he said, “and a great many ignorant old men.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said, “the young people seemed to enjoy it, and if they + enjoy it they are quite right to do it. But the way the older men talk + about these things struck me as being foolish. They talk as if these games + and these sports were a solemn affair, a moral or religious question; they + said the virtues and the prowess of the English race were founded on these + things. They said that competition was the mainspring of life; they seemed + to think exercise was the goal of existence. A man whom I saw there and + who, I learnt, had been chosen to teach the young on account of his + wisdom, told me that competition trained the man to sharpen his faculties; + and that the tension which it provoked is in itself a useful training. I + do not believe this. A cat or a boa constrictor will lie absolutely idle + until it perceives an object worthy of its appetite; it will then catch it + and swallow it, and once more relapse into repose without thinking of + keeping itself ‘in training.’ But it will lie dormant and rise to the + occasion when it occurs. These people who talked of games seem to me to + undervalue repose. They forget that repose is the mother of action, and + exercise only a frittering away of the same.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you think,” I asked, “of the education that the students at + Oxford receive?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the Chinaman, “that inasmuch as the young men waste their + time in idleness they do well; for the wise men who are chosen to instruct + the young at your places of learning, are not always wise. I visited a + professor of Oriental languages. His servant asked me to wait, and after I + had waited three quarters of an hour, he sent word to say that he had + tried everywhere to find the professor in the University who spoke French, + but that he had not been able to find him. And so he asked me to call + another day. I had dinner in a college hall. I found that the professors + talked of many things in such a way as would be impossible to children of + five and six in our country. They are quite ignorant of the manners and + customs of the people of other European countries. They pronounce Greek + and Latin and even French in the same way as English. I mentioned to one + of them that I had been employed for some time in the Chinese Legation; he + asked me if I had had much work to do. I said yes, the work had been + heavy. ‘But,’ he observed, ‘I suppose a great deal of the work is carried + on directly between the Governments and not through the Ambassadors.’ I + cannot conceive what he meant or how such a thing could be possible, or + what he considered the use and function of Embassies and Legations to be. + They most of them seemed to take for granted that I could not speak + English: some of them addressed me in a kind of baby language; one of them + spoke French. The professor who spoke to me in this language told me that + the French possessed no poetical literature, and he said the reason of + this was that the French language was a bastard language; that it was, in + fact, a kind of pidgin Latin. He said when a Frenchman says a girl is + ‘beaucoup belle,’ he is using pidgin Latin. The courtesy due to a host + prevented me from suggesting that if a Frenchman said ‘beaucoup belle’ he + would be talking pidgin French. + </p> + <p> + “Another professor said to me that China would soon develop if she adopted + a large Imperial ideal, and that in time the Chinese might attain to a + great position in the world, such as the English now held. He said the + best means of bringing this about would be to introduce cricket and + football into China. I told him that I thought this was improbable, + because if the Chinese play games, they do not care who is the winner; the + fun of the game is to us the improvisation of it as opposed to the + organisation which appeals to the people here. Upon which he said that + cricket was like a symphony of music. In a symphony every instrument plays + its part in obedience to one central will, not for its individual + advantage, but in order to make a beautiful whole. ‘So it is with our + games,’ he said, ‘every man plays his part not for the sake of personal + advantage, but so that his side may win; and thus the citizen is taught to + sink his own interests in those of the community.’ I told him the Chinese + did not like symphonies, and Western music was intolerable to them for + this very reason. Western musicians seem to us to take a musical idea + which is only worthy of a penny whistle (and would be very good indeed if + played on a penny whistle!); and they sit down and make a score of it + twenty yards broad, and set a hundred highly-trained and highly-paid + musicians to play it. It is the contrast between the tremendous apparatus + and waste of energy on one side, and the light and playful character of + the business itself on the other which makes me, a Chinaman, as incapable + of appreciating your complicated games as I am of appreciating the + complicated symphonies of the Germans or the elaborate rules which their + students make with regard to the drinking of beer. We like a man for + taking his fun and not missing a joke when he finds it by chance on his + way, but we cannot understand his going out of his way to prepare a joke + and to make arrangements for having some fun at a certain fixed date. This + is why we consider a wayside song, a tune that is heard wandering in the + summer darkness, to be better than twenty concerts.” + </p> + <p> + “What did that professor say?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He said that if I were to stay long enough in England and go to a course + of concerts at the Chelsea Town Hall, I would soon learn to think + differently. And that if cricket and football were introduced into China, + the Chinese would soon emerge out of their backwardness and barbarism and + take a high place among the enlightened nations of the world. I thought to + myself as he said this that your games are no doubt an excellent + substitute for drill, but if we were to submit to so complicated an + organisation it would be with a purpose: in order to turn the Europeans + out of China, for instance; but that organisation without a purpose would + always seem to us to be stupid, and we should no more dream of organising + our play than of organising a stroll in the twilight to see the Evening + Star, or the chase of a butterfly in the spring. If we were to decide on + drill it would be drill with a vengeance and with a definite aim; but we + should not therefore and thereby destroy our play. Play cannot exist for + us without fun, and for us the open air, the fields, and the meadows are + like wine: if we feel inclined, we roam and jump about in them, but we + should never submit to standing to attention for hours lest a ball should + escape us. Besides which, we invented the foundations of all our games + many thousand of years ago. We invented and played at ‘Diabolo’ when the + Britons were painted blue and lived in the woods. The English knew how to + play once, in the days of Queen Elizabeth; then they had masques and + madrigals and Morris dances and music. A gentleman was ashamed if he did + not speak six or seven languages, handle the sword with a deadly + dexterity, play chess, and write good sonnets. Men were broken on the + wheel for an idea: they were brave, cultivated, and gay; they fought, they + played, and they wrote excellent verse. Now they organise games and lay + claim to a special morality and to a special mission; they send out + missionaries to civilise us savages; and if our people resent having an + alien creed stuffed down their throats, they take our hand and burn our + homes in the name of Charity, Progress, and Civilisation. They seek for + one thing—gold; they preach competition, but competition for what? + For this: who shall possess the most, who shall most successfully ‘do’ his + neighbour. These ideals and aims do not tempt us. The quality of the life + is to us more important than the quantity of what is done and achieved. We + live, as we play, for the sake of living. I did not say this to the + professors because we have a proverb that when you are in a man’s country + you should not speak ill of it. I say it to you because I see you have an + inquiring mind, and you will feel it more insulting to be served with + meaningless phrases and empty civilities than with the truth, however + bitter. For those who have once looked the truth in the face cannot + afterwards be put off with false semblances.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak true words,” I said, “but what do you like best in England?” + </p> + <p> + “The gardens,” he answered, “and the little yellow flowers that are + sprinkled like stars on your green grass.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you like least in England?” + </p> + <p> + “The horrible smells,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Have you no smells in China?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, “we have natural smells, but not the smell of gas and + smoke and coal which sickens me here. It is strange to me that people can + find the smell of human beings disgusting and be able to stand the foul + stenches of a London street. This very road along which we are now + travelling (we were passing through one of the less beautiful portions of + the tramway line) makes me homesick for my country. I long to see a + Chinese village once more built of mud and fenced with mud, muddy-roaded + and muddy-baked, with a muddy little stream to be waded across or passed + by stepping on stones; with a delicate one-storeyed temple on the + water-eaten bank, and green poppy fields round it; and the women in dark + blue standing at the doorways, smoking their pipes; and the children, with + three small budding pigtails on the head of each, clinging to them; and + the river fringed with a thousand masts: the boats, the houseboats, the + barges and the ships in the calm, wide estuaries, each with a pair of huge + eyes painted on the front bow. And the people: the men working at their + looms and whistling a happy tune out of the gladness of their hearts. And + everywhere the sense of leisure, the absence of hurry and bustle and + confusion; the dignity of manners and the grace of expression and of + address. And, above all, the smell of life everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I admit,” I said, “that our streets smell horribly of smoke and coal, but + surely our people are clean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “no doubt; but you forget that to us there is nothing so + intolerably nasty as the smell of a clean white man!