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diff --git a/33797-h/33797-h.htm b/33797-h/33797-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c99324 --- /dev/null +++ b/33797-h/33797-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21975 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sinister Street, vol. 1, by Compton Mackenzie.</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + p { + margin-top: .25em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .25em; + text-indent: 1em; + } + + .c { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0%; + } + + .cb { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0%; + font-weight: bold; + font-size: large; + } + + .hang { + text-indent: -2%; + margin-left: 2%; + } + + .hangg { + text-indent: -5%; + margin-left: 5%; + } + + img { + border: none; + } + + .imgg { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-bottom: 15%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + } + + .indt { + text-indent: 8%; + } + + .nind { + text-indent: 0%; + } + + .lg { + font-size: 150%; + letter-spacing: 1px; + } + + .letra { + font-size: 250%; + } + + .r { + text-align: right; + margin-right: 5%; + } + + h2 { + margin-top: 5%; + text-align: right; + clear: both; + } + + h1 { + margin-top: 5%; + text-align: center; + clear: both; + font-size: 300%; + } + + h3 { + margin-top: 5%; + text-align: left; + clear: both; + } + + .top5 { + margin-top: 5%; + } + + .top10 { + margin-top: 10%; + } + + .top15 { + margin-top: 15%; + } + + .top25 { + margin-top: 25%; + } + + hr { + width: 100%; + margin: 2em auto 2em auto; + clear: both; + color: black; + } + + hr.double { + width: 60%; + margin: 0% auto 0% auto; + clear: both; + border: 3px double black; + } + + hr.solid { + width: 90%; + margin: 0% auto 0% auto; + clear: both; + border: 2px solid black; + } + + hr.full { + width: 100%; + margin: 5% auto 5% auto; + border: 4px double gray; + } + + table { + margin-top: 2%; + margin-bottom: 2%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + border: none; + text-align: left; + } + + td.tbb { + border-bottom: 1px solid black; + border-top: 1px solid; + border-left: 1px solid black; + } + + body { + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + background: #fdfdfd; + color: black; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + font-size: medium; + } + + ul { + list-style-type: none; + margin-left: -4%; + } + + a:link { + background-color: #ffffff; + color: blue; + text-decoration: none; + } + + link { + background-color: #ffffff; + color: blue; + text-decoration: none; + } + + a:visited { + background-color: #ffffff; + color: purple; + text-decoration: none; + } + + a:hover { + background-color: #ffffff; + color: #FF0000; + text-decoration: underline; + } + + .smcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-size: 95%; + } + + .blockquot { + margin-top: 2%; + margin-bottom: 2%; + } + + .blockquott { + margin-top: 5%; + margin-bottom: 10%; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + } + + .blockquottt { + margin-top: 4%; + margin-bottom: 4%; + } + + .boxxx { + border: solid 4px black; + padding: 2%; + font-size: 80%; + max-width: 50%; + margin: 5% auto 5% auto; + } + + .bboxxx { + border: none; + padding: 2%; + max-width: 50%; + margin: 5% auto 5% auto; + } + p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> + + <pre> + The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sinister Street, vol. 1, by Compton Mackenzie + + 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: Sinister Street, vol. 1 + + Author: Compton Mackenzie + + Release Date: September 22, 2010 [EBook #33797] + [Last updated: April 21, 2020] + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SINISTER STREET, VOL. 1 *** + + + + Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed + Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was + produced from scanned images of public domain material + from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + </pre> + + <hr class="full"/> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="700" alt="bookcover" /> +</div> + + <p class="cb"> + SOME PRESS OPINIONS + <br/> + OF OTHER BOOKS BY + <br/> + COMPTON MACKENZIE + </p> + + <p class="imgg"> + <img src="images/ill_001.png" width="25" height="55" alt="text decoration not available" title="text decoration not available"/> + </p> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="cb"> + SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF + <br/> + <span class="lg">Kensington Rhymes</span> + <br/> + <i>By</i> + COMPTON MACKENZIE + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>SATURDAY REVIEW:</i> + <br/> + + “These are particularly jolly rhymes, that any really good sort of + a chap, say a fellow of about ten would like. Mr. J. R. Monsell’s + pictures are exceptionally jolly too.... If we may judge by + ourselves, not only the children, but the grown-ups of the family + will be enchanted by this quite delightful and really first-rate + book.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>DAILY MAIL:</i> + <br/> + + “Among the picture-books of the season, pride of place must go to + Mr. Compton Mackenzie’s ‘Kensington Rhymes.’ They are full of quiet + humour and delicate insight into the child-mind.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>OBSERVER:</i> + <br/> + + “Far the best rhymes of the year are ‘Kensington Rhymes,’ by + Compton Mackenzie, almost the best things of the kind since the + ‘Child’s Garden of Verse.’” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>ATHENÆUM:</i> + <br/> + + “Will please children of all ages, and also contains much that will + not be read without a sympathetic smile by grown-ups possessed of a + sense of humour.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>TIMES:</i> + <br/> + + “The real gift of child poetry, sometimes almost with a + Stevensonian ring.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>OUTLOOK:</i> + <br/> + + “What Henley did for older Londoners, Mr. Compton Mackenzie and Mr. + Monsell have done for the younger generation.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>STANDARD:</i> + <br/> + + “Our hearts go out first to Mr. Compton Mackenzie’s ‘Kensington + Rhymes.’” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>SUNDAY TIMES:</i> + <br/> + + “Full of whimsical observation and genuine insight, ‘Kensington + Rhymes’ by Compton Mackenzie are certainly entertaining.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>EVENING STANDARD:</i> + <br/> + + “Something of the charm of Christina Rossetti’s.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>VOTES FOR WOMEN:</i> + <br/> + + “They breathe the very conventional and stuffy air of + Kensington.... We are bound to say that the London child we tried + it on liked the book.” + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p class="c">MARTIN SECKER, NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET, ADELPHI</p> + </div> + + <p> </p> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="cb"> + SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF + <br/> + <span class="lg">The Passionate Elopement</span> + <br/> + <i>By</i> + COMPTON MACKENZIE + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>TIMES:</i> + <br/> + + “We are grateful to him for wringing our hearts with the ‘tears and + laughter of spent joys.’” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>SPECTATOR:</i> + <br/> + + “As an essay in literary bravura the book is quite remarkable.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>COUNTRY LIFE:</i> + <br/> + + “In the kindliness, the humour and the gentleness of the treatment, + it comes as near to Thackeray, as any man has come since + Thackeray.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>DAILY CHRONICLE:</i> + <br/> + + “Thanks for a rare entertainment! And, if the writing of your story + pleased you as much as the reading of it has pleased us, + congratulations too.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>GLOBE:</i> + <br/> + + “A little tenderness, a fragrant aroma of melancholy laid away in + lavender, a hint of cynicism, an airy philosophy—and so a wholly + piquant, subtly aromatic dish, a rosy apple stuck with cloves.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>GLASGOW NEWS:</i> + <br/> + + “Fresh and faded, mocking yet passionate, compact of tinsel and + gold is this little tragedy of a winter season in view of the pump + room.... Through it all, the old tale has a dainty, fluttering, + unusual, and very real beauty.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>ENGLISH REVIEW:</i> + <br/> + + “All his characters are real and warm with life. ‘The Passionate + Elopement’ should be read slowly, and followed from the smiles and + extravagance of the opening chapters through many sounding and + poetical passages, to the thrilling end of the Love Chase. The + quiet irony of the close leaves one smiling, but with the wiser + smile of Horace Ripple who meditates on the colours of life.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>WESTMINSTER GAZETTE:</i> + <br/> + + “Mr. Mackenzie’s book is a novel of genre, and with infinite care + and obvious love of detail has he set himself to paint a literary + picture in the manner of Hogarth. He is no imitator, he owes no + thanks to any predecessor in the fashioning of his book.... Mr. + Mackenzie recreates (the atmosphere) so admirably that it is no + exaggeration to say that, thanks to his brilliant scene-painting, + we shall gain an even more vivid appreciation of the work of his + great forerunners. Lightly and vividly does Mr. Mackenzie sketch in + his characters ... but they do not on that account lack + personality. Each of them is definitely and faithfully drawn, with + sensibility, sympathy, and humour.” + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p class="c">MARTIN SECKER, NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET, ADELPHI</p> + </div> + + <p> </p> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="cb"> + SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF + <br/> + <span class="lg">CARNIVAL</span> + <br/> + <i>By</i> + COMPTON MACKENZIE + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>ATHENÆUM</i> + : + <br/> + + “Mr. Mackenzie’s second novel amply fulfils the promise of his first.... + Its first and great quality is originality. The originality of Mr. + Mackenzie lies in his possession of an imagination and a vision of life + that are as peculiarly his own as a voice or a laugh, and that reflect + themselves in a style which is that of no other writer.... A prose full + of beauty.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>PUNCH</i> + : + <br/> + + “After reading a couple of pages I settled myself in my chair for a + happy evening, and thenceforward the fascination of the book held me + like a kind of enchantment. I despair, though, of being able to convey + any idea of it in a few lines of criticism.... As for the style, I will + only add that it gave me the same blissful feeling of security that one + has in listening to a great musician.... In the meantime, having + recorded my delight in it, I shall put ‘Carnival’ upon the small and by + no means crowded shelf that I reserve for ‘keeps.’” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>OUTLOOK</i> + : + <br/> + + “In these days of muddled literary evaluations, it is a small thing to + say of a novel that it is a great novel; but this we should say without + hesitation of ‘Carnival,’ that not only is it marked out to be the + leading success of its own season, but to be read afterwards as none but + the best books are read.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>OBSERVER</i> + : + <br/> + + “The heroic scale of Mr. Compton Mackenzie’s conception and achievement + sets a standard for him which one only applies to the ‘great’ among + novelists.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>ENGLISH REVIEW</i> + : + <br/> + + “An exquisite sense of beauty with a hunger for beautiful words to + express it.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS</i> + : + <br/> + + “The spirit of youth and the spirit of London.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>NEW YORK TIMES</i> + : + <br/> + + “We hail Mr. Mackenzie as a man alive—who raises all things to a + spiritual plane.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>MR. C. K. SHORTER in the SPHERE</i> + : + <br/> + + “‘Carnival’ carried me from cover to cover on wings.” + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <i>NEW AGE</i> + : + <br/> + + “We are more than sick of it.” + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p class="c">MARTIN SECKER, NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET, ADELPHI</p> + </div> + + <p class="top5"> </p> + + <h2> + SINISTER + <br/> + STREET + </h2> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="font-size:80%;"> + <tr valign="top"> + <td align="right" rowspan="8"> + <i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i> + </td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">CARNIVAL</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THE PASSIONATE ELOPEMENT</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">KENSINGTON RHYMES</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + + For some press opinions, see preceding pages</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SINISTER STREET: VOLUME II</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">METROPOLITAN NIGHTS</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">These volumes are in preparation</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p class="top5"> </p> + + <h1> + <span style="letter-spacing:3px;"> + S I N I S T E R + </span> + <br/> + <span style="letter-spacing:8px;">S T R E E T</span> + </h1> + <p class="c"> + <i>By COMPTON MACKENZIE</i> + </p> + <hr class="double"/> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <hr class="double"/> + <p class="c"> + <span style="letter-spacing:2px;">L O N D O N : M A R T I N S E C K E R</span> + <br/> + + NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI MCMXIII + </p> + + <p class="top10"> </p> + + <p class="c"> + + TO + <br/> + + THE REVEREND + <br/> + + E. D. STONE + <br/> + </p> + + <p class="top10"> </p> + + <p class="nind"> + <i>My dear Mr. Stone,</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Since you have on several occasions deprecated the length of my books, + I feel that your name upon the dedicatory page of this my longest book + deserves explanation, if not apology.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>When I first conceived the idea of ‘Sinister Street,’ I must admit I + did not realize that in order to present my theme fully in accord with + my own prejudice, I should require so much space. But by the time I had + written one hundred pages I knew that, unless I was prepared against my + judgment to curtail the original scheme, I must publish my book in a + form slightly different from the usual.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>The exigencies of commercial production forbid a six shilling novel of + eight or nine hundred pages, and as I saw no prospect of confining + myself even to that length, I decided to publish in two volumes, each to + contain two divisions of my tale.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>You will say that this is an aggravation of the whole matter and the + most impenitent sort of an apology. Yet are a thousand pages too long + for the history of twenty-five years of a man’s life, that is to say if + one holds as I hold that childhood makes the instrument, youth tunes the + strings, and early manhood plays the melody?</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>The tradition of the English novel has always favoured length and + leisure; nor do I find that my study of French and Russian literature + leads me to strain after brevity. I do not send forth this volume as the + first of a trilogy. It is actually the first half of a complete book. At + the same time, feeling as I do that in these days of competitive + reading, the sudden vision of over a thousand pages would be inevitably + depressing, I give you the opportunity of rest at the five-hundredth + page, which reaches a climax at least as conclusive as any climax can be + that is not death. I do not pretend that I shall not be greatly + disappointed if next January or February you feel disinclined to read + ‘Dreaming Spires’ and ‘Romantic Education,’ which will complete the + second volume. Yet I will be so considerate as to find someone else to + bear the brunt of dedication, and after all there will be no compulsion + either upon you or upon the public to resume.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <span style="margin-left: 50%;"> + <i>Yours ever affectionately,</i> + </span> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Compton Mackenzie.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Let me add in postscript that ‘Sinister Street’ is a symbolic title + which bears no reference to an heraldic euphemism.</i> + </p> + + <p class="nind"> + <i>Phillack, August 3, 1913.</i> + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="margin-top:15%;font-weight:bold;"> + <tr> + <td align="center" colspan="2">VOLUME ONE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center" colspan="2"> + <small>CONTAINING</small> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">I.</td> + <td>THE PRISON HOUSE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">II.</td> + <td>CLASSIC EDUCATION</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p class="imgg"> + <img src="images/ill_001.png" width="25" height="55" alt="text decoration not available" title="text decoration not available"/> + </p> + + <p class="top15"> </p> + + <p> + “ + <i>The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination + of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which + the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life + uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted.</i> + “ + </p> + + <p class="r"> + J + <small>OHN</small> + K + <small>EATS</small> + . + </p> + + <h3 class="c"> + <a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a> + CONTENTS + </h3> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="contents"> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" align="left" style="font-size:120%;line-height:50px;"> + <a href="#BOOK_ONE"> + <i>BOOK ONE: The Prison House</i> + </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_I_The_New_World">I.</a> + </td> + <td>THE NEW WORLD</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_001">1</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_II_Bittersweet">II.</a> + </td> + <td>BITTERSWEET</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_020">20</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_III_Fears_and_Fantasies">III.</a> + </td> + <td>FEARS AND FANTASIES</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_039">39</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_IV_Unending_Childhood">IV.</a> + </td> + <td>UNENDING CHILDHOOD</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_046">46</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_V_The_First_Fairy_Princess">V.</a> + </td> + <td>THE FIRST FAIRY PRINCESS</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_070">70</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_VI_The_Enchanted_Palace">VI.</a> + </td> + <td>THE ENCHANTED PALACE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_085">85</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_VII_Randell_House">VII.</a> + </td> + <td>RANDELL HOUSE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_097">97</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_VIII_Siamese_Stamps">VIII.</a> + </td> + <td>SIAMESE STAMPS</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_113">113</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_IX_Holidays_in_France">IX.</a> + </td> + <td>HOLIDAYS IN FRANCE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_129">129</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" align="left" style="font-size:120%;line-height:50px;"> + <a href="#BOOK_TWO"> + <i>BOOK TWO: Classic Education</i> + </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_I_The_Jacobean">I.</a> + </td> + <td>THE JACOBEAN</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_141">141</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_II_The_Quadruple_Intrigue">II.</a> + </td> + <td>THE QUADRUPLE INTRIGUE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_159">159</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_III_Pastoral">III.</a> + </td> + <td>PASTORAL</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_176">176</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_IV_Boyhoods_Glory">IV.</a> + </td> + <td>BOYHOOD’S GLORY</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_188">188</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_V_Incense">V.</a> + </td> + <td>INCENSE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_208">208</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_VI_Pax">VI.</a> + </td> + <td>PAX</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_232">232</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_VII_Cloven_Hoofmarks">VII.</a> + </td> + <td>CLOVEN HOOFMARKS</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_248">248</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_VIII_Mirrors">VIII.</a> + </td> + <td>MIRRORS</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_262">262</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_IX_The_Yellow_Age">IX.</a> + </td> + <td>THE YELLOW AGE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_281">281</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_X_Stella">X.</a> + </td> + <td>STELLA</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_308">308</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XI_Action_and_Reaction">XI.</a> + </td> + <td>ACTION AND REACTION</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_321">321</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XII_Alan">XII.</a> + </td> + <td>ALAN</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_346">346</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XIII_Sentiment">XIII.</a> + </td> + <td>SENTIMENT</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_355">355</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XIV_Arabesque">XIV.</a> + </td> + <td>ARABESQUE</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_378">378</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XV_Grey_Eyes">XV.</a> + </td> + <td>GREY EYES</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_397">397</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XVI_Blue_Eyes">XVI.</a> + </td> + <td>BLUE EYES</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_416">416</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XVII_Lily">XVII.</a> + </td> + <td>LILY</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_427">427</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XVIII_Eighteen_Years_Old">XVIII.</a> + </td> + <td>EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_447">447</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XIX_Parents">XIX.</a> + </td> + <td>PARENTS</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_469">469</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#Chapter_XX_Music">XX.</a> + </td> + <td>MUSIC</td> + <td align="right"> + <a href="#page_479">479</a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <h3 class="c"> + <a name="BOOK_ONE" id="BOOK_ONE"></a> + BOOK ONE + <br/> + + THE PRISON HOUSE + </h3> + + <p class="top15"> </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>“What youth, Goddess—what guest</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Of Gods or mortals?”</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">Matthew Arnold.</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p> </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>“Slow on your dials the shadows creep,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>So many hours for food and sleep,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>So many hours till study tire,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <i>So many hours for heart’s desire.”</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">Robert Bridges.</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p> + <a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_I_The_New_World" id="Chapter_I_The_New_World"></a> + Chapter I: + <i>The New World</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">F</span> + ROM a world of daisies as big as moons and of mountainous green + hillocks Michael Fane came by some unrealized method of transport to the + thin red house, that as yet for his mind could not claim an individual + existence amid the uniformity of a long line of fellows. His arrival + coincided with a confusion of furniture, with the tramp of men backwards + and forwards from a cavernous vehicle very dry and dusty. He found + himself continually being lifted out of the way of washstands and + skeleton chests of drawers. He was invited to sit down and keep quiet, + and almost in the same breath to walk about and avoid hindrance. + Finally, Nurse led him up many resonant stairs to the night-nursery + which at present consisted of two square cots that with japanned iron + bars stood gauntly in a wilderness of oilcloth surrounded by four walls + patterned with a prolific vegetation. Michael was dumped down upon a + grey pillow and invited to see how well his sister Stella was behaving. + Nurse’s observation was true enough: Stella was rosily asleep in an + undulation of blankets, and Michael, threatened by many whispers and + bony finger-shakes, was not at all inclined to wake her up. Nurse + retired in an aura of importance, and Michael set out to establish an + intimacy with the various iron bars of his cage. For a grown-up person + these would certainly have seemed much more alike than even the houses + of Carlington Road, West Kensington: for Michael each bar possessed a + personality. Minute scratches unnoticed by the heedless adult world lent + variety of expression: slight irregularities + <a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a> + infused certain groups + with an air of deliberate consultation. From the four corners royal + bars, crowned with brass, dominated their subjects. Passions, intrigues, + rumours, ambitions, revenges were perceived by Michael to be seething + below the rigid exterior of these iron bars: even military operations + were sometimes discernible. This cot was guarded by a romantic + population, with one or two of whose units Michael could willingly have + dispensed: one bar in particular, set very much askew, seemed sly and + malignant. Michael disliked being looked at by anybody or anything, and + this bar had a persistent inquisitiveness which already worried him. + ‘Why does he look at me?’ Michael would presently ask, and ‘Nobody wants + to look at such an ugly little boy,’ Nurse would presently reply. So one + more intolerable question would overshadow his peace of mind. + </p> + + <p>Meanwhile, far below, the tramp of men continued, until suddenly an + immense roar filled the room. Some of the bars shivered and clinked, and + Michael’s heart nearly stopped. The roar died away only to be succeeded + by another roar from the opposite direction. Stella woke up crying. + Michael was too deeply frightened so to soothe himself, as he sat + clutching the pointed ears of the grey pillow. Stella, feeling that the + fretful tears of a sudden awakening were insufficient, set up a bellow + of dismay. Michael was motionless, only aware of a gigantic heart that + shook him horribly. At last the footsteps of Nurse could be heard, and + over them, the quick ‘tut-tut-tuts’ that voiced her irritation.</p> + + <p>“You naughty boy, to wake up your little sister.”</p> + + <p>“What was that noise?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p>“Your own noise,” said Nurse sharply.</p> + + <p>“It wasn’t. It was lions.”</p> + + <p> + “And if it + <i>was</i> + lions, what next?” said Nurse. “Lions will always come, + when little boys are naughty. Lions don’t like naughty boys.” + <a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Michael doesn’t like lions.”</p> + + <p>He took refuge in the impersonal speech of earlier days, and with a + grave obstinacy of demeanour resisted the unreasonableness of his nurse.</p> + + <p>“What was that noise, Nanny? Do tell me.”</p> + + <p>“Why a train, of course. There’s a molly-coddle. Tut-tut!”</p> + + <p>“A train like we rode in from down in the country?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, a train like we rode in from down in the country!” Nurse mimicked + him in an outrageous falsetto.</p> + + <p>“Not lions at all?”</p> + + <p>“Not if you’re a good boy.”</p> + + <p>“Nor bears—nor tigers—nor wolverines?”</p> + + <p>The last was a dreadful importation of fancy from some zoological + gift-book.</p> + + <p>“Now that’s enough,” Nurse decided.</p> + + <p>“Nor laughing hyenas?”</p> + + <p>“Am I to speak to you again? As if there wasn’t enough to do without + children why-why-whying morning, noon and night.”</p> + + <p>Michael recognized finality of argument. The mention of morning, noon + and night with their dreary suggestion of the infinite and unattainable + plunged him into silence. Nurse, gratified by her victory and relieved + to find that Stella was crooning happy mysteries to a rag doll, + announced that she was prepared in return for the very best behaviour to + push the two cots against the window. This done, she left the children + to their first survey of London airs, to silent wonder amid the cheeping + of countless sparrows.</p> + + <p> + Stella sat blinking at the light and the sailing clouds. She soon began + to chant her saga. Primitive and immemorial sounds flowed from that dewy + mouth; melodies and harmonies, akin to the day itself, voiced the + progress of the clouds; and while she told her incommunicable delight + <a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a> + + there was actually no one to say ‘Stella, will you stop that ’umming?’ + Michael could not compete with his sister in her interpretation of the + clouds’ courses. He had, indeed, tried once or twice; but Stella either + stopped abruptly, leaving him to lag for a while with a lame tune of his + own, or else she would burst into tears. Michael preferred an + inspiration more immediately visual to Stella’s incomprehensibly + boundless observations. Michael would enjoy holding in his hand a bunch + of blue cornflowers; Stella would tear them to pieces, not irritably, + but absently in a seclusion of spacious visions. On this occasion + Michael paid no attention to Stella’s salutation of light; he was merely + thankful she showed no sign of wishing to be amused by ‘peep-bo,’ or by + the pulling of curious faces. Both these diversions were dangerous to + Michael’s peace of mind, because at some period of the entertainment he + was bound, with disastrous results, to cross the line between Stella’s + joy and Stella’s fear. Michael turned to look out of the window, finding + the details of the view enthralling. He marked first of all the long row + of poplar trees already fresh and vivid with young May’s golden green. + Those trees, waving with their youthfulness in the wind, extended as far + as could be observed on either side. Three in every garden were planted + close to the farthest wall. How beautiful they looked, and how the + sparrows hopped from branch to branch. Michael let his eyes rove along + the pleasant green line whose slightness and evenness caressed the + vision, as velvet might have caressed a hand running lightly over the + surface. Suddenly, with a sharp emotion of shame, Michael perceived that + the middle tree opposite his own window was different from the rest. It + was not the same shape; it carried little blobs such as hang from + tablecloths and curtains; it scarcely showed a complete leaf. Here was a + subject for speculation indeed; and the more Michael looked at the other + trees, the more he grew ashamed for the + <a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a> + loiterer. This problem would + worry him interminably: he would return to it often and often. But the + exquisite pleasure he had taken in the trim and equable row was gone; + for as soon as the eye caressed it, there was this intolerably naked + tree to affront all regularity. + </p> + + <p>After the trees, Michael examined the trellis that extended along the + top of a stuccoed wall without interruption on either side. This trellis + was a curiosity, for if he looked at it very hard, the lozenges of space + came out from their frame and moved about in a blur—an odd business + presumably inexplicable for evermore like everything else. Beyond the + trellis was the railway; and while Michael was looking a signal shot + down, a distant roar drew near, and a real train rumbled past which, + beheld from Michael’s window, looked like a toy train loaded with dolls, + one of whom wore a red tam-o’-shanter. Michael longed to be sitting once + again in that moving wonderland and to be looking out of the window, + himself wearing just such another red tam-o’-shanter. Beyond the railway + was surely a very extraordinary place indeed, with mountains of coal + everywhere and black figures roaming about; and beyond this, far far + away, was a very low line of houses with a church steeple against an + enormous sky.</p> + + <p>“Dinner-time! Tut-tut,” said Nurse, suddenly bustling into the room to + interrupt Stella’s saga and Michael’s growing dread of being left alone + in that wilderness beyond the railway lines.</p> + + <p>“Could I be left there?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Left where?”</p> + + <p>“There.” He pointed to the coal-yard.</p> + + <p>“Don’t point!” said Nurse.</p> + + <p>“What is that place?”</p> + + <p>“The place where coal comes from.”</p> + + <p>“Could I be left there?” he persisted.</p> + + <p> + “Not unless one of the coalmen came over the wall and + <a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a> + carried you off + and left you there, which he will do unless you’re a good boy.” + </p> + + <p>Michael caught his breath.</p> + + <p>“Can coalmen climb?” he asked, choking at the thought.</p> + + <p>“Climb like kittens,” said Nurse.</p> + + <p>A new bogey had been created, black and hairy with yellow cat’s eyes and + horrid prehensile arms.</p> + + <p>Michael and Stella were now lifted out of the cots and dumped on to the + cold oilcloth and marched into the adjacent bathroom, where their faces + and hands were sponged with a new sponge that was not only rough in + itself, but also had something that scratched buried in one of the + pores. During this operation, Nurse blew violent breaths through her + tightly closed lips. When it was over, Stella was lifted up into Nurse’s + arms; Michael was commanded to walk downstairs in front and not to let + go of the banisters; then down they went, down and down and down—past + three doors opening into furniture-heaped rooms, past a door with upper + panels of coloured glass in a design of red and amber sparrows upon a + crude blue vegetation—a beautiful door, Michael thought, as he went by. + Down and down and down into the hall which was strewn with bits of straw + and shavings and had another glass-panelled door very gaudy. Here the + floor was patterned with terra-cotta, yellow, black and slate-blue + tiles. Two more doors were passed, and a third door was reached, opening + apparently on a box into which light was let through windows of such + glass as is seen round the bottom of bird-cages. This final staircase + was even in the fullest daylight very dim and eerie, and was permeated + always with a smell of burnt grease and damp cloths. Half-way down + Michael shrunk back against Nurse’s petticoats, for in front of him + yawned a terrible cavern exuding chill.