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VENUS + </h2> + <p> + John Fletcher was an overworked minor official in a Government office. He + lived a lonely life, and had done so ever since he had been a boy. At + school he had mixed little with his fellow school-boys, and he took no + interest in the things that interested them, that is to say, games. On the + other hand, although he was what is called “good at work,” and did his + lessons with facility and ease, he was not a literary boy, and did not + care for books. He was drawn towards machinery of all kinds, and spent his + spare time in dabbling in scientific experiments or in watching trains go + by on the Great Western line. Once he blew off his eyebrows while making + some experiment with explosive chemicals; his hands were always smudged + with dark, mysterious stains, and his room was like that of a mediaeval + alchemist, littered with retorts, bottles, and test-glasses. Before + leaving school he invented a flying machine (heavier than air), and an + unsuccessful attempt to start it on the high road caused him to be the + victim of much chaff and ridicule. + </p> + <p> + When he left school he went to Oxford. His life there was as lonely as it + had been at school. The dirty, untidy, ink-stained, and chemical-stained + little boy grew up into a tall, lank, slovenly-dressed man, who kept + entirely to himself, not because he cherished any dislike or disdain for + his fellow-creatures, but because he seemed to be entirely absorbed in his + own thoughts and isolated from the world by a barrier of dreams. + </p> + <p> + He did well at Oxford, and when he went down he passed high into the Civil + Service and became a clerk in a Government office. There he kept as much + to himself as ever. He did his work rapidly and well, for this man, who + seemed so slovenly in his person, had an accurate mind, and was what was + called a good clerk, although his incurable absent-mindedness once or + twice caused him to forget certain matters of importance. + </p> + <p> + His fellow clerks treated him as a crank and as a joke, but none of them, + try as they would, could get to know him or win his confidence. They used + to wonder what Fletcher did with his spare time, what were his pursuits, + what were his hobbies, if he had any. They suspected that Fletcher had + some hobby of an engrossing kind, since in everyday life he conveyed the + impression of a man who is walking in his sleep, who acts mechanically and + automatically. Somewhere else, they thought, in some other circumstances, + he must surely wake up and take a living interest in somebody or in + something. + </p> + <p> + Yet had they followed him home to his small room in Canterbury-mansions + they would have been astonished. For when he returned from the office + after a hard day’s work he would do nothing more engrossing than slowly to + turn over the leaves of a book in which there were elaborate drawings and + diagrams of locomotives and other kinds of engines. And on Sunday he would + take a train to one of the large junctions and spend the whole day in + watching express trains go past, and in the evening would return again to + London. + </p> + <p> + One day after he had returned from the office somewhat earlier than usual, + he was telephoned for. He had no telephone in his own room, but he could + use a public telephone which was attached to the building. He went into + the small box, but found on reaching the telephone that he had been cut + off by the exchange. He imagined that he had been rung up by the office, + so he asked to be given their number. As he did so his eye caught an + advertisement which was hung just over the telephone. It was an elaborate + design in black and white, pointing out the merits of a particular kind of + soap called the Venus: a classical lady, holding a looking-glass in one + hand and a cake of this invaluable soap in the other, was standing in a + sphere surrounded by pointed rays, which was no doubt intended to + represent the most brilliant of the planets. + </p> + <p> + Fletcher sat down on the stool and took the receiver in his hand. As he + did so he had for one second the impression that the floor underneath him + gave way and that he was falling down a precipice. But before he had time + to realise what was happening the sensation of falling left him; he shook + himself as though he had been asleep, and for one moment a faint + recollection as though of the dreams of the night twinkled in his mind, + and vanished beyond all possibility of recall. He said to himself that he + had had a long and curious dream, and he knew that it was too late to + remember what it had been about. Then he opened his eyes wide and looked + round him. + </p> + <p> + He was standing on the slope of a hill. At his feet there was a kind of + green moss, very soft to tread on. It was sprinkled here and there with + light red, wax-like flowers such as he had never seen before. He was + standing in an open space; beneath him there was a plain covered with what + seemed to be gigantic mushrooms, much taller than a man. Above him rose a + mass of vegetation, and over all this was a dense, heavy, streaming cloud + faintly glimmering with a white, silvery light which seemed to be beyond + it. + </p> + <p> + He walked towards the vegetation, and soon found himself in the middle of + a wood, or rather of a jungle. Tangled plants grew on every side; large + hanging creepers with great blue flowers hung downwards. There was a + profound stillness in this wood; there were no birds singing and he heard + not the slightest rustle in the rich undergrowth. It was oppressively hot + and the air was full of a pungent, aromatic sweetness. He felt as though + he were in a hot-house full of gardenias and stephanotis. At the same time + the atmosphere of the place was pleasant to him. It was neither strange + nor disagreeable. He felt at home in this green shimmering jungle and in + this hot, aromatic twilight, as though he had lived there all his life. + </p> + <p> + He walked mechanically onwards as if he were going to a definite spot of + which he knew. He walked fast, but in spite of the oppressive atmosphere + and the thickness of the growth he grew neither hot nor out of breath; on + the contrary, he took pleasure in the motion, and the stifling, sweet air + seemed to invigorate him. He walked steadily on for over three hours, + choosing his way nicely, avoiding certain places and seeking others, + following a definite path and making for a definite goal. During all this + time the stillness continued unbroken, nor did he meet a single living + thing, either bird or beast. + </p> + <p> + After he had been walking for what seemed to him several hours, the + vegetation grew thinner, the jungle less dense, and from a more or less + open space in it he seemed to discern what might have been a mountain + entirely submerged in a multitude of heavy grey clouds. He sat down on the + green stuff which was like grass and yet was not grass, at the edge of the + open space whence he got this view, and quite naturally he picked from the + boughs of an overhanging tree a large red, juicy fruit, and ate it. Then + he said to himself, he knew not why, that he must not waste time, but must + be moving on. + </p> + <p> + He took a path to the right of him and descended the sloping jungle with + big, buoyant strides, almost running; he knew the way as though he had + been down that path a thousand times. He knew that in a few moments he + would reach a whole hanging garden of red flowers, and he knew that when + he had reached this he must again turn to the right. It was as he thought: + the red flowers soon came to view. He turned sharply, and then through the + thinning greenery he caught sight of an open plain where more mushrooms + grew. But the plain was as yet a great way off, and the mushrooms seemed + quite small. + </p> + <p> + “I shall get there in time,” he said to himself, and walked steadily on, + looking neither to the right nor to the left. It was evening by the time + he reached the edge of the plain: everything was growing dark. The endless + vapours and the high banks of cloud in which the whole of this world was + sunk grew dimmer and dimmer. In front of him was an empty level space, and + about two miles further on the huge mushrooms stood out, tall and wide + like the monuments of some prehistoric age. And underneath them on the + soft carpet there seemed to move a myriad vague and shadowy forms. + </p> + <p> + “I shall get there in time,” he thought. He walked on for another half + hour, and by this time the tall mushrooms were quite close to him, and he + could see moving underneath them, distinctly now, green, living creatures + like huge caterpillars, with glowing eyes. They moved slowly and did not + seem to interfere with each other in any way. Further off, and beyond + them, there was a broad and endless plain of high green stalks like ears + of green wheat or millet, only taller and thinner. + </p> + <p> + He ran on, and now at his very feet, right in front of him, the green + caterpillars were moving. They were as big as leopards. As he drew nearer + they seemed to make way for him, and to gather themselves into groups + under the thick stems of the mushrooms. He walked along the pathway they + made for him, under the shadow of the broad, sunshade-like roofs of these + gigantic growths. It was almost dark now, yet he had no doubt or + difficulty as to finding his way. He was making for the green plain + beyond. The ground was dense with caterpillars; they were as plentiful as + ants in an ant’s nest, and yet they never seemed to interfere with each + other or with him; they instinctively made way for him, nor did they + appear to notice him in any way. He felt neither surprise nor wonder at + their presence. + </p> + <p> + It grew quite dark; the only lights which were in this world came from the + twinkling eyes of the moving figures, which shone like little stars. The + night was no whit cooler than the day. The atmosphere was as steamy, as + dense and as aromatic as before. He walked on and on, feeling no trace of + fatigue or hunger, and every now and then he said to himself: “I shall be + there in time.” The plain was flat and level, and covered the whole way + with the mushrooms, whose roofs met and shut out from him the sight of the + dark sky. + </p> + <p> + At last he came to the end of the plain of mushrooms and reached the high + green stalks he had been making for. Beyond the dark clouds a silver + glimmer had begun once more to show itself. “I am just in time,” he said + to himself, “the night is over, the sun is rising.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment there was a great whirr in the air, and from out of the + green stalks rose a flight of millions and millions of enormous + broad-winged butterflies of every hue and description—silver, gold, + purple, brown and blue. Some with dark and velvety wings like the Purple + Emperor, or the Red Admiral, others diaphanous and iridescent as + dragon-flies. Others again like vast soft and silvery moths. They rose + from every part of that green plain of stalks, they filled the sky, and + then soared upwards and disappeared into the silvery cloudland. + </p> + <p> + Fletcher was about to leap forward when he heard a voice in his ear saying— + </p> + <p> + “Are you 6493 Victoria? You are talking to the Home Office.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + As soon as Fletcher heard the voice of the office messenger through the + telephone he instantly realised his surroundings, and the strange + experience he had just gone through, which had seemed so long and which in + reality had been so brief, left little more impression on him than that + which remains with a man who has been immersed in a brown study or who has + been staring at something, say a poster in the street, and has not noticed + the passage of time. + </p> + <p> + The next day he returned to his work at the office, and his fellow-clerks, + during the whole of the next week, noticed that he was more zealous and + more painstaking than ever. On the other hand, his periodical fits of + abstraction grew more frequent and more pronounced. On one occasion he + took a paper to the head of the department for signature, and after it had + been signed, instead of removing it from the table, he remained staring in + front of him, and it was not until the head of the department had called + him three times loudly by name that he took any notice and regained + possession of his faculties. As these fits of absent-mindedness grew to be + somewhat severely commented on, he consulted a doctor, who told him that + what he needed was change of air, and advised him to spend his Sundays at + Brighton or at some other bracing and exhilarating spot. Fletcher did not + take the doctor’s advice, but continued spending his spare time as he did + before, that is to say, in going to some big junction and watching the + express trains go by all day long. + </p> + <p> + One day while he was thus employed—it was Sunday, in August of 19—, + when the Egyptian Exhibition was attracting great crowds of visitors—and + sitting, as was his habit, on a bench on the centre platform of Slough + Station, he noticed an Indian pacing up and down the platform, who every + now and then stopped and regarded him with peculiar interest, hesitating + as though he wished to speak to him. Presently the Indian came and sat + down on the same bench, and after having sat there in silence for some + minutes he at last made a remark about the heat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Fletcher, “it is trying, especially for people like myself, + who have to remain in London during these months.” + </p> + <p> + “You are in an office, no doubt,” said the Indian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Fletcher. + </p> + <p> + “And you are no doubt hard worked.” + </p> + <p> + “Our hours are not long,” Fletcher replied, “and I should not complain of + overwork if I did not happen to suffer from—well, I don’t know what + it is, but I suppose they would call it nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Indian, “I could see that by your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a prey to sudden fits of abstraction,” said Fletcher, “they are + growing upon me. Sometimes in the office I forget where I am altogether + for a space of about two or three minutes; people are beginning to notice + it and to talk about it. I have been to a doctor, and he said I needed + change of air. I shall have my leave in about a month’s time, and then + perhaps I shall get some change of air, but I doubt if it will do me any + good. But these fits are annoying, and once something quite uncanny seemed + to happen to me.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian showed great interest and asked for further details concerning + this strange experience, and Fletcher told him all that he could recall—for + the memory of it was already dimmed—of what had happened when he had + telephoned that night. + </p> + <p> + The Indian was thoughtful for a while after hearing this tale. At last he + said: “I am not a doctor, I am not even what you call a quack doctor—I + am a mere conjurer, and I gain my living by conjuring tricks and + fortune-telling at the Exhibition which is going on in London. But + although I am a poor man and an ignorant man, I have an inkling, a few + sparks in me of ancient knowledge, and I know what is the matter with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Fletcher. + </p> + <p> + “You have the power, or something has the power,” said the Indian, “of + detaching you from your actual body, and your astral body has been into + another planet. By your description I think it must be the planet Venus. + It may happen to you again, and for a longer period—for a very much + longer period.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I can do to prevent it?” asked Fletcher. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said the Indian. “You can try change of air if you like, but,” + he said with a smile, “I do not think it will do you much good.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment a train came in, and the Indian said good-bye and jumped + into it. + </p> + <p> + On the next day, which was Monday, when Fletcher got to the office it was + necessary for him to use the telephone with regard to some business. No + sooner had he taken the receiver off the telephone than he vividly + recalled the minute details of the evening he had telephoned, when the + strange experience had come to him. The advertisement of Venus Soap that + had hung in the telephone box in his house appeared distinctly before him, + and as he thought of that he once more experienced a falling sensation + which lasted only a fraction of a second, and rubbing his eyes he awoke to + find himself in the tepid atmosphere of a green and humid world. + </p> + <p> + This time he was not near the wood, but on the sea-shore. In front of him + was a grey sea, smooth as oil and clouded with steaming vapours, and + behind him the wide green plain stretched into a cloudy distance. He could + discern, faint on the far-off horizon, the shadowy forms of the gigantic + mushrooms which he knew, and on the level plain which reached the sea + beach, but not so far off as the mushrooms, he could plainly see the huge + green caterpillars moving slowly and lazily in an endless herd. The sea + was breaking on the sand with a faint moan. But almost at once he became + aware of another sound, which came he knew not whence, and which was + familiar to him. It was a low whistling noise, and it seemed to come from + the sky. + </p> + <p> + At that moment Fletcher was seized by an unaccountable panic. He was + afraid of something; he did not know what it was, but he knew, he felt + absolutely certain, that some danger, no vague calamity, no distant + misfortune, but some definite physical danger was hanging over him and + quite close to him—something from which it would be necessary to run + away, and to run fast in order to save his life. And yet there was no sign + of danger visible, for in front of him was the motionless oily sea, and + behind him was the empty and silent plain. It was then he noticed that the + caterpillars were fast disappearing, as if into the earth: he was too far + off to make out how. + </p> + <p> + He began to run along the coast. He ran as fast as he could, but he dared + not look round. He ran back from the coast to the plain, from which a + white mist was rising. By this time every single caterpillar had + disappeared. The whistling noise continued and grew louder. + </p> + <p> + At last he reached the wood and bounded on, trampling down long trailing + grasses and tangled weeds through the thick, muggy gloom of those endless + aisles of jungle. He came to a somewhat open space where there was the + trunk of a tree larger than the others; it stood by itself and disappeared + into the tangle of creepers above. He thought he would climb the tree, but + the trunk was too wide, and his efforts failed. He stood by the tree + trembling and panting with fear. He could not hear a sound, but he felt + that the danger, whatever it was, was at hand. + </p> + <p> + It grew darker and darker. It was night in the forest. He stood paralysed + with terror; he felt as though bound hand and foot, but there was nothing + to be done except to wait until his invisible enemy should choose to + inflict his will on him and achieve his doom. And yet the agony of this + suspense was so terrible that he felt that if it lasted much longer + something must inevitably break inside him . . . and just as he was + thinking that eternity could not be so long as the moments he was passing + through, a blessed unconsciousness came over him. He woke from this state + to find himself face to face with one of the office messengers, who said + to him that he had been given his number two or three times but had taken + no notice of it. + </p> + <p> + Fletcher executed his commission and then went upstairs to his office. His + fellow-clerks at once asked what had happened to him, for he was looking + white. He said that he had a headache and was not feeling quite himself, + but made no further explanations. + </p> + <p> + This last experience changed the whole tenor of his life. When fits of + abstraction had occurred to him before he had not troubled about them, and + after his first strange experience he had felt only vaguely interested; + but now it was a different matter. He was consumed with dread lest the + thing should occur again. He did not want to get back to that green world + and that oily sea; he did not want to hear the whistling noise, and to be + pursued by an invisible enemy. So much did the dread of this weigh on him + that he refused to go to the telephone lest the act of telephoning should + set alight in his mind the train of associations and bring his thoughts + back to his dreadful experience. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after this he went for leave, and following the doctor’s advice he + spent it by the sea. During all this time he was perfectly well, and was + not once troubled by his curious fits. He returned to London in the autumn + refreshed and well. + </p> + <p> + On the first day that he went to the office a friend of his telephoned to + him. When he was told that the line was being held for him he hesitated, + but at last he went down to the telephone office. + </p> + <p> + He remained away twenty minutes. Finally his prolonged absence was + noticed, and he was sent for. He was found in the telephone room stiff and + unconscious, having fallen forward on the telephone desk. His face was + quite white, and his eyes wide open and glazed with an expression of + piteous and harrowing terror. When they tried to revive him their efforts + were in vain. A doctor was sent for, and he said that Fletcher had died of + heart disease. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FIRE + </h2> + <p> + Before the bell had time to sound the alarm a huge pillar of smoke and + flame, leaping high in the breathless August night, told the whole village + the news of the fire. Men, women, and children hurried to the burning + place. The firemen galloped down the rutty road with their barrels of + water and hand-pumps, yelling. The bell rang, with hurried, throbbing + beats. The fire, which was further off than it seemed to be at first + sight, was in the middle of the village. Two houses were burning—a + house built of bricks and a wooden cottage. The flame was prodigious: it + soared into the sky like the eruption of a volcano, and the wooden + cottage, with its flat logs and blazing roof, looked like a sacrificial + pyre consuming the body of some warrior or Viking. In the light of the + flames the soft sky, which was starless and flooded with stillness by the + large full moon, had turned from blue to green. A dense crowd had gathered + round the burning houses. + </p> + <p> + The firemen, working like bees, were doing what they could to extinguish + the flames and to prevent the fire spreading. Volunteers from the crowd + helped them. One man climbed up on the edge of the wooden house, where the + flames had been overcome, and shovelled earth from the roof on the little + flames, which were leaping like earth spirits from the ground. His wife + stood below and called on him in forcible language to descend from such a + dangerous place. The crowd jeered at her fears, and she spoke her mind to + them in frank and unvarnished terms. It was St. John the Baptist’s Day. + Some of the men had been celebrating the feast by drinking. One of them, + out of the fulness of his heart, cried out: “Oh, how happy I am! I’m + drunk, and there’s a fire, and all at the same time!” But most of the + crowd—they looked like black shadows against the glare—looked + on quietly, every now and then making comments on the situation. One of + the peasants tried to knock down the burning house with an axe. He failed. + Someone not far off was playing an accordion and singing a monotonous + rhythmical song. + </p> + <p> + Amidst the shifting crowd of shadows I noticed a strange figure, who + beckoned to me. “I see you are short-sighted,” he said, “let me lend you a + glass.” His voice sounded thin and distant, and he handed me a piece of + glass which seemed to be more opaque than transparent. I looked through it + and I noticed a difference in things: + </p> + <p> + The cottages had disappeared; in their place were great high buildings + with lofty porticos, broad columns and carved friezes, but flames were + leaping round them, intenser and greater than before, and the noise of the + fire had increased. In front of me was an open court, in the centre of + which was an altar, and to the right of this altar stood an old bay-tree. + An old man and a grey-haired woman were clinging to this altar; it was + drenched with blood, and on the steps of it lay several bodies of young + men clothed in armour, but squalid with dust and blood. + </p> + <p> + I had scarcely become aware of the scene before a great cloud of smoke + passed through the court, and when it rose I saw there had been another + change: in that few moments’ space the fire seemed to have wrought + incredible havoc. Nothing was left of all the tall pillared buildings, the + friezes and the porticos, the altar, the bay-tree and the bodies—nothing + but the pile of logs which vomited a rolling cloud of flame and smoke into + the sky. The moon was still shining calmly, and the sky was softer and + greener. On the ground there were hundreds of dead and dying men; the + dying were groaning in their agony. Far away on the horizon there was a + thin line of light, a faint trembling thread as though of foam, and I + seemed to hear the moaning of the sea. + </p> + <p> + All at once a woman walked in front of the burning pile. She was tall, and + silken folds clothed the perfect lines of her body and fell straight to + the ground. She walked royally, and when she moved her gestures were like + the rhythm of majestic music. The firelight shone on her hair, which was + bound with a narrow golden band. Her hair was like a cloud of spun + sunshine, and it seemed brighter than the flames. She was walking with + downcast eyes, but presently she looked up. Her face was calm, and + faultless as skilfully-hewn marble, and it seemed to be made of some + substance different from the clay which goes to the making of men and + women. It was not an angel’s face; it was not a divine face; neither was + it a wicked face, nor had it anything cruel, nor anything of the siren or + the witch. Love and pleasure seemed to have moulded the flower-like lips; + but an infinite carelessness shone in the still blue eyes. They seemed + like two seas that had never known what winds and tempests mean, but which + bask for ever under unruffled skies lulled by a slumber-scented breeze. + </p> + <p> + She looked up at the fire and smiled, and at that smile one thought the + heavens must open and the stars break into song, so marvellous was its + loveliness, so infinitely radiant the glory of it. She was a woman, and + yet more than a woman, a creature of the earth, yet fashioned of pearls + and dew and the petals of flowers: delicate as a gossamer, and yet radiant + with the flush of life, soft as the twilight, and glowing with the blood + of the ruby; and, above all things, serene, calm, aloof, and unruffled + like the silver moon. When the dying men saw her smile they raised their + eyes towards her, and one could see that there shone in them a strange and + wonderful happiness. And when they had looked they fell back and died. + </p> + <p> + Then a cloud of smoke blinded me. When it rose the full moon was still + shining in a sky even bluer and softer than it had yet been. The fire was + further off, but it had spread. The whole village was on fire; but the + village had grown; it seemed endless, and covered several hills. Right in + front of me was a grove of cypresses, dark against the intense glow of the + flames, which leapt all round in the distance: a huge circle of light, a + chain of fiery tongues and dancing lightnings. + </p> + <p> + We were on the top of a hill, and we looked down into a place where tall + buildings and temples stood, where the fire had not penetrated. This place + was crowded with men, women and children. It was the same shifting crowd + of shadows: some shouting, some gesticulating, some looking on + indifferent. And straight in front of me was a short, dark, and rather fat + man with a low forehead, deep-set eyes, and a heavy jaw. He was crowned + with a golden wreath, and he was twanging a kind of harp. In the distance + suddenly the cypress trees became alive with huge flaring torches, which + lit the garden like Bengal lights. The man threw down his harp and clapped + his hands in ecstasy at the bright fireworks. Again a cloud of smoke + obscured everything. + </p> + <p> + When it lifted I was in the village once more, and once more it was + different. It was on fire, and it seemed infinitely larger and more + straggling than when I had arrived. The moon was still in the sky, but the + air had a chilly touch. Instead of one church there was an infinite number + of churches, for in the glare countless minarets and small cupolas were + visible. There was no crowd, no voices, and no shouting; only a long line + of low, blazing wooden houses. The place was deserted and silent save for + the crackling blaze. Then down the street a short, fat man on horseback + rode towards us. He was riding a white horse. He wore a grey overcoat and + a cocked hat. I became aware of a rhythmical tramping: a noise of hundreds + and hundreds of hoofs, a champing of bits, and the tramp of innumerable + feet and the rumble of guns. In the distance there was a hill with + crenelated battlements round it; it was crowned with the domes and + minarets of several churches, taller and greater than all the other + churches in sight. These minarets shone out clean-cut and distinct against + the ruddy sky. + </p> + <p> + The short man on horseback looked back for a moment at this hill. He took + a pinch of snuff. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CONQUEROR + </h2> + <p> + When the ancient gods were turned out of Olympus, and the groan of dying + Pan shook the world like an earthquake, none of the fallen deities was so + disconsolate as Proserpine. She wandered across the world, assuming now + this shape and now that, but nowhere could she find a resting-place or a + home. In the Southern country which she regarded as her own, whatever + shape or disguise she assumed, whether that of a gleaner or of an old + woman begging for alms, the country people would scent something uncanny + about her and chase her from the place. Thus it was that she left the + Southern country, which she loved; she said farewell to the azure skies, + the hills covered with corn and fringed everywhere with rose bushes, the + white oxen, the cypress, the olive, the vine, the croaking frogs, and the + million fireflies; and she sought the green pastures and the woods of a + Northern country. + </p> + <p> + One evening, not long after her arrival (it was Midsummer Eve), as she was + wandering in a thick wood, she noticed that the trees and the under-growth + were twinkling with a myriad soft flames which reminded her of the + fireflies of her own country, and presently she perceived that these + flames were stars which, soft as dew and bright as moonbeams, formed the + diadems crowning the hair of unearthly shapes. These shapes were like + those of men and maidens, transfigured and rendered strange and delicate, + as light as foam, and radiant as dragonflies hovering over a pool. They + were rimmed with rainbow-coloured films, and sometimes they flew and + sometimes they danced, but they rarely seemed to touch the ground. And as + Proserpine approached them, in the sad majesty of her fallen divinity, + they gathered round her in a circle and bowed down before her. And one of + them, taller than the rest, advanced towards her and said:— + </p> + <p> + “We are the Fairies, and for a long time we have been mournful, for we + have lost our Queen, our beautiful Queen. She loved a mortal, and on this + account she was banished from Fairyland, nor may she ever revisit the + haunt and the kingdom that were hers. But Merlin, the oldest and the + wisest of the wizards, told us we should find another Queen, and that we + should know her by the poppies in her hair, the whiteness of her brow, and + the stillness of her eyes, and with or without such tokens we should know, + as soon as we set eyes on her, that it was she and no other who was to be + our Queen. And now we know that it was you and no other. Therefore shall + you be our Queen and rule over us until he comes who, Merlin said, shall + conquer your kingdom and deliver its secrets to the mortal world. Then + shall you abandon the kingdom of the Fairies—the everlasting Limbo + shall receive you.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It was one summer’s day a long time ago, many and many years after + Proserpine had become Queen of the Fairies, that a butcher’s apprentice + called William was enjoying a holiday, and strolling in the woods with no + other purpose than to stroll and enjoy the fresh air and the cool leaves + and the song of the birds. William loved the sights and sounds of the + country; unlike many boys of his age, he was not deeply versed in the + habits of birds and beasts, but devoted his spare time to reading such + books as he could borrow from the village schoolmaster whose school he had + lately left to go into trade, or to taking part in the games of his + companions, for he loved human fellowship and the talk and laughter of his + fellow-creatures. + </p> + <p> + The day was hot—it was Midsummer Day—and William, having + stumbled on a convenient mound, fell asleep. And he dreamt a curious + dream. He thought he saw a beautiful maiden walking towards him. She was + tall, and clothed in dark draperies, and her hair was bound with a coronal + of scarlet flowers, her face was pale and lustrous, and he could not see + her eyes because they were veiled. She approached him and said:— + </p> + <p> + “You are he who has been chosen to try to conquer my kingdom, which is + faery, and to possess it: if, indeed, you are able to endure the fierce + ordeal and to perform the three dreadful tasks which have been appointed. + If he who sets out to conquer my kingdom should fail in any one of the + three tasks he dies, and the world hears of him no more. Many have tried + and failed.” + </p> + <p> + And William said he would try with all his might to conquer the faery + kingdom, and he asked what the three tasks might be. + </p> + <p> + The maiden, who was none other than Proserpine, Queen of the Fairies, told + him that the first task was to pluck the crystal apple from the laughing + tree, and second to pluck the blood-red rose from the fiery rose tree, and + the third to cull the white poppy from the quiet fields. William asked her + how he was to set about these tasks. Proserpine told him that he had but + to accept the quest and all would be made clear. So he accepted the quest + without further talk. + </p> + <p> + Immediately Proserpine vanished, and William found himself in a large + green garden of fruit trees, and in the distance he heard the noise of + rippling laughter. He walked along many paths to the place whence he + thought the laughter came, until he found a large fruit tree which grew by + itself. It was laden with fruit, and from one of its boughs hung a crystal + apple which shone with all the colours of the rainbow. + </p> + <p> + But the tree