</p> + + <p>“What’s that?” he gasped.</p> + + <p> + “Bless the boy, he’ll have me over!” cried Nurse. + <a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Oh, Nanny, what is it—that hole? Michael doesn’t like that hole.”</p> + + <p>“There’s a milksop. Tut-tut! Frightened by a coal-cellar! Get on with + you, do.”</p> + + <p>Michael, holding tightly to the banisters, achieved the ground and was + hustled into the twilight of the morning-room. Stella was fitted into + her high chair; the circular tray was brought over from behind and + thumped into its place with a click: Michael was lifted up and thumped + down into another high chair and pushed close up to the table so that + his knees were chafed by the sharp edge and his thighs pinched by a + loose strand of cane. Nurse, blowing as usual through closed lips, cut + up his meat, and dinner was carried through in an atmosphere of greens + and fat and warm, milk-and-water and threats of Gregory-powder, if every + bit were not eaten.</p> + + <p>Presently the tramping of furniture-men was renewed and the + morning-room, was made darker still by the arrival of a second van which + pulled up at right angles to the first. In the course of dinner, Cook + entered. She was a fat masculine creature who always kept her arms + folded beneath a coarse and spotted apron; and after Cook came Annie the + housemaid, tall and thin and anæmic. These two watched the children + eating, while they gossiped with Nurse.</p> + + <p>“Isn’t Mrs. Fane coming at all, then?” enquired Cook.</p> + + <p>“For a few minutes—for a few minutes,” said Nurse quickly, and Michael + would not have been so very suspicious had he not observed the nodding + of her head long after there was any need to nod it.</p> + + <p>“Is mother going to stay with us?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Stay? Stay? Of course she’ll stay. Stay for ever,” asserted Nurse in + her bustling voice.</p> + + <p> + “Funny not to be here when the furniture came,” said Cook. + <a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> + </p> + + <p> + “Yes, wasn’t it?” echoed Annie. “It + <i>was</i> + funny. That’s what I thought. + How funny, I thought.” + </p> + + <p>“Not that I suppose things will be what you might call properly arranged + just yet?” Cook speculated.</p> + + <p>“Everything arranged. Everything arranged,” Nurse snapped. “Nothing to + arrange. Nothing to arrange.”</p> + + <p>And as if to stifle for ever any ability in Michael to ask questions, + she proceeded to cram his mouth with a dessert-spoonful of rice pudding + from her own plate, jarring his teeth with the spoon when she withdrew + it.</p> + + <p>Then Michael’s lovely mother in vivid rose silk came into the room, and + Cook squeezed herself backwards through the door very humbly and so + quietly that Annie found herself alone before she realized the fact; so + that in order to cover her confusion and assist her retreat she was + compelled to snatch away Michael’s plate of rice pudding before he had + finished the last few clotted grains. Michael was grateful to Annie for + this, and he regarded her from that moment as an ally. Thenceforth he + would often seek her out in what she called ‘her’ pantry, there to + nibble biscuits, while Annie dried cups and swung them from brass hooks.</p> + + <p>“How cosy you all look,” said mother. “Darling Stella, are you enjoying + your rice pudding? And, darling Michael,” she added, “I hope you’re + being very good.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes,” said Nurse, “Good! Yes. He’s very good. Oh, yes. Tut-tut! + Tut-tut!”</p> + + <p>After this exhalation of approval Nurse blew several breaths, leaned + over him, pulled down his blue and white sailor-top, and elevated his + chin with the back of her hand.</p> + + <p>“There’s no need to bother about the drawing-room or the dining-room or + my bedroom or, in fact, any of the rooms except the night-nursery and + the day-nursery. You’re quite straight in here. I shall be back by the + end of June.”</p> + + <p> + Nurse shook her head very violently at this, and Michael felt tears of + apprehension welling up into his eyes. Mrs. Fane + <a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> + paused a moment + doubtfully; then she waved beautiful slim gloves and glided from the + room. Michael listened to delicate footsteps on the stairs, and the + tinkle of small ornaments. A bleak silence followed the banging of the + front door. + </p> + + <p>“She’s gone away. I know she’s gone away,” he moaned.</p> + + <p>“Who’s She?” demanded Nurse. “She’s the cat’s mother.”</p> + + <p>“Mother! Mother!” he wailed. “She always goes away from Michael.”</p> + + <p>“And no wonder,” said Nurse. “Dear, dear! Yes—tut-tut!—but goodness + gracious, she won’t be gone long. She’ll be back in June.”</p> + + <p>“What’s June?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“If you ask any more silly questions you’ll go to bed, young man; but if + you’re a good boy, I’ll tell you a story.”</p> + + <p>“A real story? A nice long story?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p class="poem"> + “I’ll tell you a story about Jack o’ my Nory<br/> + And now my story’s begun.<br/> + I’ll tell you another about Jack and his brother<br/> + And now my story’s done.”</p> + + <p>Nurse twiddled her thumbs with a complacent look, as she smacked her + palate upon the final line.</p> + + <p>“That isn’t a story,” said Michael sullenly. “When will mother be back?”</p> + + <p>“In June. That’s enough,” said Nurse.</p> + + <p> + Michael went to sleep that night, trying to materialize this mysterious + June. It came to mean a distant warmth of orange light towards which he + waited very slowly. He lay awake thinking of June in the luminousness of + a night-light shielded from his direct vision by a basin. His hands were + muffled in fingerless gloves to prevent thumb-sucking. Suddenly upon the + quiet came a blaze of light. Had he reached June? His sleepy eyelids + uncurled to the scented vision of his beautiful mother. But it was only + gaslight playing and + <a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> + fluttering over the figure of anæmic Annie taking + hairpin after hairpin from her hair. Yet there was a certain interest in + watching Annie undress. Her actions were less familiar than those of + Nurse. Her lips were softer to kiss. Then the vision of June, rising and + falling with Annie’s breath, recurred from distances unattainable, faded + again into the blackness of the night, and after a while came back + dazzling and golden. It was morning, and in a chirping of sparrows and + depth of quiet sunlight Michael began to wonder why he was sleeping + beside Annie in a big bed. It was an experience that stood for a long + time in his memory as the first adventure of his life. + </p> + + <p> + The adventure of Annie was a solitary occasion. By the following night + the regular night-nursery was ready for occupation, and the pea-green + vegetation of the walls was hidden by various furniture. Nurse’s bed + flanked by the two cots occupied much of its space. Round the fire was a + nursery fender on which hung perpetually various cloths and clothes and + blankets and sheers which, as it was summer at the time, might all have + been dried much more easily out of doors. Pictures were hung upon the + wall—pictures that with the progress of time became delightfully + intimate experiences. They were mostly framed chromolithographs saved + from the Christmas numbers of illustrated papers. There was Cherry + Ripe—a delicious and demure girl in a white dress with a pink sash, for + whom Michael began to feel a romantic affection. There was the picture + of a little girl eating a slice of bread-and-butter on a doorstep, + watched by a fox terrier and underneath inscribed ‘Give me a piece, + please.’ Michael did not know whether to feel more sorry for the little + girl or the dog; some sort of compassion, he thought, was demanded. It + was a problem picture insoluble over many years of speculation. The + night-nursery seemed always full of Nurse’s clothes. Her petticoats were + usually chequered or uniform + <a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> + red, preternaturally bright in contrast + with the blackness of the exterior apparel. The latter of heavy serge or + similar material was often sown with jet bugles which scratched + Michael’s face when he played ‘Hide-Oh’ among the folds of such obvious + concealment. Apart from these petticoats and skirts, the most individual + possession of Nurse’s wardrobe was a moon-shaped bustle of faded crimson + which Michael loved to swing from the bedpost whence out of use it was + suspended. There was also in a top drawer, generally unattainable, a + collection of caps threaded with many different velvet ribbons and often + coquettish with lace flowers. Michael was glad when Nurse put on her + best cap, a proceeding which took place just before tea. Her morning cap + was so skimpy as scarcely to hide the unpleasant smoothness of her thin + hair. In the amber summer afternoons or blue spring twilights, Nurse + looked comparatively beautiful under the ample lace, with a softer apron + and a face whose wrinkles were smoothed out by the consciousness of + leisure and the pleasant brown teapot. Mostly, Michael was inclined to + compare her with a monkey, so squab was her nose, so long her upper lip, + and such a multitude of deep furrows twisted up her countenance. That + Nurse was ever young, Michael could not bring himself to believe, and + daguerreotypes framed in tin-foil which she produced as evidence of + youth from a square box inlaid with mother-o’-pearl, never convinced him + as a chromolithograph might have convinced him. At the same time the + stories of her childhood, which Nurse was sometimes persuaded to tell, + were very enthralling; moreover, by the fact of her obvious antiquity, + they had the dimness and mystery of old fairy-tales. + </p> + + <p> + On the whole Michael was happy in his pea-green nursery. He was well + guarded by the iron soldiers of his cot. He liked the warmth and the + smallness of the room; he liked to be able to climb from his cot on to + <a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a> + + Nurse’s bed, from Nurse’s bed into Stella’s cot, and with this expanse + of safe territory he felt sorry for the chilly and desolate and + dangerous floor. Michael also liked the day-nursery. To begin with, it + possessed a curious and romantic shape due to its nearness to the roof. + The ceiling sloped on either side of the window almost to the floor. It + was not a room that was square and obvious, for round the corner from + the door was a fairly large alcove which was not destined to lose its + romance for many years. The staircase that led up to the day-nursery was + light and cheerful owing to the skylight in the roof. Yet this skylight + Michael could have wished away. It was a vulnerable spot which made the + day-nursery just a little uneasy at dusk—this and the cistern cupboard + with its dark boomings and hammerings and clankings and utter + inexplicableness. However, the day-nursery was a bright room, with a + cosy atmosphere of its own. The pleasantest meal of the day was taken + there, and in a black cupboard lived the golden syrup and the heraldic + mugs and the dumpy teapot and the accessories of tea. What a much + pleasanter cupboard this was than the smaller one in the night-nursery + which revealed, when opened, slim and ugly ipecacuanha, loathsome + Gregory-powder with wooden cap and squat cork, wicked envelopes of grey + powders and slippery bottles of castor-oil. There, too, was the + liver-coloured liquorice-powder, the vile rhubarb and the deceitful + senna. In fact, apart from a bag of jaded acid-drops, there were only + two pleasant inmates of this cupboard—the silvery and lucent syrup of + squills and a round box of honey and borax. There were no pills because + Nurse objected to pills. She was always telling Michael as he listened, + sick at heart, to the stirring-up of the Gregory-powder with a muffled + spoon, so different from the light-hearted tinkle and quick fizz of + magnesia, to be thankful he was not on the verge of taking a pill. That + she represented as something worthy of a struggle. + <a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a> + Michael imagined the + taking of a pill to be equivalent to swallowing a large painted ball + full of a combination of all the nastiest medicines in the world. Even + the omnipotent, omniscient Nanny could not take a pill. + </p> + + <p>There were other jolly cupboards in the day-nursery—one in particular + pasted over with ‘scraps’ and varnished—a work of art that was always + being added to for a treat. There was a patchwork hearthrug very + comfortable to lie upon beside the cat and her two black kittens. There + was Nanny’s work-table in the window, gay with coloured silks and wools. + There was a piano locked up until Michael’s first lesson, but + nevertheless wonderful on account of the smooth curve of the lid that + allowed one moment’s delicious balance and then an equally delicious + slide on to the floor.</p> + + <p>Certainly the day-nursery was the best room in the tall thin house, just + as the morning-room was the worst. The morning-room was odious. In it + were eaten breakfast and dinner, both nasty meals. Near it was the + coal-cellar and the area-door with its grinning errand boys. The windows + afforded foothold to strange cats that stared abominably with yellow + eyes. Tramps and sweeps walked past the area-railings or looked in + evilly. Horrid gipsies smirked through the window, and pedlars often + tapped. The morning-room was utterly abominable, fit only for the boiled + mutton and caper sauce and suet puddings that loaded its table.</p> + + <p> + The kitchen, although it was next to the morning-room, was a far + pleasanter resort. So far as any ground-floor now could be considered + safe, the kitchen was safe. It looked out upon its own fortified + basement whose perforated iron staircase had a spiked door at the top, + which could be securely shut. The kitchen contained a large number of + objects of natural interest, among which was a shallow cupboard that + included upon an attainable shelf jars of currants, + <a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a> + sultanas, and rice + much more edible in the raw state than cooked. There was the + electric-bell case, recording with mysterious discs a far-off summons. + There was the drawer in the kitchen table that contained, besides knives + and forks, a rolling-pin, a tin-opener, a corkscrew, skewers and, most + exciting of all, a club-shaped cage for whipping eggs. There was also a + deep drawer in the dresser which held many revelations of the private + history of Annie and Cook. Michael could easily have spent days in the + kitchen without exhausting its treasures, and as for Cook, gross though + she was and heavily though she smelt of onions and beer, her tales were + infinitely superior to anything ever known in the way of narration. + </p> + + <p> + Towards the end of June, Mrs. Fane came back. Her arrival was heralded + by the purchase of several pots of marguerites and calceolarias—the + latter to Michael a very objectionable flower because, detecting in it + some resemblance to his dearly loved snapdragons, he pressed open the + mouth of a flower and, finding inside a small insect, had to drop the + whole pot in a shudder. This brought the punishment of not being allowed + to watch from the steps for his mother’s cab rounding the corner into + Carlington Road, and made calceolarias for ever hateful. However, Mrs. + Fane arrived in the richness of a midsummer twilight, and Michael forgot + all about calceolarias in his happiness. All day long for many golden + days he pattered up and down the house and in and out of all the rooms + at his mother’s heels. He held coils of picture-wire and hooks and + hammers and nails and balls of wool and reels of silk and strands of + art-muslin and spiders of cotton-wool and Japanese fans and plumes of + pampas grass and all the petty utilities and beauties of house + arrangement. By the end of July every room was finally arranged, and + Michael and Stella with their mother, accompanied by Nurse and Annie, + went down to the seaside to spend two wonderful months. Michael was + often allowed + <a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a> + to sit up an extra half-hour and even when he went to bed + his mother would come to hear him say his prayers. She would sit by him, + her lovely face flushed by the rose-red August sunsets that floated in + through the open window on a sound of sea-waves. As it grew darker and, + over the noise of happy people walking about in the cool evening, a + distant band played music, his mother would lean over and kiss him good + night. He would be loath to let her go, and just as she was closing the + door quietly he would call her back and whisper ‘One more kiss,’ and + because that good-night kiss was the most enchanting moment in his day, + he would whisper as he held her to him very close, ‘Only one more, but + much, much, much the longest kiss in all the world.’ + </p> + + <p> + They were indeed two very wonderful months. In the morning Michael would + sit beside his mother at breakfast, and for a great treat he would be + given the segment she so cleverly cut off from the tip of her egg. And + for another treat, he would be allowed to turn the finished egg upside + down and present it to her as a second untouched, for which she would be + very grateful and by whose sudden collapse before the tapping of the + spoon, she would be just as tremendously surprized. After the egg would + always come two delicious triangles of toast, each balancing a single + strawberry from the pot of strawberry jam. After breakfast, Michael + would walk round the heap of clinkers in the middle of the parched + seaside garden while his mother read her letters, and very soon they + would set out together to the beach, where in time they would meet Nurse + and Stella with the perambulator and the camp-stools and the bag of + greengages or William-pears. Sand castles were made and boats were + sailed or rather were floated upside down in pools, and just as the + morning was getting too good to last, they would have to go home to + dinner, joining on to the procession of people returning up the cliffs. + Michael would + <a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a> + be armed with a spade, a boat with very wet sails, and + sometimes with a pail full of sea-water and diminutive fish that died + one by one in the course of the afternoon heat. After dinner Mrs. Fane + would lie down for a while, and Michael would lie down for a great treat + beside her and keep breathless and still, watching the shadows of light + made by the bellying of the blind in the breeze. Bluebottles would + drone, and once to his bodeful apprehension a large spider migrated to + another corner of the ceiling. But he managed to restrain himself from + waking his mother. + </p> + + <p>One afternoon Michael was astonished to see on the round table by the + bed the large photograph in a silver frame of a man in knee-breeches + with a sword—a prince evidently by his splendid dress and handsome + face. He speculated during his mother’s sleep upon this portrait, and + the moment Annie had left the cup of tea which she brought in to wake + his mother Michael asked who the man was.</p> + + <p>“A friend of mine,” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“A prince?”</p> + + <p>“No, not a prince.”</p> + + <p>“He looks like a prince,” said Michael sceptically.</p> + + <p>“Does he, darling?”</p> + + <p>“I think he does look like a prince. Is he good?”</p> + + <p>“Very good.”</p> + + <p>“What’s wrote on it?” Michael asked. “Oh, mother, when will I read + writing?”</p> + + <p>“When you’re older.”</p> + + <p>“I wish I was older now. I want to read writing. What’s wrote on it?”</p> + + <p>“Always,” his mother told him.</p> + + <p>“Always?”</p> + + <p>“Yes.”</p> + + <p>“Always what? Always good?”</p> + + <p>“No, just plain ‘always,’” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p> + “What a funny writing. Who wrote it?” + <a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> + </p> + + <p>“The man in the picture.”</p> + + <p>“Why?”</p> + + <p>“To please mother.”</p> + + <p>“Shall I write ‘always’ when I can write?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Of course, darling.”</p> + + <p>“But what is that man for?”</p> + + <p>“He’s an old friend of mother’s.”</p> + + <p>“I like him,” said Michael confidently.</p> + + <p>“Do you, darling?” said his mother, and then suddenly she kissed him.</p> + + <p>That evening when Michael’s prayers were concluded and he was lying very + still in his bed, he waited for his mother’s tale.</p> + + <p>“Once upon a time,” she began, “there was a very large and enormous + forest——”</p> + + <p>“No, don’t tell about a forest,” Michael interrupted. “Tell about that + man in the picture.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane was staring out of the window, and after a moment’s hesitation + she turned round.</p> + + <p> + “Because there + <i>are</i> + fairy-tales without a prince,” said Michael + apologetically. + </p> + + <p>“Well, once upon a time,” said his mother, “there lived in an old old + country house three sisters whose mother had died when they were quite + small.”</p> + + <p>“Why did she die?”</p> + + <p>“She was ill.”</p> + + <p>Michael sighed sympathetically.</p> + + <p>“These three sisters,” his mother went on, “lived with their father, an + old clergyman.”</p> + + <p>“Was he kind to them?”</p> + + <p> + “According to his own ideas he was very kind. But the youngest sister + always wanted to have her own way and one day when she was feeling very + cross because her father had told her she was to go and stay with an + aunt, who should come riding along a lane but——” + <a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a> + </p> + + <p>“That man,” interrupted Michael, greatly excited.</p> + + <p>“A rider on horseback. And he said good morning, and she said good + morning, though she had no business to.”</p> + + <p>“Why hadn’t she?”</p> + + <p>“Because it isn’t right for girls to speak to riders on horseback + without being introduced. But the rider was very handsome and brave and + after that they met very often, and then one day he said, ‘Won’t you + ride away with me?’ and she rode away with him and never saw her father + or her sisters or the old house any more.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane had turned her face to the sunset again.</p> + + <p>“Is that all?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“That’s all.”</p> + + <p>“Was they happy ever afterwards?”</p> + + <p>“Very happy—too happy.”</p> + + <p>“Are they happy now?”</p> + + <p>“Very happy—too happy.”</p> + + <p>“Did they live in a castle?”</p> + + <p>“Sometimes, and sometimes they lived in a beautiful ship and went + sailing away to the most beautiful cities in the world.”</p> + + <p>“Can’t Michael go with you?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Darling boy, it’s a fairy-tale.”</p> + + <p>“Is it?” he said doubtfully.</p> + + <p> + The two wonderful months were over. One long day of packing up was the + end of them, and when they got back to London there was more packing up, + after a few days of which Mrs. Fane took Michael in her arms and kissed + him good-bye and told him to be very good. Michael tried not to cry; but + the tears were forced out by a huge lump in his throat when he saw a cab + at the door, pointing the other way from London. He could not bear the + heaped-up luggage and Nurse’s promises of sitting up late that evening + for a great treat. He did not want to sit up late, and when his mother + whispered there was a surprize for him in the + <a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a> + drawing-room, he did not + care at all for a surprize. But nothing could make the minutes stay + still. He was allowed to watch the cab going down the road, but he had + no heart to wave his handkerchief in farewell, and when presently he + went back with Nurse into the thin red house and was triumphantly led + into the drawing-room, he was not raised to any particular happiness by + the lancer’s uniform, displayed on a large square of cardboard. He + suffered himself to be dressed up and to have the scarlet breast-plate + strapped around him and the plumed helmet to be pushed over his nose and + the sabre-tache to be entangled with his legs; but there was no spirit + of hope and adventure flaming in his breast—only an empty feeling and a + desire to look out of the night-nursery window at the trains going by + with happy people inside. + <a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_II_Bittersweet" id="Chapter_II_Bittersweet"></a> + Chapter II: + <i>Bittersweet</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">H</span> + IS mother’s absence made very sad for Michael the tall thin house in + Carlington Road. He felt enclosed in the restraint from which his mother + had flown like a bird. Time stretched before him in unimaginable + reckonings. It was now the beginning of autumn, and the leaves of the + lime trees, falling to lie stained and unlovely in sodden basements, + moved Michael with a sense of the long winter before him, with the + unending black nights and the dark wet dawns. From the window of the + night-nursery he recognized for the first time the beauty of the + unsymmetrical plane tree that now, when the poplars were mere swishing + bundles of twigs, still defied the October winds with wide green leaves. + Soon, however, by a damp frost the plane tree was conquered, and its + blobs jigged to November gusts. Fogs began, and the morning-room was + always gaslit, even for dinner at one o’clock. Stella was peevish, and + games became impossible. The two black kittens were an entertainment and + took part with Michael in numberless dramas of revenge and punishment, + of remorse and exaggerated cherishing. These histrionic pastimes became + infused with a terrible reality, when one day the favourite kitten + jumped from Michael’s arms over the banisters and fell on to the tiled + floor of the hall, hurting herself internally so that she had to be + poisoned. He stood by her grave in the blackened mould of the garden, + and wished poignantly that he had never spoken harshly to her, had never + banished her to a waste-paper basket prison for the length of a long + foggy afternoon. + <a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a> + </p> + + <p>Christmas arrived with more uniforms, with a fishmonger’s shop and a + mechanical mackerel which when wound up would click in finny progress + from one end of the bath to the other and back. It was wound up every + Sunday afternoon for a treat, and was afterwards replaced in a high + corner-cupboard that always attracted Michael’s extreme curiosity and + was the object of many vows to solve its secret, when he grew bigger. + All these presents came from his mother together with half a dozen + books. He received no other presents except from the household. Nurse + gave him a china house, romantic when illuminated by a night-light; + Annie shyly placed before him a crystal globe that when shaken gave a + wonderful reproduction of a snow-storm falling upon a weather-worn tin + figure with a green face, blue legs and an unpainted coat. Mrs. Frith + the cook gave him a box of tops, none of which he or she or anyone else + could spin. In addition to these presents Santa Claus allowed him on a + still December night an orange, an apple, a monkey on a stick, five nuts + (three of them bad) and a selection of angular sweets. As Michael with + foresight had hung up two of Nurse’s stockings as well as his own socks, + he felt slightly resentful towards Santa Claus for the meagre response.</p> + + <p>Christmas passed away in a week of extravagant rain, and a visit was + paid to the pantomime of Valentine and Orson at the Surrey Theatre that + reduced Michael to a state of collapse owing to the fight between the + two protagonists, in which Orson’s fingers were lacerated by the + glittering sword of Valentine. Nurse vainly assured him the blood was so + much red paint. He howled the louder and dreamed ghastly dreams for a + month afterwards.</p> + + <p> + About this time Michael read many books in a strange assortment. Nurse + had a collection of about a dozen in her trunk from which Michael was + allowed to read three to himself. These were The Lamplighter, The + Arabian + <a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> + Nights in a small paper-bound volume of diminutive print, and a + Tale of the Black Rising in Jamaica which included an earthquake. In The + Arabian Nights he read over and over again the stories of Aladdin, The + Forty Thieves and Sinbad, owing to their familiarity through earlier + narratives. On Sunday afternoons Nurse always read aloud from + Baring-Gould’s Lives of the Saints and Mrs. Gatti’s Parables from + Nature, and told the story of Father Machonochie’s death in Argyll and + of his faithful Skye terriers, whose portraits she piously possessed in + Oxford frames. Michael’s own books included at this period several + zoological works, the Swiss Family Robinson, Holiday House, + Struwwelpeter, Daddy Darwin’s Dovecote, Jackanapes, The Battles of the + British Army and an abbreviated version of Robinson Crusoe. + </p> + + <p> + The winter and cold wet spring dragged by. Day by day life varied very + little. In the morning after breakfast, if it was fairly fine, a visit + would be paid to Kensington Gardens, a dull business; for the Round Pond + was not visited, and indeed the Gardens were only penetrated as far as + the Palace, with occasional promenades along the flower-walk for a + treat. Treats were important factors in Michael’s life. Apparently + anything even mildly pleasant came under the category of treats. It was + a treat to walk on the grass in the Gardens; it was a treat to help to + push Stella’s perambulator; it was a treat to have the sponge floating + beside him in the bath, to hum, to laugh, to read, to stay up one minute + after half-past six, to accompany Nurse on her marketing, and most of + all to roll the slabs of unbaked dough down in the kitchen. The great + principle of a treat was its rarity. As anything that had to be asked + for became a treat automatically and as the mere fact of asking was made + a reason for refusing to grant a treat, the sacred infrequency of the + treat was secured. The result of this was that the visit to Kensington + Gardens instead of + <a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> + being the jolly business it seemed to be for other + children, became a tantalizing glimpse of an unattainable paradise. + Michael would stand enraptured by the March winds, every impulse bidding + him run and run eternally through the blowy spring weather; yet if he so + much as climbed the lowest rung of the scaly part-railings, if he + dallied one moment to watch a kite launched on the air, Nanny would haul + him back to the perambulator’s side. As for talking to other children, + not even could the magic treat effect that. If Nurse was to be believed, + conversation with strange children was the lowest depth to which human + nature could sink. The enforced solitariness of his life bred in Michael + a habit of contemplation. Much of his morning walk was passed in a + dream, in which he seemed to be standing still while the world of houses + and trees and railings and people swam by him unheeded. This method of + existence led to several unpleasant shocks, as when he walked into a + lamp-post and bruised his nose. Nanny used to jeer at him, calling him + Little Johnny Head-in-air; but Michael was so much used to her + derogatory opinions that he cared very little and made no attempt to + cure himself of the habit, but even encouraged himself to put himself + into these nihilistic trances. + </p> + + <p> + It was probably owing to this habit that one morning Michael, looking + round in Kensington Gardens, could discern no familiar figure. He was by + himself in the middle of a broad gravel walk. Nurse and the perambulator + had vanished. For a moment a sickening horror seized him. He would never + see Carlington Road again; he would never see Stella or his mother; he + would never go to the seaside; he was lost. Then he recalled to himself + the knowledge of his name and address: he reassured himself by repeating + both aloud, Charles Michael Saxby Fane, 64 Carlington Road, Kensington. + A name and address he had often been warned was a talisman to enlist + <a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> + + the service of policemen. His heart beat more gently again; his + breathing became normal. He looked around him at the world seen for the + first time with freedom’s eyes. With waves of scent the beds of + hyacinths impressed themselves upon his memory. He was free under a + great gusty sky, free to climb railings, to pick up shells from the + gravel walk, to lie on his back in the grass and brood upon the huge + elm-trees that caught the clouds in their net. Michael wandered along to + a drinking-fountain to which, access had often been forbidden. He drank + four cups of water from the captive metal mug: he eyed curiously the + many children who, as free as himself, ran up and down the steps of the + fountain. He wished for barley-sugar that he might offer it to them and + earn their approbation and company. He was particularly attracted to one + group consisting of three funny little girls with splashed pinafores and + holes in their stockings, and of two little boys with holes in their + knickerbockers and half-peeled sticks. The group moved away from the + fountain and Michael followed at a distance. The group turned + somersaults over the highest railings and Michael watched it hungrily. + The group strolled on, the girls nonchalant and enlaced, the boys still + peeling their sticks with perseverance. Michael squeezed through the + railings, and followed in the group’s wake. The two boys finished + peeling their sticks and pushed over in a heap the three little girls. + There was laughter and shouting, and a confusion of pinafores and black + stockings and hair and caps. Michael stood close to them, wide-eyed with + admiration. Suddenly the group realized his propinquity and flocked + together critically to eye him, Michael became self-conscious and turned + away; he heard giggling and spluttering. He blushed with shame and began + to run. In a moment he fell over a turret of grass and the group jeered + openly. He picked himself up and fled towards the gate of the Gardens, + anxious only to escape + <a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> + ridicule. He ran on with beating heart, with + quickening breath and sobs that rose in his throat one after another + like bubbles, breaking because he ran so fast. He was in Kensington High + Street, among the thickening crowds of people. He seemed to hear + pursuing shouts and mocking laughter. At last he saw a policeman whose + tunic he clutched desperately. + </p> + + <p>“What’s all this about?” demanded the constable.</p> + + <p>“Please, my name is Charles Michael Saxby Fane and I live at 64 + Carlington Road and I want to go home.”