was guarded by a hideous old hag, covered with sores and + leprous scales, loathsome to behold. And a laughing voice came from the + tree saying: “He who would pluck the crystal apple must embrace its + guardian.” And William looked at her and felt no loathing but rather a + deep pity, so that tears welled in his eyes and dropped on her, and he + took her face in his hands to embrace her, and as he did so she changed + into a beautiful maiden with veiled eyes, who plucked the crystal apple + from the tree and gave it to him and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Then the garden changed its semblance, and all around him there seemed to + be a hedge of smoking thorns and before him a fiery tree on which + blood-red roses shone like rubies. The tree was guarded by a maiden with + long grey eyes and flowing hair, and of spun moonshine, beautiful + exceedingly, and a moaning voice came from the tree, saying: “He who would + pluck the rose must slay its guardian.” On the grass beneath the tree lay + an unsheathed sword. William took the sword in his hands, but the maiden + looked at him piteously and wept, so that he hesitated; then, hardening + himself, he plunged the sword into her heart and a great moan was heard, + and the fire disappeared, and only a withered rose-tree stood before him. + Then he heard the voice say that he must pierce his own heart with a thorn + from the tree and let the blood fall upon its roots. This he did, and as + he did so he felt the sharpness of Death, as though the last dreadful + moment had come; but as the drops of blood fell on the roots the beautiful + maiden with veiled eyes, whom he had seen before stood before him and gave + him the blood-red rose, and she touched his wound and straightway it was + healed. + </p> + <p> + Then the garden vanished altogether, and he stood before a dark porch and + a gate beyond which he caught a pale glimmer. And by the porch stood a + terrible shape: a hooded skeleton bearing a scythe, with white sockets of + fire which had no eyes in them but which were so terrible that no mortal + could look on them and live. And here he heard a voice saying: “He who + would cull the white poppy must look into the eyes of its guardian and + take the scythe from the bony hands.” And William seized the scythe and an + icy darkness descended upon him, and he felt dizzy and faint; yet he + persisted and wrestled with the skeleton, although the darkness seemed to + be overwhelming him. He tore the hood from the bony head and looked boldly + into the fiery sockets. + </p> + <p> + Then with a crash of thunder the skeleton vanished, and the maiden with + veiled eyes led him through the gate into the quiet fields, and there he + culled the white poppy. Then the maiden turned to him and unveiled + herself, and it was Proserpine, the Queen of the Fairies. + </p> + <p> + “You have conquered,” she said, “and the faery kingdom is yours for ever, + and you shall visit it and dwell in it whenever you desire, and reveal its + sounds and its sights to the mortals of the world: and in my kingdom you + shall see, as though in a mirror, the pageant of mankind, the scroll of + history, and the story of man which is writ in brave, golden and glowing + letters, of blood and tears and fire. And there is nothing in the soul of + man that shall be hid from you; and you shall speak the secrets of my + kingdom to mortal men with a voice of gold and of honey. And when you grow + weary of life you shall withdraw for ever into the island of faery voices + which lies in the heart of my kingdom. And as for me I go to the + everlasting Limbo.” + </p> + <p> + Then Proserpine vanished, and William awoke from his dream, and went home + to his butcher’s shop. + </p> + <p> + Soon after this he left his native village and went to London, where he + became well known; although how his surname shall be spelt is a matter of + dispute, some spelling it Shakespeare, some Shakespere, and some Shaksper. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE IKON + </h2> + <p> + Ferroll was an intellectual, and he prided himself on the fact. At + Cambridge he had narrowly missed being a Senior Wrangler, and his + principal study there had been Lunar Theory. But when he went down from + Cambridge for good, being a man of some means, he travelled. For a year he + was an honorary Attache at one of the big Embassies. He finally settled in + London with a vague idea of some day writing a <i>magnum opus</i> about + the stupidity of mankind; for he had come to the conclusion by the age of + twenty-five that all men were stupid, irreclaimably, irredeemably stupid; + that everything was wrong; that all literature was really bad, all art + much overrated, and all music tedious in the long run. + </p> + <p> + The years slipped by and he never began his <i>magnum opus</i>; he joined + a literary club instead and discussed the current topic of the day. + Sometimes he wrote a short article; never in the daily Press, which he + despised, nor in the reviews (for he never wrote anything as long as a + magazine article), but in a literary weekly he would express in weary and + polished phrases the unemphatic boredom or the mitigated approval with + which the works of his fellow-men inspired him. He was the kind of man who + had nothing in him you could positively dislike, but to whom you could not + talk for five minutes without having a vague sensation of blight. Things + seemed to shrivel up in his presence as though they had been touched by an + insidious east wind, a subtle frost, a secret chill. He never praised + anything, though he sometimes condescended to approve. The faint puffs of + blame in which he more generally indulged were never sharp or heavy, but + were like the smoke rings of a cigarette which a man indolently smoking + blows from time to time up to the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + He lived in rooms in the Temple. They were comfortably, not luxuriously + furnished; a great many French books—French was the only modern + language worth reading he used to say—a few modern German etchings, + a low Turkish divan, and some Egyptian antiquities, made up the furniture + of his two sitting-rooms. Above all things he despised Greek art; it was, + he said decadent. The Egyptians and the Germans were, in his opinion, the + only people who knew anything about the plastic arts, whereas the only + music he could endure was that of the modern French School. Over his + chimney-piece there was a large German landscape in oils, called “Im + Walde”; it represented a wood at twilight in the autumn, and if you looked + at it carefully and for a long time you saw that the objects depicted were + meant to be trees from which the leaves were falling; but if you looked at + the picture carelessly and from a distance, it looked like a man-of-war on + a rough sea, for which it was frequently taken, much to Ferrol’s + annoyance. + </p> + <p> + One day an artist friend of his presented him with a small Chinese god + made of crystal; he put this on his chimney-piece. It was on the evening + of the day on which he received this gift that he dined, together with a + friend named Sledge who had travelled much in Eastern countries, at his + club. After dinner they went to Ferrol’s rooms to smoke and to talk. He + wanted to show Sledge his antiquities, which consisted of three large + Egyptian statuettes, a small green Egyptian god, and the Chinese idol + which he had lately been given. Sledge, who was a middle-aged, bearded + man, frank and unconventional, examined the antiquities with care, + pronounced them to be genuine, and singled out for special praise the + crystal god. + </p> + <p> + “Your things are very good,” he said, “very good. But don’t you really + mind having all these things about you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I mind?” asked Ferrol. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you have travelled a good deal, haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ferrol, “I have travelled; I have been as far east as + Nijni-Novgorod to see the Fair, and as far west as Lisbon.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Sledge, “you were a long time in Greece and Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ferrol, “I have never been to Greece. Greek art distresses me. + All classical art is a mistake and a superstition.” + </p> + <p> + “Talking of superstition,” said Sledge, “you have never been to the Far + East, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Ferrol answered, “Egypt is Eastern enough for me, and cannot be + bettered.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Sledge, “I have been in the Far East. I have lived there many + years. I am not a superstitious man; but there is one thing I would not do + in any circumstances whatsoever, and that is to keep in my sitting-room + the things you have got there.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” asked Ferrol. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Sledge, “nearly all of them have come from the tombs of the + dead, and some of them are gods. Such things may have attached to them + heaven knows what spooks and spirits.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol shut his eyes and smiled, a faint, seraphic smile. “My dear boy,” + he said, “you forget. This is the Twentieth Century.” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” answered Sledge, “forget that the things you have here were + made before the Twentieth Century. B.C.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seriously mean,” said Ferrol, “that you attach any importance + to these—” he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Children’s stories?” suggested Sledge. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I have lived long enough in the East,” said Sledge, “to know that the + sooner you learn to believe children’s stories the better.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, then,” said Ferrol, with civil tolerance, “that our points + of view are too different for us to discuss the matter.” And they talked + of other things until late into the night. + </p> + <p> + Just as Sledge was leaving Ferrol’s rooms and had said “Good-night,” he + paused by the chimney-piece, and, pointing to the tiny Ikon which was + lying on it, asked: “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s nothing,” said Ferrol, “only a small Ikon I bought for + twopence at the Fair of Nijni-Novgorod.” + </p> + <p> + Sledge said “Good-night” again, but when he was on the stairs he called + back: “In any case remember one thing, that East is East and West is West. + Don’t mix your deities.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol had not the slightest idea what he was alluding to, nor did he + care. He dismissed the matter from his mind. + </p> + <p> + The next day he spent in the country, returning to London late in the + evening. As he entered his rooms the first thing which met his eye was + that his great picture, “Im Walde,” which he considered to be one of the + few products of modern art that a man who respected himself could look at + without positive pain in the eyes, had fallen from its place over the + chimney-piece to the floor in front of the fender, and the glass was + shattered into a thousand fragments. He was much vexed. He sought the + cause of the accident. The nail was a strong one, and it was still in its + place. The picture had been hung by a wire; the wire seemed strong also + and was not broken. He concluded that the picture must have been badly + balanced and that a sudden shock such a door banging had thrown it over. + He had no servant in his rooms, and when he had gone out that morning he + had locked the door, so no one could have entered his rooms during his + absence. + </p> + <p> + Next morning he sent for a framemaker and told him to mend the frame as + soon as possible, to make the wire strong, and to see that the picture was + firmly fixed on the wall. In two or three days’ time the picture returned + and was once more hung on the wall over the chimney-piece immediately + above the little crystal Chinese god. Ferrol supervised the hanging of the + picture in person. He saw that the nail was strong, and firmly fixed in + the wall; he took care that the wire left nothing to be desired and was + properly attached to the rings of the picture. + </p> + <p> + The picture was hung early one morning. That day he went to play golf. He + returned at five o’clock, and again the first thing which met his eye was + the picture. It had again fallen down, and this time it had brought with + it in its fall the small Chinese god, which was broken in two. The glass + had again been shattered to bits, and the picture itself was somewhat + damaged. Everything else on the chimney-piece, that is to say, a few + matchboxes and two candle-sticks, had also been thrown to the ground—everything + with the exception of the little Ikon he had bought at Nijni-Novgorod, a + small object about two inches square on which two Saints were pictured. + This still rested in its place against the wall. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol investigated the disaster. The nail was in its place in the wall; + the wire at the back of the picture was not broken or damaged in any way. + The accident seemed to him quite inexplicable. He was greatly annoyed. The + Chinese god was a valuable thing. He stood in front of the chimney-piece + contemplating the damage with a sense of great irritation. + </p> + <p> + “To think that everything should have been broken except this beastly + little Ikon!” he said to himself. “I wonder whether that was what Sledge + meant when he said I should not mix my deities.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning he sent again for the framemaker, and abused him roundly. The + framemaker said he could not understand how the accident had happened. The + nail was an excellent nail, the picture, Mr. Ferrol must admit, had been + hung with great care before his very eyes and under his own direct and + personal supervision. What more could be done? + </p> + <p> + “It’s something to do with the balance,” said Ferrol. “I told you that + before. The picture is half spoiled now.” + </p> + <p> + The framemaker said the damage would not show once the glass was repaired, + and took the picture away again to mend it. A few days later it was + brought back. Two men came to fix it this time; steps were brought and the + hanging lasted about twenty minutes. Nails were put under the picture; it + was hung by a double wire. All accidents in the future seemed guarded + against. + </p> + <p> + The following morning Ferrol telephoned to Sledge and asked him to dine + with him. Sledge was engaged to dine out that evening, but said that he + would look in at the Temple late after dinner. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol dined alone at the Club; he reached his rooms about half-past nine; + he made up a blazing fire and drew an armchair near it. He lit a + cigarette, made some Turkish coffee, and took down a French novel. Every + now and then he looked up at his picture. No damage was visible; it + looked, he thought, as well as ever. In the place of the Chinese idol he + had put his little green Egyptian god on the chimney-piece. The + candlesticks and the Ikon were still in their places. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” thought Ferrol, “I did wrong to have any Chinese art in the + place at all. Egyptian things are the only things worth having. It is a + lesson to me not to dabble with things out of my period.” + </p> + <p> + After he had read for about a quarter of an hour he fell into a doze. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Sledge arrived at the rooms about half-past ten, and an ugly sight met his + eyes. There had been an accident. The picture over the chimney-piece had + fallen down right on Ferrol. His face was badly cut. They put Ferrol to + bed, and his wounds were seen to and everything that was necessary was + done. A nurse was sent for to look after him, and Sledge decided to stay + in the house all night. After all the arrangements had been made, the + doctor, before he went away, said to Sledge: “He will recover all right, + he is not in the slightest danger; but I don’t know who is to break the + news to him.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” asked Sledge. + </p> + <p> + “He will be quite blind,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + Then the doctor went away, and Sledge sat down in front of the fire. The + broken glass had been swept up. The picture had been placed on the + Oriental divan, and as Sledge looked at the chimney-piece he noticed that + the little Ikon was still in its place. Something caught his eye just + under the low fender in front of the fireplace. He bent forward and picked + up the object. + </p> + <p> + It was Ferrol’s green Egyptian god, which had been broken into two pieces. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THIEF + </h2> + <h3> + To Jack Gordon + </h3> + <p> + Hart Minor and Smith were behind-hand with their sums. It was Hart Minor’s + first term: Smith had already been one term at school. They were in the + fourth division at St. James’s. A certain number of sums in short division + had to be finished. Hart Minor and Smith got up early to finish these sums + before breakfast, which was at half-past seven. Hart Minor divided slowly, + and Smith reckoned quickly. Smith finished his sums with ease. When + half-past seven struck, Hart Minor had finished four of them and there was + still a fifth left: 3888 had to be divided by 36; short division had to be + employed. Hart Minor was busily trying to divide 3888 by 4 and by 9; he + had got as far as saying, “Four’s into 38 will go six times and two over; + four’s into twenty-eight go seven times; four’s into eight go twice.” He + was beginning to divide 672 by 9, an impossible task, when the breakfast + bell rang, and Smith said to him: “Come on!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” said Hart Minor, “I haven’t finished my sum.” + </p> + <p> + Smith glanced at his page and said: “Oh that’s all right, don’t you see? + The answer’s 108.” + </p> + <p> + Hart Minor wrote down 108 and put a large R next to the sum, which meant + Right. + </p> + <p> + The boys went in to breakfast. After breakfast they returned to the fourth + division schoolroom, where they were to be instructed in arithmetic for an + hour by Mr. Whitehead. Mr. Whitehead called for the sums. He glanced + through Smith’s and found them correct, and then through Hart Minor’s. His + attention was arrested by the last division. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this?” he demanded. “Four’s into thirty-eight don’t go six times. + You’ve got the right answer and the wrong working. What does this mean?” + And Mr. Whitehead bit his knuckles savagely. “Somebody,” he said, “has + been helping you.” + </p> + <p> + Hart Minor owned that he had received help from Smith. Mr. Whitehead shook + him violently, and said, “Do you know what this means?” + </p> + <p> + Hart Minor had no sort of idea as to the inner significance of his act, + except that he had finished his sums. + </p> + <p> + “It means,” said Mr. Whitehead, “that you’re a cheat and a thief: you’ve + been stealing marks. For the present you can stand on the stool of + penitence and I’ll see what is to be done with you later.” + </p> + <p> + The stool of penitence was a high, three-cornered stool, very narrow at + the top. When boys in this division misbehaved themselves they had to + stand on it during the rest of the lesson in the middle of the room. + </p> + <p> + Hart Minor fetched the stool of penitence and climbed up on it. It wobbled + horribly. + </p> + <p> + After the lesson, which was punctuated throughout by Mr. Whitehead with + bitter comments on the enormity of theft, the boys went to chapel. Smith + and Hart were in the choir: they wore white surplices which were put on in + the vestry. Hart Minor, who knew that he was in for a terrific row of some + kind, thought he observed something unusual in the conduct of the masters + who were assembled in the vestry. They were all tittering. Mr. Whitehead + seemed to be convulsed with uncontrollable laughter. The choir walked up + the aisle. Hart Minor noticed that all the boys in the school, and the + servants who sat behind them, and the master’s wife who sat in front, and + the organist who played the harmonium, were all staring at him with + unwonted interest; the boys were nudging each other: he could not + understand why. + </p> + <p> + When the service, which lasted twenty minutes, was over, and the boys came + out of chapel, Hart Minor was the centre of a jeering crowd of boys. He + asked Smith what the cause of this was, and Smith confessed to him that + before going into chapel Mr. Whitehead had pinned on his back a large + sheet of paper with “Cheat” written on it, and had only removed it just + before the procession walked up the aisle, hence the interest aroused. + But, contrary to his expectation, nothing further occurred; none of the + masters alluded to his misdemeanour, and Hart Minor almost thought that + the incident was closed—almost, and yet really not at all; he tried + to delude himself into thinking the affair would blow over, but all the + while at the bottom of his heart sat a horrible misgiving. + </p> + <p> + Every Monday there was in this school what was called “reading over.” The + boys all assembled in the library and the Head Master, standing in front + of his tall desk, summoned each division before him in turn. The marks of + the week were read out and the boys took places, moving either up or down + according to their marks; so that a boy who was at the top of his division + one week might find himself at the bottom the next week, and vice versa. + </p> + <p> + On the Sunday after the incident recorded, the boys of the fourth division + were sitting in their schoolroom before luncheon, in order to write their + weekly letter home. This was the rule of the school. Mr. Whitehead sat at + his desk and talked in a friendly manner to the boys. He was writing his + weekly report in the large black report book that was used for reading + over. Mr. Whitehead was talking in a chaffing way as to who was his + favourite boy. + </p> + <p> + “You can tell your people,” he said to Hart Minor, “that my favourite is + old Polly.” Polly was Hart Minor’s nickname, which was given to him owing + to his resemblance to a parrot. Hart Minor was much pleased at this + friendly attitude, and began to think that the unpleasant incident of the + week had been really forgotten and that the misgiving which haunted him + night and day was a foolish delusion. + </p> + <p> + “We shall soon be writing the half-term reports,” said Mr. Whitehead. + “You’ve all been doing well, especially old Polly: you can put that in + your letter,” he said to Hart Minor. “I’m very much pleased with you,” and + he chuckled. + </p> + <p> + On Monday morning at eleven o’clock was reading over. When the fourth + division were called up, the Head Master paused, looked down the page, + then at the boys, then at the book once more; then he frowned. There was a + second pause, then he read out in icy