</p> + + <p>Michael burst into tears and the policeman bent over and led him by a + convulsed hand to the police station. There he was seated in a wooden + chair, while various policemen in various states of undress came and + talked kindly to him, and in the end, riding on the shoulder of his + original rescuer, he arrived at the tall thin house from whose windows + Nurse was peering, anxious and monkey-like.</p> + + <p>There seemed to be endless talk about his adventure. All day the affair + was discussed, all day he was questioned and worried and scolded and + threatened. Treats faded from possible granting for months to come. + Restrictions and repressions assumed gigantic proportions, and it was + not until Nanny went upstairs to put Stella to bed and left Michael in + the kitchen with Mrs. Frith and Annie that his adventure came to seem a + less terrible breach of natural law. Away from Nurse, the cook and the + housemaid allowed a splendid laxity to gild their point of view.</p> + + <p> + “Well, what a fuss about nothing,” said Mrs. Frith comfortably. “I + declare. And what was + <i>she</i> + doing? That’s what some people would like to + know. You can’t lose a child the same as you might lay down a thimble. I + call it very careless.” + </p> + + <p>“Yes. What a shame!” Annie agreed. “Supposing he’d of been run over.”</p> + + <p> + “He might of been run over a dozen times,” said Mrs + <a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> + Frith. “It’s all + very fine to put all the blame on the poor child, but what was + <i>she</i> + + doing?” + </p> + + <p>Then Mrs. Frith closed her right eye, tightened her mouth and very + slowly nodded her head until the most of her pleated chin was buried in + the bib of her apron.</p> + + <p>“That’s what I thought,” said Annie mysteriously.</p> + + <p>“What did you think, Annie?” Michael asked fretfully.</p> + + <p> + “She thought you hadn’t no business to be so daring,” said Mrs Frith. + “But there! Well! And I was daring myself. Very daring + <i>I</i> + was. Out and + about. Hollering after boys. The slappings I’ve had. But I enjoyed + myself. And if I sat down a bit tender, that’s better than a sore heart, + I used to think.” + </p> + + <p>“I expect you enjoyed yourself,” said Annie. “I was one of the quiet + ones, I was. Any little trip, and I was sick.”</p> + + <p>“Couldn’t bear the motion, I suppose?” Cook enquired.</p> + + <p>“Oh, it wasn’t the travelling as did it. It was the excitement. I was + dreadfully sick in the crypt of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”</p> + + <p>“What a grand place it is, though,” said Mrs. Frith, nodding. “Oh, + beautiful. So solemn. I’ve sat there with my late husband, eating nuts + as peaceful as if we was in a real church. Beautiful. And that + whispering gallery! The things you hear. Oh—well. I like a bit of fun, + I do. I remember——”</p> + + <p>Then Nurse came downstairs, and Michael was taken up to bed away from + what he knew would be an enthralling conversation between Annie and + Cook. It was hateful to be compelled to march up all those stairs + farther and farther away from the cheerful voices in the basement.</p> + + <p> + August arrived without bringing Michael’s mother, and he did not care + for the days by the sea without her. Stella, to be sure, was beginning + to show signs of one day being an intelligent companion, but Nurse under + the influence of + <a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> + heat grew more repressive than ever, and the whole + seaside ached with his mother’s absence. Michael was not allowed to + speak to strange children and was still dependent on rare treats to + illuminate his dulness. The landlady’s husband, Mr. Wagland, played the + harmonium and made jokes with Nurse, while Mrs. Wagland sang hymns and + whispered with Nurse. A gleam of variety came into Michael’s life when + Mr. Wagland told him he could catch birds by putting salt on their + tails, and for many afternoons, always with a little foolscap of salt, + Michael walked about the sunburnt-grass patch in front of the house, + waiting for sparrows to perch and vainly flinging pinches of salt in the + direction of their tails. + </p> + + <p> + Church was more exciting by the seaside than at home, where every Sunday + morning during the long sermon Michael subsided slowly from a wooden + bench in the gallery on to a disembowelled hassock, or languished + through the Litany with a taste of varnish in his mouth caused by an + attempt to support his endurance by licking the back of the pew in + front. Nurse told him of wonderful churches with music and incense and + candles and scarlet and lace, but, for some reason of inexplicable + contrariness, she took Michael to an old Calvinistic church with a + fire-breathing vicar, a sniffling vicar’s wife and a curate who + sometimes clasped Michael’s head with a damp hand that always felt as if + it were still there when it had long been removed, like a cold linseed + poultice. Now at the seaside, Michael went to a beautiful church and was + so much excited by the various events that he pressed forward, peering + on tiptoe. Luckily the two ladies in front of him were so devout and + bobbed up and down so often that he was able to see most of what was + happening. How he longed to be the little boy in scarlet who carried a + sort of silver sauce-boat and helped to spoon what looked like brown + sugar into the censer. Once during a procession, Michael stepped out + <a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> + + into the aisle and tried to see what actually was carried in the boat. + But the boat-boy put out his tongue very quickly, as he walked piously + by, and glared at Michael very haughtily, being about the same size. + </p> + + <p> + After submitting without pleasure to a farewell kiss from Mrs. Wagland, + and after enduring much shame on account of Stella’s behaviour in the + crowded railway carriage, Michael came back to Carlington Road. During + the space between arrival and bed-time he was gently happy in welcoming + his toys and books, in marvelling at the quick growth of the black + kitten and in a brief conversation with Mrs. Frith and Annie; but on the + next morning which was wet with a wetness that offered no prospect of + ever being dry, he was depressed by the thought of the long time before + Christmas, by the foreboding of yellow days of fog and the fact that + to-morrow was Sunday. He had been told to sit in the dining-room in + order to be out of the way during the unpacking and, because he had been + slow in choosing which book should accompany him, he had been called Mr. + Particular and compelled to take the one book of all others that he now + felt was most impossible even to open. So Michael sat in the bay-window + and stared at the rainy street. How it rained, not ferociously as in a + summer storm, when the surface of the road was blurred with raindrops + and the water poured along the gutters, carrying twigs and paper and + orange-peel towards the drain, and when there almost seemed a chance of + a second flood, an event Michael did not fear, having made up his mind + to float on an omnibus to the top of the Albert Hall which had once + impressed him with its perfect security. Now it was raining with the + dreary mediocrity of winter, dripping from the balcony above on to the + sill below, trickling down the window-panes, lying in heavy puddles + about the road, a long monotonous grey soak. He sighed as he looked out + of the window at the piece of waste ground opposite, that was bordered + <a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> + + in front by a tumble-down fence and surrounded on the three other sides + by the backs of grey houses. A poor old woman was picking groundsel with + a melancholy persistence, and the torn umbrella which wavered above her + bent form made her look like a scarecrow. Presently round the corner a + boy appeared walking very jauntily. He had neither coat nor waistcoat + nor shoes nor stockings, his shirt was open in front, and a large piece + of it stuck out behind through his breeches; but he did not seem to + mind either the rain or his tattered clothes. He whistled as he walked + along, with one hand stuck in his braces and with the other banging the + wooden fence. He went by with tousled hair and dirty face, a glorious + figure of freedom in the rain, Michael envied him passionately, this + untrammelled fence-banging whistling spirit; and for a long time this + boy walked before Michael’s aspirations, leading them to his own merry + tune. Michael would often think of this boy and wonder what he was doing + and saying. He made up his mind in the beeswaxed dining-room that it was + better to be a raggle-taggle wanderer than anything else. He watched the + boy disappear round the farther corner, and wished that he could + disappear in such company round corner after corner of the world beyond + the grey house-backs. + </p> + + <p> + The climax of this wet morning’s despair was reached when a + chimney-sweep came into sight, whooping and halloaing nearer and nearer. + Of the many itinerant terrors that haunted polite roads, Michael dreaded + sweeps most of all. So he hastily climbed down from the chair in the + window and sat under the dining-room table until the sound had passed, + shivering with apprehension lest it should stop by Number Sixty-four. It + went by, however, without pausing, and Michael breathed more freely, but + just as he was cautiously emerging from the table, there was an extra + loud postman’s knock which drove him back in a panic, + <a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> + so that when + Nurse came fussing in to fetch him to wash his hands for dinner, he had + to invent a plausible excuse for such a refuge. As he could not find + one, he was told that for a punishment he could not be allowed to hear + the message his mother had written at the end of what was evidently a + very important letter, to judge by the many tut-tuts the reading of it + provoked Nurse to click. + </p> + + <p>However, under the influence of tea Nanny softened, and the message was + read just as the rain stopped and the sun glittered through the + day-nursery window right across the room in a wide golden bar.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + <i>Como.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Darling Michael</i> + , + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>You are to go to kindergarten which you will enjoy. You will only + go for the mornings and you will have to learn all sorts of jolly + things—music and painting and writing. Then you’ll be able to + write to Mother. I’m sure you’ll be good and work hard, so that + when Mother comes home at Christmas, you’ll be able to show her + what a clever boy she has. You would like to be in this beautiful + place. As I write I can see such lovely hills and fields and lakes + and mountains. I hope darling Stella is learning to say all sorts + of interesting things. I can’t find any nice present to send you + from here, so I’ve told Nanny that you and she can go and buy two + canaries, one for you and one for Stella—a boy canary and a girl + canary. Won’t that be fun? Love and kisses from</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Mother</i> + . + </p> + </div> + + <p>Michael sat in a dream when the letter was finished. It had raised so + many subjects for discussion and was so wonderful that he could scarcely + speak.</p> + + <p>“Will mother really come home at Christmas?” he asked.</p> + + <p> + “You heard what I said.” + <a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Christmas!” he sighed happily.</p> + + <p>“Aren’t you glad to go to school?” Nurse wanted to know.</p> + + <p>“Yes, but I’d like Christmas to come,” he said.</p> + + <p>“Was there ever in this world anyone so hard to please?” Nurse + apostrophized.</p> + + <p>“When will we go to get these canaries, Nanny?”</p> + + <p>“Plenty of time. Plenty of time.”</p> + + <p>“Soon, will we?”</p> + + <p>“One more question and there’ll be no canaries at all,” said Nurse.</p> + + <p> + However, the sun shone so brightly, and the prospect of a visit to + Hammersmith Broadway on a Saturday afternoon appealed so strongly to + Nurse that she put on her bonnet and trotted off with Michael up + Carlington Road, and stopped a red omnibus, and fussed her way into it, + and held the tickets in her mouth while she put away her purse, and told + Michael not to fidget with his legs and not to look round behind him at + what was passing on that side of the road, until at last they arrived. + The canary-shop was found, and two canaries and a bird-cage were bought, + together with packets of seed and a bird’s bath and a pennyworth of + groundsel and plantains. Nurse told Michael to wait in the shop while + the birds were being prepared for travelling, and while she herself went + to the chemist to buy a remedy for the neuralgia which she prophesied + was imminent. Michael talked to the canary-man and asked a lot of + questions which the canary-man seemed very glad to answer; and finally + Nurse, looking much better, came back from the chemist with a large + bottle wrapped up in a newspaper. In the omnibus, going home, Michael + never took his eyes from the cage, anxious to see how the birds bore the + jolting. Sometimes they said ‘sweet,’ and then Michael would say + ‘sweet,’ and a pleasant old lady opposite would say ‘sweet,’ and soon + all the people inside the omnibus + <a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> + were saying ‘sweet,’ except Nurse, + who was chewing her veil and making the most extraordinary faces. + </p> + + <p>It was very exciting to stand on tiptoe in the kitchen while Mrs. Frith + cut the string and displayed the canaries in all the splendour of their + cage.</p> + + <p>“Beautiful things,” said Mrs. Frith. “I’m that fond of birds.”</p> + + <p>“Don’t they hop!” said Annie. “Not a bit frightened they don’t seem, do + they?”</p> + + <p>“What are their names?” Mrs. Frith enquired.</p> + + <p>Michael thought for a long time.</p> + + <p> + “What + <i>are</i> + their names, Mrs. Frith?” he asked at last. + </p> + + <p>“That’s your business,” said Cook.</p> + + <p>“Why is it?” Michael wanted to know.</p> + + <p>“Because they’re your birds, stupid.”</p> + + <p>“One’s Stella’s.”</p> + + <p>“Well, Stella isn’t old enough to choose for herself. Come along, what + are you going to call them?”</p> + + <p>“You call them,” said Michael persuasively.</p> + + <p>“Well, if they was mine I should call them——” Cook paused.</p> + + <p>“What would you?” said Michael, more persuasively than ever.</p> + + <p>“I’m blessed if I know. There, Annie, what does anyone call a canary?”</p> + + <p>“Don’t ask me, I’m sure. No,” simpered Annie.</p> + + <p>“I shouldn’t call them nothing, I shouldn’t,” Mrs. Frith finally + decided. “It isn’t like dogs.”</p> + + <p>“What’s the matter?” said Nurse, bustling into the kitchen. “Has one got + out? Has one got out?”</p> + + <p>“I was telling Master Michael here,” said Cook, “as how I shouldn’t call + neither of them nothing. Not if I was he.”</p> + + <p> + “Call what? Call what?” Nurse asked quickly. + <a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a> + </p> + + <p>“His new dicky-birds.”</p> + + <p>“Must have names. Yes. Yes. Must have names. Dick and Tom. Dick and + Tom.”</p> + + <p>“But one’s a girl,” Michael objected.</p> + + <p>“Can’t be changed now. Must be Dick and Tom,” Nurse settled, blowing + rapidly as usual.</p> + + <p>The decision worried Michael considerably, but as they both turned out + to be hens and laid twenty-three eggs between them next spring, it + ceased to bother him any more.</p> + + <p>The Miss Marrows’ School and Kindergarten, kept by Miss Marrow and Miss + Caroline Marrow assisted by Miss Hewitt and Miss Hunt, struck Michael as + a very solemn establishment indeed. Although its outward appearance was + merely that of an ordinary house somewhat larger than others on account + of its situation at the corner of Fairfax Terrace, it contained inside a + variety of scholastic furniture that was bound to impress the novice.</p> + + <p>At twenty minutes past nine on the first day of the autumn term, Nurse + and Michael stood before a brass plate inscribed</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="plate" class="smcap" style="border:1px solid black;padding:2%;"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + The Misses Marrow + <br/> + + School and Kindergarten + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p class="nind"> + while a bell still jangled with the news of their arrival. They were + immediately shown into a very small and very stuffy room on the right of + the front door—a gloomy little room, because blinds of coloured beads + shut out the unscholastic world. This room was uncomfortably crowded + with little girls taking off goloshes and unlacing long brown boots, + with little boys squabbling over their indoor shoes, with little girls + chatting and giggling and pushing and bumping, + <a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> + with little boys + shouting and quarrelling and kicking and pulling. A huddled and heated + knot of nurses and nursemaids tried to help their charges, while every + minute more little boys and more little girls and more bigger girls + pushed their way in and made the confusion worse. In the middle of the + uproar Miss Marrow herself entered and the noise was instantly lulled. + </p> + + <p> + “The new boys will wait in here and the new girls will + <i>quietly</i> + follow + Helen Hungerford down the passage to Miss Caroline’s room. Nurses need + not wait any longer.” + </p> + + <p>Then a bell vibrated shrilly. There was a general scamper as the nurses + and the nursemaids and the old boys and the old girls hurried from the + room, leaving Michael and two other boys, both about two years older + than himself, to survey each other with suspicion. The other boys + finding Michael beneath the dignity of their notice spoke to each other, + or rather the larger of the two, a long-bodied boy with a big head and + vacant mouth, said to the other, a fidgety boy with a pink face, a + frog-like smile and very tight knickerbockers:</p> + + <p>“I say, what’s your name?”