tones:— + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry to say that Smith and Hart Minor have been found guilty of + gross dishonesty; they combined—in fact they entered into a + conspiracy, to cheat, to steal marks and obtain by unfair means, a higher + place and an advantage which was not due to them.” + </p> + <p> + The Head Master paused. “Hart Minor and Smith,” he continued, “go to the + bottom of the division. Smith,” he added, “I’m astounded at you. Your + conduct in this affair is inexplicable. If it were not for your previous + record and good conduct, I should have you severely flogged; and if Hart + Minor were not a new boy, I should treat him in the same way and have him + turned out of the choir. (The choir had special privileges.) As it is, you + shall lose, each of you, 200 marks, and I shall report the whole matter in + detail to your parents in your half-term report, and if anything of the + sort ever occurs again, you shall be severely punished. You have been + guilty of an act for which, were you not schoolboys, but grown up, you + would be put in prison. It is this kind of thing that leads people to + penal servitude.” + </p> + <p> + After the reading over was finished and the lessons that followed + immediately on it, and the boys went out to wash their hands for luncheon, + the boys of the second division crowded round Hart Minor and asked him how + he could have perpetrated such a horrible and daring crime. The matter, + however, was soon forgotten by the boys, but Hart Minor had not heard the + last of it. On the following Sunday in chapel, at the evening service, the + Head Master preached a sermon. He chose as his text “Thou shalt not + steal!” The eyes of the whole school were fixed on Smith and Hart Minor. + The Head Master pointed out in his discourse that one might think at first + sight that boys at a school might not have the opportunity to violate the + tremendous Commandments; but, he said, this was not so. The Commandments + were as much a living actuality in school life as they were in the larger + world. Coming events cast their shadows before them; the child was the + father of the man; what a boy was at school, such would he be in after + life. Theft, the boys perhaps thought, was not a sin which immediately + concerned them. But there were things which were morally the same if not + worse than the actual theft of material and tangible objects—dishonesty + in the matter of marks, for instance, and cheating in order to gain an + undue advantage over one’s fellow-schoolboys. A boy who was guilty of such + an act at school would probably end by being a criminal when he went out + into the larger world. The seeds of depravity were already sown; the tree + whose early shoots were thus blemished would probably be found to be + rotten when it grew up; and for such trees and for such noxious growths + there could only be one fate—to be cut down and cast into the + unquenchable fire! + </p> + <p> + In Hart Minor’s half-term report, which was sent home to his parents, it + was stated that he had been found guilty of the meanest and grossest + dishonesty, and that should it occur again he would be first punished and + finally expelled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STAR + </h2> + <p> + He had long ago retired from public life, and in his Tuscan villa, where + he now lived quite alone, seldom seeing his friends, he never regretted + the strenuous days of his activity. He had done his work well; he had been + more than a competent public servant; as Pro-Consul he proved a pillar of + strength to the State, a man whose name at one time was on men’s lips as + having left plenty where he had found dearth, and order and justice where + corruption, oppression, and anarchy, had once run riot. His retirement had + been somewhat of a surprise to his friends, for although he was ripe in + years, his mental powers were undiminished and his body was active and + vigorous. But his withdrawal from public life was due not so much to + fatigue or to a longing for leisure as to a lack of sympathy, which he + felt to be growing stronger and stronger as the years went by, with the + manners and customs, the mode of thought, and the manner of living of the + new world and the new generation which was growing up around him. Nurtured + as he had been in the old school and the strong traditions which taught an + austere simplicity of life, a contempt for luxury and show, he was + bewildered and saddened by the rapid growth of riches, the shameless + worship of wealth, the unrestrained passion for amusement at all costs, + the thirst for new sensations, and the ostentatious airs of the youth of + the day, who seemed to be born disillusioned and whose palates were jaded + before they knew the taste of food. He found much to console him in + literature, not only in the literature of the past but in the literature + of his day, but here again he was beset with misgivings and haunted by + forebodings. He felt that the State had reached its zenith both in + material prosperity and intellectual achievement, and that all the future + held in reserve was decline and decay. This thought was ever present with + him; in the vast extension of empire he foresaw the inevitable + disintegration, and he wondered in a melancholy fashion what would be the + fate of mankind when the Empire, dismembered and rotten, should become the + prey of the Barbarians. + </p> + <p> + It was in the winter of the second year after his retirement that his + melancholy increased to a pitch of almost intolerable heaviness. That + winter was an extraordinarily mild one, and even during the coldest month + he strolled every evening after he had supped on the terrace walk which + was before the portico. He was strolling one night on the terrace + pondering on the fate of mankind, and more especially on the life—if + there was such a thing—beyond the grave. He was not a superstitious + man, but, saturated with tradition, he was a scrupulous observer of + religious feast, custom, and ritual. He had lately been disturbed by what + he considered to be an ill-favoured omen. One night—it was twelve + nights ago he reckoned—the statues of Pan and Apollo, standing in + his dining-room, which was at the end of the portico, had fallen to the + ground without any apparent cause and had been shattered into fragments. + And it had seemed to him that the crash of this accident was immediately + followed by a low and prolonged wail, which appeared to come from nowhere + in particular and yet to fill the world; the noise of the moan had seemed + to be quite close to him, and as it died away its echo had seemed to be + miles and miles distant. He thought it had been a hallucination, but that + same night a still stranger thing happened. After the accident, which had + wakened the whole household, he had been unable to go to sleep again and + he had gone from his sleeping chamber into an adjoining room, and, + lighting a lamp, had taken down and read out of the “Iliad” of Homer. + After he had been reading for about half an hour he heard a voice calling + him very distinctly by his name, but as soon as the sound had ceased he + was not quite certain whether he had heard it or not. At that moment one + of his slaves, who had been born in the East, entered the room and asked + him what he required, saying that he had heard his master calling loudly. + What these signs and portents signified he had no idea; perhaps, he mused, + they mean my own death, which is of no consequence; or perhaps—which + may the Fates forfend—some disaster to an absent friend or even to + the State. But so far—and twelve days had passed since he had seen + these strange manifestations—he had received no news which confirmed + his fears. + </p> + <p> + As he was thus musing he looked up at the sky, and he noticed the presence + of a new and unfamiliar star, which he had never seen before. He was a + close observer of the heavens and learned in astronomy, and he felt quite + certain that he had never seen this star before. It was a star of peculiar + radiance, large and white—almost blue in its whiteness—it + shone in the East, and seemed to put all the other stars to shame by its + overwhelming radiance and purity. While he was thus gazing at the star it + seemed to him as though a great darkness had come upon the world. He heard + a low muttering sound as of a distant earthquake, and this was quickly + followed by the tramping of innumerable armies. He knew that the end had + come. It is the Barbarians, he thought, who have already conquered the + world. Rome has fallen never to rise again; Rome has shared the fate of + Troy and Carthage, of Babylon, and Memphis; Rome is a name in an old + wife’s tale; and little savage children shall be given our holy trophies + for playthings, and shall use our ruined temples and our overthrown + palaces as their playground. And so sharp was the vividness of his vision + that he wondered what would happen to his villa, and whether or no the + Barbarians would destroy the image of Ceres on the terrace, which he + especially cherished, not for its beauty but because it had belonged to + his father and to his grandfather before him. + </p> + <p> + An eternity seemed to pass, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of the armies of + those untrained hordes which were coming from the North and overrunning + the world seemed to get nearer and nearer. He wondered what they would do + with him; he had no place for fear in his heart, but he remembered that on + the portico in the morning his freedman’s child had been playing with the + pieces of a broken jar, a copper coin, and a dog made of terra-cotta. He + remembered the child’s brown eyes and curly hair, its smile, its laughter, + and lisping talk—it was a piece of earth and sun—and he + thought of the spears of the Barbarians, and then shifted his thoughts + because they sickened him. + </p> + <p> + Then, just when he thought the heavy footsteps had reached the approach of + his villa, the vision changed. The noise of tramping ceased, and through + the thick darkness there pierced the radiance of the star: the strange + star he had seen that night. The world seemed to awake from a dark + slumber. The ruins rose from the dust and took once more a stately shape, + even lordlier than before. Rome had risen from the dead, and once more she + dominated the world like a starry diadem. Before him he seemed to see the + pillars and the portals of a huge temple, more splendid and gorgeous than + the Temples of Caesar. The gates were wide open, and from within came a + blare of trumpets. He saw a kneeling multitude; and soldiers with shining + breastplates, far taller than the legionaries of Caesar, were keeping a + way through the dense crowd, while the figure of an aged man—was it + the Pontifex Maximus, he wondered?