</p> + + <p>The pink-faced boy gulped “Edward Ernest Arnott.”</p> + + <p>“What is it then?” asked the long-bodied boy.</p> + + <p>“Arnott is my surname. Edward and Ernest,” he gulped again, “are my + Christian names.”</p> + + <p>“Mine’s Vernon Brown. I say, what’s your father?”</p> + + <p>“A solicitor,” said Edward. “What’s yours?”</p> + + <p>“A cricket—I mean a critic,” said Vernon.</p> + + <p>“What’s that?”</p> + + <p>This seemed to upset the long-bodied boy, who replied:</p> + + <p>“Coo! Don’t you know what a cricket is? I mean critic. You must be a + kid.”</p> + + <p> + Michael thought this was the most extraordinary conversation he had ever + heard. Not even Mrs. Frith and Annie could be so incomprehensible. + <a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I don’t believe you know yourself,” said the pink-faced boy, deepening + to crimson.</p> + + <p>“Don’t I? I bet I do.”</p> + + <p>“I bet you don’t.”</p> + + <p>“I know better than you anyway.”</p> + + <p>“So do I than you.”</p> + + <p>Michael would have found a conversation between two fox-terriers more + intelligible. It ended abruptly, however, with the entrance of Miss + Marrow, who waved them all to follow her to the severity of her own + room. Edward Arnott and Vernon Brown were despatched upstairs to take + their places in the class above the Kindergarten for which Michael was + destined and whither he followed Miss Marrow, wondering at the size and + ugliness of her. Miss Marrow’s base was a black bell, on which was set a + black cushion, above which was Miss Marrow’s round beetroot-coloured + face. Miss Caroline was like a green curtain through the folds of which + seemed to have burst a red face like her sister’s but thinner. Miss + Caroline was pleasanter than Miss Marrow and never shouted, perhaps + because she was never without a cold in the head.</p> + + <p> + Michael was handed over to the care of Miss Hewitt, the Kindergarten + mistress, who was very kind and very jolly. Michael enjoyed the + Kindergarten. There he learned to write pothooks and hangers and very + soon to write proper letters. He learned to sew alternate red and blue + lines of wool upon a piece of cardboard. He learned to weave bookmarkers + with shining slips of chocolate and yellow paper, and to pleat chequered + mats of the same material: these, when term was over, appeared at the + prize-giving, beautifully enhanced with paper frills cut by the clever + Miss Hewitt. He learned to paint texts and to keep his pencil-box tidy + and to play the treble of a very unmelodious duet with Miss Hunt, in + whose bony fingers his own fingers would from time to time get + entangled. He tried + <a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> + the treble without the bass accompaniment at home + on Stella, but she cried and seemed as Annie, who was in charge, said + ‘to regular shudder.’ Altogether Kindergarten was a pleasure to Michael, + and he found the days went by more quickly, though still far too slowly. + </p> + + <p>About a week before Christmas his mother came back, and Michael was + happy. All the rooms that were only used when she was at home changed + from bare beeswaxed deserts to places of perfect comfort, so rosy were + the lamp-shades, so sweet was the smell of flowers and so soft and + lovely were his mother’s scattered belongings. Christmas Day brought + presents—a box of stone bricks, a rocking-horse, a doll’s house for + Stella, boxes of soldiers, a wooden battleship, and books—Hans Andersen + and Grimm and the Old French Fairy-tales. As for the stockings that + year, it was amazing how much managed to get into one stocking and how + deliciously heavy it felt, as it was unhooked from the end of the cot + and plumped down upon the bed in the gaslight of Christmas morning. + There was only one sadness that hung over the festivities—the thought + that his mother would be going away in two days. Boxing Day arrived and + there were ominous open trunks and the scattered contents of drawers. + To-morrow she was going. It was dreadful to think of. Michael was + allowed the bitter joy of helping his mother to pack, and as he stood + seriously holding various articles preparatory to their entombment, he + talked of the summer and heard promises that mother would spend a long + long time with Michael.</p> + + <p>“Mother,” he said suddenly, “what is my father?”</p> + + <p>“What makes you ask that?”</p> + + <p>“The boys at Miss Marrow’s all ask me that. Have I got a father? Must + boys have fathers? Oh, mother, do tell me,” pleaded Michael.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane seemed worried by this question.</p> + + <p> + “Your father was a gentleman,” she said at last. + <a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> + </p> + + <p>“What is a gentleman?”</p> + + <p>“A good man, always thoughtful and considerate to others.”</p> + + <p>“Was that man in the photograph my father?”</p> + + <p>“What photograph?” Mrs. Fane parried.</p> + + <p>“By your bed at the seaside?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t remember,” she said, “Anyway, your father’s dead.”</p> + + <p>“Is he? Poor man!” said sympathetic Michael.</p> + + <p>“And now run to Nanny and ask her if she remembers where mother put her + large muff.”</p> + + <p>“Nanny,” said Michael, when he had received Nurse’s information, “why + did my father die?”</p> + + <p>“Die? Die? What questions. Tut-tut! Whatever next?” And Nurse blew very + violently to show how deeply she disapproved of Michael’s + inquisitiveness.</p> + + <p>That evening, just when Michael was going to bed, there came a knock at + the door, and a tall fair man was shown into the drawing-room.</p> + + <p>“How d’ye do, Mrs. Fane? I’ve come to ask you if you’ll go to the + theatre to-night. Saxby is coming on later.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Prescott, but I really think I must stay + in. You see,” she said smilingly, “it’s Michael’s last night of me for a + long time.”</p> + + <p>Michael stood gazing at Mr. Prescott, hating him with all his might and + sighing relief at his mother’s refusal to go out.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Michael won’t mind; will you, Michael?”</p> + + <p>Nurse came in saying ‘Bed-time! Tut-tut-tut! Bed-time!’ and Michael’s + heart sank.</p> + + <p>“There you are,” said Mr. Prescott. “Here’s Nurse to say it’s bed-time. + Now do come, Mrs. Fane.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I really think I ought to stay.”</p> + + <p> + “Now what nonsense. Saxby will be furiously disappointed. + <a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a> + You must. + Come along, Michael, be a brave chap and tell your mother she’s got to + go out; and here’s something to square our account.” + </p> + + <p>He pressed a little gold coin into Michael’s unwilling hand.</p> + + <p>“Would you mind very much, if I went?” his mother asked.</p> + + <p>“No,” said Michael tonelessly. The room was swimming round him in + sickening waves of disappointment.</p> + + <p>“Of course he won’t,” decided Mr. Prescott boisterously.</p> + + <p>While he was being undressed, Nurse asked what he was holding. Michael + showed the half-sovereign.</p> + + <p>“Spoiling children,” muttered Nanny. “That’s for your money-box.”</p> + + <p>Michael did not care what it was for. He was listening for his mother’s + step. She came in, while he lay round-eyed in his cot, and leaned over + to kiss him. He held her to him passionately; then he buried his face in + the bedclothes and, while she rustled away from him, sobbed soundlessly + for a long while.</p> + + <p> + In the morning he watched her go away until the warm summer-time and + felt abandoned as he walked through the wintry rooms, where lately he + and his mother had sat by the fire. As for the ten-shilling piece, he + thought no more about it. Soon afterwards he fell ill with + whooping-cough, he and Stella together, and the days dragged unendurably + in the stuffy nursery away from school. + <a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_III_Fears_and_Fantasies" id="Chapter_III_Fears_and_Fantasies"></a> + Chapter III: + <i>Fears and Fantasies</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">D</span> + URING whooping-cough Michael was sometimes allowed to sit in a room + called the library, which was next to his mother’s bedroom on the first + floor and was therefore a dearly loved resort. Here he discovered the + large volume of Don Quixote illustrated by Doré that influenced his + whole life. He would pore over this work for hours, forgetting + everything under a spell of chivalry. He read the tale seriously and + thought it the saddest tale ever known. He wept over the knight’s + adventures, and big teardrops would spatter the page. He had not yet + encountered much more than mild teazing at the Kindergarten, that with + the unreasonableness of Nurse and his mother’s absence made up the sum + of the incomprehensible crosses which he had to bear. But even these + were enough to make him sympathize with Don Quixote. He perceived that + here was a man intent upon something—he could not understand exactly + what—thwarted always by other people, thwarted and jeered at and even + physically maltreated. Yet he was a man whose room was full of dragons + and fairies, whose counterpane was the adventurous field of little + knights-at-arms, whose curtains were ruffled by dwarfs, whose cupboards + held enchanters. Michael loved the tall thin knight and envied Sancho + Panza. + </p> + + <p> + When whooping-cough was over, and Michael went back to Kindergarten, + Nurse decided that he should sleep by himself in the room next to the + night-nursery. She never explained to Michael her reasons for this step, + and he supposed + <a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> + it to be because lately he had always woken up when she + came to bed. This was not his fault, because Nurse always bumped into + his cot as she came, into the room, shaking it so violently that no one + could have stayed asleep. She used to look at him in a funny way with + angry staring eyes, and when he sometimes spoke she would blow + cheese-scented breath at him and turn away and bump into the washstand. + </p> + + <p>Everything in this new room was by Michael anticipated with dread. He + would go to bed at half-past six: he would settle down in the wide white + bed that stretched a long way on either side of him: the gas would be + turned down: the door would be left ajar: Nurse’s footsteps would + gradually die away and he would be left alone.</p> + + <p> + The night was divided into two portions of equal horror. First of all he + had to concentrate on closing his mouth when asleep, because Annie had + told him a tale about a woman who slept with her mouth open, the result + of which bad habit was that one night a mouse ran down it and choked + her. Then he had to explore cautiously with his feet the ice-cold end of + the bed, in case he should touch a nest of mice—another likely + occurrence vouched for by Annie. Then outside, various sounds would + frighten him. A dog would howl in the distance: cats would spit and + wail, making Michael wonder whether they were coming through his window + to claw his face. Presently, far up the street, newsboys would cry + hoarsely the details of a murder or suicide. As they passed beneath his + bedroom window their voices would swell to a paralyzing roar, and as the + voices died away round the corner, Michael would be left shaking with + fear. Once he was so frightened by a succession of these murder-shouts + that he got out of bed and crept forth on to the landing, whence he + peered down between the banisters into the quiet red light burning in + the hall far below. While he was leaning over, a door banged suddenly + <a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a> + + on the top floor, and Michael fled barefooted down the stairs, until he + reached the cold tiles of the front hall. Should he dare to descend + still lower and disturb Nurse at her supper in the kitchen? Or were they + all lying there, Cook and Annie and Nurse, with their throats cut? The + door leading to the basement stairs was open, and he stole down over the + oilcloth, past the yawning cellar, past the laundry-basket in the + passage, past the cupboard under the stairs, to listen by the kitchen + door. There was a murmur of voices, familiar yet unfamiliar: the kitchen + door was ajar and he peered round stealthily. There was Nurse with a + very red face in a heap on a chair, shaking her forefinger at Mrs. + Frith, who with an equally red face was talking very indistinctly to + Nurse; while between them, bolt upright and very pale, sat Annie + nervously shaving from the cheese very thin segments which she ate from + the knife’s edge. They seemed to Michael, as he watched them, like + people in a nightmare, so unreal and horrible were they: they frightened + him more than ever, sitting there nodding at each other in the kitchen + where the blackbeetles ran slyly in and out beneath the fender. Suddenly + Annie saw Michael and waved him back; he turned at her gesture and + withdrew from sight. While he stood shivering in the dark passage, Annie + came out and, picking him up, carried him out of hearing. + </p> + + <p>“Whatever made you come downstairs?” she panted on the first-floor + landing.</p> + + <p>“I was frightened.”</p> + + <p> + “You frightened + <i>me</i> + .” + </p> + + <p>“Who are they murdering?”</p> + + <p>“You’ve been having a bad dream,” said Annie.</p> + + <p>She led him upstairs again to his room and tucked him up, and at his + earnest request turned the gas a trifle higher.</p> + + <p> + “Why did Nanny and Mrs. Frith look like that?” he asked. + <a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a> + </p> + + <p>“They’re tired,” said Annie.</p> + + <p>“Why?”</p> + + <p>“They have to work so hard to look after you.”</p> + + <p>Then she left him alone, and he fell asleep before they all came up to + bed.</p> + + <p> + Generally speaking, the first part of the night, however bad the outside + noises, was not so fearful as the second part. Mostly the second portion + of the night was preceded by a bad dream in which Michael’s nerves were + so much shaken that he had no courage or common-sense left to grapple + with the long hours in the ghastly stillness of his room. There was one + dream in particular which he dreaded, and indeed it was the only one + that repeated itself at regular intervals without any essential change. + He would find himself alone in a long street in the middle of the night. + Usually it would be shining with wet, but sometimes it would be dry and + airless. This street stretched as far as one could see. It had on either + side lamp-posts which burned with a steady staring illumination, long + rows of lamp-posts that converged in the farthest distance. The houses + all seemed empty, yet everyone was in some way a malignant personality. + Down this street Michael would have to walk on and on. He would meet + nobody, and the only living thing was a bony hound that pattered behind + him at whatever pace he went, whether he ran or whether he loitered. He + would in his dream be filled with a desire to enter one of these houses, + and often he would mount the steps and knock a summons on the door—a + knock that echoed all over the gloom within. While he knocked, the bony + hound would howl in the shadows of the basement. Every house at which he + knocked Michael would be more and more anxious to pass, more and more + fearful to disturb. Yet however much he struggled against it, he would + ultimately be compelled to knock his loud challenge. The street would + now stretch for miles of lighted lamps before + <a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> + and behind him, and the + knowledge would gradually be borne in upon Michael that sooner or later + in one of these grey houses the door would open. He would hurry along, + but however fast he travelled some house would draw him inexorably to + its threshold, and he would wait in agony lest slowly the great door + should swing back to a dim hall. The climax of the dream would now be + reached. One house would simultaneously repel and draw him more than any + of those left behind. He would struggle to go by, but he would find + himself on the steps with legs that refused to carry him away. He would + knock: very slowly the door would swing back and, convulsed and choking + and warding off horror, Michael would wake in a frenzy of fear to his + own real house of ghastly stillness, where no longer did even a belated + luggage-train or jingling hansom assure him of life’s continuity. + </p> + + <p> + He did not always wake up suddenly: sometimes he would be aware that he + was slowly waking and would struggle to keep asleep, lying for a long + time without moving a muscle, in order to cheat himself into the belief + that he was not awake. But gradually the strain would be too much and he + would have to become conscious of the room. First of all he would turn + on to his left side and view apprehensively the door ajar. This would + seem to tremble, as he looked, to some invisible hand trying it. Then + along the wall the wardrobe would creak, and every knot of its varnished + surface would take on a fantastic countenance. He would wonder what was + inside, and try to gain comfort and the sense of commonplace daytime + existence by counting the cats swinging on a roundabout in one of Louis + Wain’s Christmas pictures. In the corner beyond