—was borne aloft in a chair over + their heads. + </p> + <p> + Then once more the vision changed. At least the temple seemed to grow + wider, higher, and lighter; the crowd vanished; it seemed to him as though + a long corridor of light was opening on some ultimate and mysterious + doorway. At last this doorway was opened, and he saw distinctly before him + a dark and low manger where oxen and asses were stalled. It was littered + with straw. He could hear the peaceful beasts munching their food. + </p> + <p> + In the corner lay a woman, and in her arms was a child and his face shone + like the sun and lit up the whole place, in which there were neither + torches nor lamps. The door of the manger was ajar, and through it he saw + the sky and the strange star still shining brightly. He heard a voice, the + same voice which he had heard twelve nights before; but the voice was not + calling him, it was singing a song, and the song was as it were a part of + a larger music, a symphony of clear voices, more joyous and different from + anything he had ever heard. + </p> + <p> + The vision vanished altogether; he was standing once more under the + portico amongst the surroundings which were familiar to him. The strange + star was still shining in the sky. He went back through the folding-doors + of the piazza into the dining-room. His gloom and his perplexity had been + lifted from him; he felt quite happy; he could not have explained why. He + called his slave and told him to get plenty of provisions on the morrow, + for he expected friends to dinner. He added that he wanted nothing further + and that the slaves could go to bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHUN WA + </h2> + <h3> + To Henry de C. Ward + </h3> + <p> + His name was Chun Wa; possibly there was some more of it, but that is all + I can remember. He was about four or five years old, and I made his + acquaintance the day we arrived at the temple. It was at the end of + September. We had left Mukden in order to take part in what they said was + going to be a great battle. I don’t know what the village was called at + which we arrived on the second day of our march. I can only remember that + it was a beautiful and deliciously quiet spot, and that we established + ourselves in a temple; that is to say not actually in the temple itself, + but in the house of the priest. He was a Buddhist who looked after the + deities of the place, which were made of carved and painted wood, and + lived in a small pagoda. The building consisted of three quadrangles + surrounded by a high stone wall. The first of these quadrangles, which you + entered from the road, reminded me of the yard in front of any farm. There + was a good deal of straw lying about, some broken ploughshares, buckets, + wooden bowls, spades, and other implements of toil. A few hens hurried + about searching for grains here and there; a dog was sleeping in the sun. + At the further end of the yard a yellow cat seemed to have set aside a + space for its exclusive use. This farmyard was separated from the next + quadrangle by the house of the priest, which occupied the whole of the + second enclosure; that is to say the living rooms extended right round the + quadrangle, leaving a square and open space in the centre. The part of the + house which separated the second quadrangle from the next consisted solely + of a roof supported by pillars, making an open verandah, through which + from the second enclosure you saw into the third. The third enclosure was + a garden, consisting of a square grass plot and some cypress trees. At the + further end of the garden was the temple itself. + </p> + <p> + We arrived in the afternoon. We were met by an elderly man, the priest, + who put the place at our disposal and established us in the rooms situated + in the second quadrangle to the east and west. He himself and his family + lived in the part of the house which lay between the farmyard and the + second enclosure. The Cossacks of the battery with which I was living + encamped in a field on the other side of the farmyard, but the treasure + chest was placed in the farmyard itself, and a sentry stood near it with a + drawn sword. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the house had two sons. One of them, aged about thirteen, had + something to do with the temple services, and wore a kind of tunic made of + white silk. The second was Chun Wa. It was when the sentry went on guard + that we first made the acquaintance of Chun Wa. His cheeks were round and + fat, and his face seemed to bulge out towards the base. His little eyes + were soft and brown and twinkled like onyxes. His tiny little hands were + most beautifully shaped, and this child moved about the farmyard with the + dignity of an Emperor and the serenity of a great Pontiff. Gravely and + without a smile he watched the Cossacks unharnessing their horses, + lighting a fire and arranging the officers’ kit. + </p> + <p> + He walked up to the sentry who was standing near the treasure chest, a + big, grey-eyed Cossack with a great tuft of fair hair, and the expression + of a faithful retriever, and in a tone of indescribable contempt, Chun Wa + said “Ping!” “Ping” in Chinese means soldier-man, and if you wish to + express your contempt for a man there is no word in the whole of the + Chinese language which expresses it so fully and so emphatically as the + word “Ping.” + </p> + <p> + The Cossack smiled on Chun Wa and called him by a long list of endearing + diminutives, but Chun Wa took no notice, and retired into the inner part + of the house as if he had determined to pay no more attention to the + barbarous intruders. The next day, however, curiosity got the better of + him, and he could not resist inspecting the yard, and observing the doings + of the foreign devils. And one of the Cossacks—his name was Lieskov + and he looked after my mule—made friends with Chun Wa. He made + friends with him by playing with the dog. The dog, like most Chinese dogs, + was dirty, distrustful, and not used to being played with; he slunk away + if you called him, and if you took any notice of him he evidently expected + to be beaten, kicked, or to have stones thrown at him. He was too thin to + be eaten. But Lieskov tamed the dog and taught him how to play, and the + big Cossack used to roll on the ground while the dog pretended to bite + him, until Chun Wa forgot his dignity, his contempt, and his superior + culture, and smiled. I remember coming home that very afternoon from a + short stroll with one of the officers, and we found Lieskov lying fast + asleep in the farmyard right across the steps of the door through which we + wanted to go, and Chun Wa and the dog were sitting beside him. We woke him + up and the officer asked him why he had gone to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “I was playing with the dog, your honour,” he said, “and I played so hard + that I was exhausted and fell asleep.” + </p> + <p> + After that Chun Wa made friends with everybody, officers and men, and he + ruled the battery like an autocrat. He ruled by charm and a thousand + winning ways. But his special friend was Lieskov, who carried the child + about on his back, performed many droll antics to amuse him, and taught + him words of pidgin Russian. Among other things he made him a kite—a + large and beautiful kite—out of an old piece of yellow silk, shaped + like a butterfly. And Chun Wa’s brother flew this kite with wonderful + skill, so that it looked like a glittering golden bird hovering in the + air. + </p> + <p> + I forget how long we stayed at this temple, whether it was three days or + four days; possibly it was not so long, but it seemed like many months, or + rather it seemed at the same time very long and very short, like a + pleasant dream. The weather was so soft and so fine, the sunshine so + bright, the air so still, that had not the nights been chilly we should + never have dreamt that it was autumn. It seemed rather as though the + spring had been unburied and had returned to the earth by mistake. And all + this time fighting was going on to the east of us. The battle of Sha-Ho + had begun, but we were in the reserve, in what they called the deepest + reserve, and we heard no sound of firing, neither did we receive any news + of it. We seemed to be sheltered from the world in an island of dreamy + lotus-eating; and the only noise that reached us was the sound of the + tinkling gongs of the temple. We lived a life of absolute indolence, + getting up with the sun, eating, playing cards, strolling about on the + plains where the millet had now been reaped, eating again and going to bed + about nine o’clock in the evening. Our chief amusement was to talk with + Chun Wa and to watch the way in which he treated the Cossacks, who had + become his humble slaves. I am sure there was not one of the men who would + not have died gladly for Chun Wa. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, just as we were finishing our midday meal, we received + orders to start. We were no longer in the reserve; we were needed further + on. Everything was packed up in a hurry, and by half-past two the whole + battery was on the march, and we left the lovely calm temple, the cypress + trees, the chiming gongs, and Chun Wa. The idyll was over, the reality was + about to begin. As we left the place Chun Wa stood by the gate, dignified, + and grave as usual. In one hand he held his kite, and in the other a paper + flower, and he gave this flower to Lieskov. + </p> + <p> + Next day we arrived at another village, and from there we were sent still + further on, to a place whence, from the hills, all the fighting that was + going on in the centre of that big battle was visible. From half-past six + in the morning until sunset the noise of the artillery never ceased, and + all night long there was a rattle of rifle firing. The troops which were + in front drew each day nearer to us. Another two days passed; the battery + took part in the action, some of the men were killed, and some of the men + and the officers were wounded, and we retreated to the River Sha-Ho. Then + just as we thought a final retreat was about to take place, a retreat + right back to Mukden, we recrossed the river, took part in another action, + and then a great stillness came. The battle was practically over. The + advance of the enemy had ceased, and we were ordered to go to a certain + place. + </p> + <p> + We started, and on our way we passed through the village where we had + lived before the battle began. The place was scarcely recognisable. It was + quite deserted; some of the houses looked like empty shells or husks, as + though the place had suffered from earthquake. A dead horse lay across the + road just outside the farmyard. + </p> + <p> + One of the officers and myself had the curiosity to go into the temple + buildings where we had enjoyed such pleasant days. They were deserted. + Part of the inner courtyard was all scorched and crumbled as if there had + been a fire. The straw was still lying about in the yard, and the + implements of toil. The actual temple itself at the end of the grassy plot + remained untouched, and the grinning gods inside it were intact; but the + dwelling rooms of our host were destroyed, and the rooms where we had + lived ourselves were a mass of broken fragments, rubbish, and dust. The + place had evidently been heavily shelled. There was not a trace of any + human being, save that in the only room which remained undestroyed, on the + matting of the hard <i>Khang</i>—that is the divan which stretches + like a platform across three-quarters of every Chinese room—lay the + dead body of a Chinese coolie. The dog, the cat, and the hens had all + gone. + </p> + <p> + We only remained a moment or two in the place, and as we left it the + officer pulled my sleeve and pointed to a heap of rubbish near the gate. + There, amidst some broken furniture, a mass of refuse, burned and + splintered wood, lay the tattered remains of a golden kite. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Orpheus in Mayfair and Other Stories +and Sketches, by Maurice Baring + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORPHEUS IN MAYFAIR AND OTHER *** + +***** This file should be named 2492-h.htm or 2492-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/2492/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; 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. 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