the wardrobe was a large + clothes-basket that crackled and snapped and must surely hold somebody + inside, hidden as the Forty Thieves were hidden in the oil-jars. The + fire-place, opposite the foot of the bed, seemed a centre for the noise + of mice. + <a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> + How he hoped they would be content to play upon the hearth and + not venture to leap over the fender and scuttle about the room. Then the + door would begin to frighten him again, and Michael would turn very + quietly on to his back, staring at the luminous ceiling where the + gas-jet made a huge moon whose edges wavered perpetually. But the + gas-jet itself became terrifying, when looked at too long, with its + queer blue base and slim solemn shape, so melancholy, so desolate, so + changeless. The ceiling would very soon become unendurable because + various black marks would seem with intensest contemplation more and + more like spiders and beetles. Michael would have to give up lying on + his back and turn upon his right side. He would count each slat of the + Venetian blinds and long passionately and sadly for the grey streaks to + appear at the sides in proclamation of the approach of day. Without + these grey streaks the windows were unbearable, so menacing were they + with the unknown infinite night behind them. The curtains, too, would + quiver, and even Michael’s clothes, heaped upon a chair, would assume a + worm-like vitality. The washstand made him feel oppressed, so silent and + white were the jug and basin and soap-dish, so cold and chill were they. + There was nothing to be done but to bury his head beneath the clothes + and, trembling, try to believe in the reality of guardian angels. He + would shut his eyes very tightly until the wheels of coloured lights + thus evoked would circle and revolve, changing their colours in some + mysterious way. These dissolving spots were a great consolation and + passed the time for a little while, until the dread of fire began to + come. He would fling back the clothes in a paroxysm and, heedless of any + other danger, sit up with staring eyes and listening ears and keen + nostrils, dreading and imagining and doubting. Surely he could hear a + crackle; he could smell smoke. The house was on fire; yet not for + anything could he have got out of bed to reassure himself. + <a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> + What might + not be underneath, a burglar, a dead body, a murderer, a skeleton, a mad + dog? + </p> + + <p>Underneath the clothes he would plunge, and then he would be sure that + someone was coming into the room to smother him. He held his breath, + waiting; with an effort he flung back the clothes again. There was + nothing but the ghastly stillness and the solemn gaslight and the + viewless blinds and the expectant door ajar. The bedposts would now take + on a sort of humanity. They would look at him and wink and shiver. The + wall-paper, normally a pattern of rosebuds and roses, began to move, to + swim with unnatural life. The cistern upstairs began to clank; the bath + began to drip. It must be blood—Nanny had been murdered. The blood was + dripping slowly. Michael choked with horror. Somebody was tapping at the + window-pane, yes, somebody was tapping. It was horrible this endless + tapping. Cats must be coming in. The wardrobe creaked and rapped and + groaned. Some of his clothes slid off the chair on to the floor with a + soft plump; Michael tried to shriek his dismay; but his tongue was dry. + Underneath him a knife was being pushed through the bed. A death-watch + was ticking in the fastness of the wall at his head. A rat was gnawing + his way into the room. Black-beetles were coming up the stairs.</p> + + <p> + Then along the edge of the Venetian blinds appeared a blue streak. It + widened. It became more luminous. It turned from blue to grey. It turned + from grey to dimmest silver. Hark! ‘Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep!’ The + sparrows were beginning. Their chorus rose. Their noise was cool as + water to Michael’s fever. An early cart rattled cheerfully down the + road. It was morning. + <a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_IV_Unending_Childhood" id="Chapter_IV_Unending_Childhood"></a> + Chapter IV: + <i>Unending Childhood</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">A</span> + FTER whooping-cough came chicken-pox, and it was settled that Michael + should leave the Kindergarten where these illnesses were caught. A + French governess was to teach him every morning and to walk with him + every afternoon. Mrs. Fane wrote to Nurse to tell her of this decision + and to announce that a Madame Flauve would on Monday next arrive at 64 + Carlington Road to superintend the education of Michael. This news + reached Nurse on the preceding Friday and threw her into an agitation. + The whole house was turned upside down: curtains were changed; floors + were beeswaxed; furniture was polished; pictures were dusted. All + Saturday and Friday a great cleaning took place, and on Sunday every + cushion was smoothed and patted; chairs were adjusted; mats were shaken; + flowers were distributed, until in the evening Nurse and Cook and Annie, + followed by Michael, marched over the house and examined their + handiwork. + </p> + + <p>“Well, I hope we shall see something worth looking at,” said Mrs. Frith. + “I never worked so hard in all my natural.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes. Must get the place nice. Not going to have strange people come + here and grumble,” said Nurse.</p> + + <p>“What is this Madame Flauve? Is she a lady?” Cook asked.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, yes. Yes. A lady. French. Very particular,” Nurse replied. + <a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael wondered what his governess would be like. He never remembered + to have seen Nanny so reverently excited before.</p> + + <p>“I’ve heard a lot about these French women,” said Mrs. Frith. “A lot + about them, I have. They live very gay, don’t they?”</p> + + <p>“Doesn’t matter how they live. No. No. Must have everything at its + best,” Nurse insisted.</p> + + <p>By the time the scouring of the house was done, Michael was prepared for + the advent of a creature so lovely that he made up his mind the mere + sight of her would fill him with joy. He had not settled exactly which + princess she would most nearly resemble. As he turned over the pages of + his fairy-books, he would fancy with every illustration that here was to + be seen the image of his beautiful French governess. As he lay awake in + his bed on a quiet Sunday evening, so pleasant was the imagination of + her radiancy that fears and horrors were driven away by the power of her + beauty’s spell. The night acquired something of the peace and sanctity + of Christmas Eve, when the air was hallowed by Santa Claus on his jovial + pilgrimage. He had never felt so little oppressed by the night, so + confident in the might of good.</p> + + <p>On Monday morning Michael jigged through his dressing, jigged downstairs + to breakfast, jigged through the meal itself and jigged upstairs to the + dining-room to watch for the splendid arrival. He tambourinated upon the + window-pane a gay little tune, jigging the while from foot to foot in an + ecstasy of anticipation.</p> + + <p> + Nurse had decided that the morning-room was not a fit place for such a + paragon to perform her duties. Nor did she feel that the day-nursery was + worthy of her. So, even while Michael jigged at his vigil, Nurse was + arming the dining-room table for an encounter with greatness. Inkpots + were dusted and displayed; blotting-pads, including + <a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a> + one poker-worked + with a view of Antwerp Cathedral, were unfolded. Pens and pencils and + pieces of india-rubber and pen-wipers and boxes of nibs and drawing-pins + were lavishly scattered about the green tablecloth. Various blue + exercise-books gleamed in the April sunlight and, to set the seal upon + the whole business, a calendar of Great Thoughts was roughly divested of + ninety-eight great thoughts at once, in order that for this rare female + a correct announcement should celebrate the ninth of April, her famous + date. At five minutes to ten Nurse and Michael were both in a state of + excitement; Cook was saying that she had never regretted the inadequacy + of the kitchen arrangements of Sixty-four until this moment; and Annie + was bracing herself for the real effort, the opening of the door to + Madame Flauve. The only calm person was Stella who, clasping a rubber + doll with tight curly rubber hair and a stomachic squeak, chanted to + herself the saga of Madame Flauve’s arrival. + </p> + + <p> + At two minutes past ten Michael said somebody was coming up the steps, + and a ring confirmed his assertion. The door was opened. Madame Flauve + was heard rubbing her boots on the + <span class="smcap">SALVE</span> + of the mat, was heard putting + away her umbrella in the peacock-blue china umbrella-stand, was heard + enquiring for Mrs. Fane and was announced inaudibly by Annie. + </p> + + <p> + Michael’s heart sank when he beheld a fat young French-woman with a + bilious complexion and little pig’s eyes and a dowdy black mantle and a + common black hat. As for Nurse, she sniffed quite audibly and muttered + an insincere hope that Madame Flauve would find everything to her + liking. The governess answered in the thick voice of one who is always + swallowing jujubes that without a doubt she would find everything, and + presently Nurse left the room with many a backward glance of contempt + towards Madame Flauve. + <a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a> + </p> + + <p>When the lessons began (or rather before they began) a time-table was + drawn up by Madame Flauve:</p> + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="time-table"> + + <tr valign="middle"> + <td>Monday</td> + <td class="tbb"> </td> + <td> + 10—11 + <br/> + + 11—12 + <br/> + + 12—1 + </td> + <td> + French + <br/> + Geography + <br/> + History + </td> + <td>2.30—4</td> + <td>Walk</td> + </tr> + + <tr valign="middle"> + <td>Tuesday</td> + <td class="tbb"></td> + <td> + 10—11 + <br/> + + 11—12 + <br/> + + 12—1 + </td> + <td> + Geography + <br/> + History + <br/> + + French + </td> + <td>2.30—4</td> + <td>Walk</td> + </tr> + + <tr valign="middle"> + <td>Wednesday</td> + <td class="tbb"></td> + <td> + 10—11 + <br/> + + 11—12 + <br/> + + 12—1 + </td> + <td> + History + <br/> + Geography + <br/> + French + </td> + <td>2.30—4</td> + <td>Walk</td> + </tr> + + <tr valign="middle"> + <td>Thursday</td> + <td class="tbb"></td> + <td> + 10—11 + <br/> + + 11—12 + <br/> + + 12—1 + </td> + <td> + French + <br/> + History + <br/> + Geography + </td> + <td>2.30—4</td> + <td>Walk</td> + </tr> + + <tr valign="middle"> + <td>Friday</td> + <td class="tbb"></td> + <td> + 10—11 + <br/> + + 11—12 + <br/> + + 12—1 + </td> + <td> + Geography + <br/> + French + <br/> + History + </td> + <td>2.30—4</td> + <td>Walk</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>Michael, when he saw the programme of his work, felt much depressed. It + seemed to lack variety and he was not very much cheered up to hear that + at meals only French would be spoken. Those meals were dreadful. At + first Nurse and Stella were present, but when Nanny found that Madame + wanted to teach Stella the French for knife and fork, she declined to + have dinner downstairs any longer, and Michael and Madame Flauve were + left to dine tête-à-tête on dull food and a languishing conversation.</p> + + <p>“Madam indeed,” Nurse would sniff, when the governess had left after + tea, “I never heard of such a thing in all my life. Madam! A fine + Madam!”</p> + + <p>“What an imperence,” agreed Mrs. Frith. “Fancy, a ordinary volgar thing + like that to go calling herself Madam, whatever shall we come to?”</p> + + <p> + “It does seem a cheek, don’t it?” said Annie. + <a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I never!” Cook gasped. “I never! Madam! Well, I could almost laugh at + the sauce of it. And all that cleaning as you might say for a person as + isn’t a scrap better than you and me.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I’ve written to Mrs. Fane,” said Nurse. “I said there must be some + mistake been made. Oh, yes, a mistake—must be a mistake.”</p> + + <p> + Michael did not much enjoy the walks with his governess. He was always + taken to a second-hand furniture-shop in the Hammersmith Road, not a + pleasant old furniture-shop with Toby mugs and stuffed birds and coins; + but a barrack full of red washing-stands and white-handled chests of + drawers. Madame Flauve informed him that she was engaged in furnishing + at that moment, and would immediately show him a locket with the + portrait of her husband inset. Michael could not gain any clear idea of + what M. Flauve was like, since all that remained was a nebulous profile + smothered by a very black moustache. Madame Flauve told him that M. + Flauve was ‘tout-à-fait charmant, mais charmant, mon petit. Il était si + aimable, si gentil et d’un cœur très très bon.’ Michael grew very + tired of being jostled outside the furniture-shop every afternoon, while + his governess grubbed around the ugly furniture and argued with the man + about the prices. The only article she ever bought was a commode, which + so violently embarrassed Michael that he blushed the whole way home. But + Madame Flauve often made him blush and would comment upon subjects not + generally mentioned except by Mrs. Frith, and even by her only in a + spirit of hearty coarseness that did not make Michael feel ashamed like + this Frenchwoman’s suggestion of the nasty. He was on one occasion very + much disgusted by her remarks on the inside of an egg that was slightly + set. Yet while he was disgusted, his curiosity was stimulated by the + information imparted, and he made further enquiries from Nurse that + evening. Nanny was + <a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a> + horrified, and said plainly that she considered this + governess no better than a low beast and that she should write + accordingly to Mrs. Fane. + </p> + + <p>After a month or two Michael was sent back to school in the morning, + though the afternoon walks still continued for a time. When Michael + returned to the Misses Marrow, he was promoted to the class above the + Kindergarten and was set to learn the elements of Latin in a desultory + and unpractical way, that is to say he was made to learn—</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary="latin"> + <tr> + <td align="left">Nominative,</td> + <td align="left">mensa,</td> + <td align="left">a table</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Vocative,</td> + <td align="left">mensa,</td> + <td align="left">O table</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Accusative,</td> + <td align="left">mensam,</td> + <td align="left">a table</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p class="nind"> + and the rest of the unintelligible rigmarole. He had no clear notion + what Latin was, and so far as he could make out nobody else at the Miss + Marrows’ school had any clearer notion. Indeed, the only distinct + addition to his knowledge of life was gained from Vernon Brown who with + great ingenuity had hollowed out a cork and by the insertion of several + pins in the front had made of it a miniature cage in which he kept a + fly. All the other boys were much impressed by Vernon Brown’s + achievement, and very soon they all came to school with flies captive in + excavated corks. Michael longed to be like these bigger boys and pined + for a cage. One day Edward Arnott gave him one, and all the rest of that + day Michael watched the fly trying to escape. When he showed it to + Madame Flauve, she professed herself shocked by the cruelty of it and + begged him to release the fly, asserting that she would find him a + substitute which would deceive all the other boys. Michael agreed to + release his captive and the long-imprisoned fly walked painfully out of + his cell. Then Madame Flauve chipped off a little piece of coal and tied + it round with one of her own hairs and showed Michael how by cunningly + twisting this hair, the coal would gain the appearance of mobility. + <a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> + + Michael was doubtful at first, but Madame’s exaggerated encouragement + led him to suppose that it was safe to practise the deception on his + companions. So on the next day he proceeded to exhibit his ‘fly.’ But + everybody knew it was coal and jeered at Michael and made him very + unhappy and anxious never again to attempt to differentiate himself or + his actions from the rest of mankind. + </p> + + <p> + Michael’s mother came home towards the end of July, and Madame Flauve + vanished to her husband and house and furniture. Michael did not regret + her. Mrs. Fane asked him many questions and particularly she wanted to + know if he was perfectly happy. Michael said ‘yes,’ and his mother + seemed satisfied. She was now very much taken up with Stella, who was a + lovely little girl with grey eyes and light brown glinting hair. Michael + did not exactly feel jealous of his sister, but he had an emotion of + disappointment that no longer could he be alone with his mother in a + fragrant intimacy from which the perpetually sleeping Stella was + excluded. Now Stella no longer slept all the time, but, on the contrary, + was very much awake and very eager to be entertained. Michael also felt + a twinge of regret that Stella should be able out of her own self to + entertain grown-up people. He wished that he could compose these + wonderful, endless songs of hers. He could not but admit that they were + wonderful, and exactly like real poetry. To be sure their subjects were + ordinary enough. There was no magic in them. Stella would simply sing of + getting up in the morning and of the morning bath and the towel and the + bread and milk for breakfast. She would sing, too, of the ride in the + perambulator and of the ladies who paid her compliments as she passed. + It was a little galling to Michael that he, so long his mother’s only + companion, should have to share her love with such an insidious rival. + Curious men with long hair came to the house, apparently just to see + Stella; for they took no notice + <a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a> + at all of Michael. These long-haired + visitors would sit round in the drawing-room, while Stella played at the + piano pieces that were not half so hummable as those which Michael had + already learned to play in violent allegretto. Stella would sit upright + in her starchiest frock and widest sash and play without any music a + long and boring noise that made Michael feel very fidgety. He would + endure it for a while and then he would have to go out of the room. The + first time he had done this he had expected somehow that people would + run after him to bring him back. But nobody moved. Everyone was intent + upon Stella and her noise. They were all grunting and clearing their + throats and making unintelligible exclamations. Michael was glad that + they had begun to build houses in the waste ground opposite. It was + better to watch men climbing up ladders and walking over planks and + messing with lumps of mortar than to sit there among those guttural men + in an atmosphere of Stella worship. He felt sometimes that he would like + to pinch Stella’s legs—they looked so sleek and well-behaved, as she + sat there playing the piano. Michael was never invited to play on the + drawing-room piano. He was only allowed to play up in the day-nursery, + with merely the ambition of one day being able to reach the pedals to + stir him on. + </p> + + <p>“Ach, Mrs. Vane,” he heard these long-haired men declare. “Your daughter + is wonderful. Ach! Ach! Ach! She is a genius. She will be the great + bianist of the new generation. Ach! Ach! Ach!”</p> + + <p> + Michael began to feel that his love for his mother or her love for him + did not matter. He began to feel that only what he himself thought and + wanted did matter; and when she went away again he was sorry, but not so + sorry as he used to be. One of these long-haired men now began to come + every day to give Stella lessons on the drawing-room piano. He would + give a very loud knock and hang up a + <a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> + wide-brimmed black hat in the hall + and clear his throat and button up his coat very tightly and march into + the drawing-room to wait for Stella to be brought down. Stella would + come down the stairs with her grey eyes shining and her hair all fuzzy + and her hands smelling of pink soap, while Nurse would blow very + importantly and tell Michael not to peep round corners. Stella’s music + lessons were much grander than Michael’s in the stuffy back-room of Miss + Marrow’s. Besides, Michael’s music lessons were now particularly + unpleasant, because Miss Hunt, his mistress, had grown two warts on her + first finger during the summer holidays, which made him feel sick during + their eternal duets. + </p> + + <p> + The withdrawal of Madame Flauve from the superintendence of Michael’s + afternoon walks was apparently a great blow to Nurse. She had acquired a + habit either of retiring to the night-nursery or of popping out of the + back-door on secret errands. Stella in the charge of Annie was perfectly + happy upstairs, and Nurse resented very strongly Michael’s enquiries as + to where she was going. Michael had no ulterior reasons for his + questions. He was sincerely interested by these afternoon walks of + Nurse, and speculated often upon her destination. She would always + return very cheerful and would often bring him home small presents—a + dark blue bird on a pin at boat-race time (for Nurse was staunchly + Oxford), a penny packet of stamps most of which were duplicates inside, + penny illustrated books of Cock Robin or Tom Thumb; and once she brought + him home a Night Companion. This Night Companion was a club-headed + stick, very powerful and warranted to secure the owner from a murderous + attack. It was one of a row in the window of a neighbouring + umbrella-shop, a long row of Night Companions that cost one shilling + each. Michael liked his stick and took it to bed with him and was + comforted, when he woke up, by the sight of its knotted head upon the + bolster. He grew very intimate with the stick and endowed + <a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a> + it with + character and temperament and humanity. He would often stare at the + still unpurchased Night Companions in the shop, trying to discover if + any other of them were so beneficent and so pleasant a companion as his + own. In time he took a fancy to another, and begged Nurse to be allowed + to buy this for Stella. Nurse was gratified by his appreciation of her + present and gave him leave to break into the ten-shilling piece to endow + Stella with a Companion. Michael himself carried it home, wrapped in a + flimsy brown paper and tied up as he thought unnecessarily with a flimsy + string. Stella was told to take it to bed with her and did so, but by + some accident grazed her forehead on the Night Companion’s knotty head + and cried so much that it was taken away from her. This was all the + better for Michael who thenceforth had two Night Companions—one on + either side of him to guard him from the door and the window. + </p> + + <p>Still, notwithstanding these presents, Nurse grew more and more + irritable to find Michael watching her exits from and entrances into 64 + Carlington Road. Once, she was so much annoyed to see Michael’s face + pressed against the pane of the morning-room window that she slid all + the way down the area-steps and sent Michael to bed as a punishment for + peeping. At last she decided that Michael must go for walks by himself + and lest he should be lost or get into mischief, every walk must be in + the same direction, along the same road to the same place and back. He + was to walk up Carlington Road into the Hammersmith Road and along the + Kensington Road as far as the Earl’s Court Road. Here he was to stop and + turn round and walk back to Carlington Road on his traces.</p> + + <p> + Michael detested this walk. He would stump up the area-steps, watched by + Nurse, and he would walk steadily, looking neither to the right nor to + the left according to orders, as far as 44 Carlington Road. Here in the + morning-room window was a small aquarium, sadly mobile with half a + <a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a> + + dozen pale goldfish, that Michael would be compelled to watch for a few + seconds before he turned round and acknowledged the fact that Nurse was + flicking him on with her hand. Michael would proceed past the other + houses until he came to 22 Carlington Road, where a break occurred, + caused by a house entirely different from any of the others, at the side + of which was a huge double door. This was sometimes open, and inside + could be seen men hammering with chisels at enormous statues including + representations of Queen Victoria and of a benignant lion. Next to this + house was a post office, not an ordinary post office where stamps could + be bought, but a harum-scarum place, full of postmen running up and down + and emptying bags and hammering on letters and talking very loudly and + very quickly. By this office Carlington Road made an abrupt rectangular + turn past a tumble-down tarred fence, through whose interstices could be + seen a shadowy garden full of very long pale grass and of trees with + jet-black trunks. Beyond the trees was a tumble-down house with big bare + windows glinting amongst the ivy. After this Carlington Road went on + again with smaller houses of a deeper red brick than those in the part + where Michael lived. They had no basements, and one could see into their + dining-rooms, so close were they to the road. When 2 Carlington Road was + reached a tall advertisement hoarding began, and for a hundred yards the + walk became absolutely interesting. Then Carlington Mansions rose + majestic, and Michael, who had been told that they were flats and had + heard people wondering at this strange new method of existence, loitered + for a moment in order to watch a man in a uniform, sitting on a wooden + chair and reading a pink newspaper. He also read the names of people who + were either out or in, and settled, when he was older, to live in a flat + in the security of many other families and a man in a green uniform. The + roar of the Hammersmith Road burst upon him, and dreams were over + <a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a> + for a + while, as he hurried along past eight shops, at none of which he would + dare to look since he read in a book of a boy who had been taken off to + the police station on a charge of theft, though he was actually as + innocent as Michael himself and was merely interested by the contents of + a shop window. The next turning to Carlington Road was a queer terrace, + very quiet except that it overlooked the railway, very quiet and + melancholy and somehow wicked. Nothing ever turned down here except an + occasional dog or cat; no servants stood gossiping by area-gates, and at + the end of it loomed the tumble-down house whose garden Michael had + already seen near the post office. He used to think as he left Padua + Terrace behind him that one day for a great adventure he would like to + walk along under its elm-trees to discover if anyone did live in those + dark houses; but he never managed to be brave enough to do so. Michael + now crossed the railway bridge and looked at the advertisements: then + followed a dull line of iron railings with rusty pineapples on top of + each of them. These were bounded at each end by gates that were marked + ‘Private. No Thoroughfare,’ and after the second gate came the first + crossing. Michael had been told to be very careful of crossings, and he + used to poise himself on the kerb for a moment to see if any carts were + near. If none were even in sight, he used to run across as quickly as he + could. There were three other crossings before Earl’s Court Road was + reached, and one of them was so wide that he was very glad indeed when + it was put behind him. All the way, terrace after terrace of grim + houses, set back from the high road behind shrubberies, had to be + passed, and all the way Michael used to hum to himself for company and + diversion and encouragement. The only interesting event was a + pavement-artist, and he was very often not there. It was an exasperating + and monotonous walk, and he hated it for the gloom it shed upon all his + afternoons. + <a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a> + </p> + + <p>Sometimes Michael would arrive home before Nanny, and then he would have + to endure a long cross-examination upon his route. The walk was not + sufficiently interesting to invent tales about, and he resented Nurse’s + incredulous attitude and wrinkled obstinate face. Indeed, Michael began + to resent Nurse altogether, and so far as he was able he avoided her. + His scheme of things was logical: he had already a philosophy, and his + conception of the wonder inherent in everything was evidently not + unique, because the pictures in Don Quixote proved conclusively that + what Michael thought, other people besides himself thought. He might be + old-fashioned, as Nurse assured him he was; but if to be old-fashioned + was to live in the world of Don Quixote, he certainly preferred it to + the world in which Nanny lived. That seemed to him a circumscribed and + close existence for which he had no sympathy. It was a world of poking + about in medicine-cupboards, of blind unreasonableness, of stupidity and + malice and blank ugliness. He would sit watching Nanny nibbling with her + front teeth the capers of the caper sauce, and he would hate her. She + interfered with him, with his day-dreams and toys and meals; and the + only time when he wanted her presence was in the middle of the night, + when she was either drinking her glass of ale in the kitchen or snoring + heavily in the next room. Michael’s only ambition was to live in his own + world. This he would have shared with his mother, but her visits were + now so rare that it was unwise to rely on her presence for happiness. He + was learning to do without her: Nurse he had never yet learnt to endure. + She charged ferociously into his fancies, shattering them with her fussy + interference, just as she would snatch away his clay pipe, when the most + perfect bubble was trembling on the edge of the bowl.</p> + + <p> + “Time for tea,” she would mutter. “Time for bed,” she would chatter. + Always it was time for something unpleasant. + <a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> + </p> + + <p>Mrs. Frith, on the other hand, was a person whose attractions grew with + longer friendship, as Nurse’s decreased even from the small quantity she + originally possessed. As Michael month by month grew older, Mrs. Frith + expanded towards him. She found him an attentive, even a breathless + listener to her rollicking tales. Her life Michael plainly perceived to + have been crammed with exciting adventures. In earliest youth she had + been forced by cunning to outwit a brutal father with the frightening + habit of coming home in the evening and taking off his belt to her and + her brothers and her sisters. The house in which she lived had been full + of hiding-places, and Mrs. Frith, picturing herself to Michael of less + ample girth, described wonderfully how her father had actually routed + for her with a broom-handle while her mother sat weeping into an apron. + Then it appeared that it was the custom of small boys in the street of + her youth to sell liquorice-water in exchange for pins.</p> + + <p>“But was it nice?” asked Michael, remembering liquorice-powder.</p> + + <p>“Lovely stuff,” Mrs. Frith affirmed. “They used to go calling up and + down, ‘Fine liquorice-water! Fine liquorice-water! Bring out your pins + and have a bottle of liquorice-water.’”</p> + + <p>“And did you?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p>“Did we? Of course we did—every pin in the place. There wasn’t a pin in + the whole street after those boys had gone by.”</p> + + <p>“What else did you do when you were little, Mrs. Frith?”</p> + + <p>“What else? Why everything.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, but tell me what,” Michael begged, clasping his knees and looking + earnestly at Cook.</p> + + <p> + “Why once I went to a Sunday-school treat and got thrown off of a donkey + and showed more than I meant and the boys all hollered after me going to + Sunday-school + <a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> + and I used to stand behind a corner and dodge them. The + saucy demons!” + </p> + + <p>These tales were endless, and Michael thought how jolly it would be to + set out early one summer morning with Mrs. Frith and look for adventures + like Don Quixote. This became a favourite day-dream, and he used to + fancy Mrs. Frith tossed in a blanket like Sancho Panza. What company she + would be, and it would be possible with two donkeys. He had seen women + as fat as her riding on donkeys by the seaside.</p> + + <p>One day Mrs. Frith told him she was thinking of getting married again, + and on a Sunday afternoon Michael was introduced to her future husband, + a certain Mr. Hopkins, who had a shining red head and an enormous + coloured handkerchief into which he trumpeted continuously. Mr. Hopkins + also had a daughter three or four years older than Michael—a wizened + little girl called Flossie who spoke in a sort of hiss and wore very + conspicuous underclothing of red flannelette. Michael and Flossie played + together shyly under the admiring patronage of Mrs. Frith and Mr. + Hopkins, and were just beginning to be friendly when Nurse came in and + said:</p> + + <p>“Can’t be allowed. No, no. Never heard of such a thing. Tut-tut.”</p> + + <p>After this Nurse and Mrs. Frith did not seem to get on very well, and + Mrs. Frith used to talk about ‘people as gave theirselves airs which + they had no business to of done.’ She was kinder than ever to Michael + and gave him as many sultanas as he wanted and told him all about the + house into which she and Mr. Hopkins and Flossie would presently depart + from Carlington Road.</p> + + <p>“Are you going away?” Michael asked, aghast.</p> + + <p>“Going to be married,” said Mrs. Frith.</p> + + <p>“But I don’t want you to go.”</p> + + <p> + “There, bless your heart, I’ve a good mind to stay. + <a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a> + I believe you’ll + miss your poor old Mrs. Frith, eh, ducky?” + </p> + + <p>Everybody nice went away, Michael thought. It was extraordinary how only + nasty food and nasty people were wholesome.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Frith’s departure was even more exciting than her stories. One + afternoon Michael found her in the kitchen, dancing about with her + skirts kilted above her knees. He was a little embarrassed at first, but + very soon he had to laugh because she was evidently not behaving like + this in order to show off, but because she enjoyed dancing about the + kitchen.</p> + + <p>“Why are you dancing, Mrs. Frith?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Happy as a lark, lovey,” she answered in an odd voice. “Happy as a + lark, for we won’t go home till morning, we won’t go home till morning,” + and singing, she twirled round and round until she sank into a wicker + arm-chair. At this moment Annie came running downstairs with Nurse, and + both of them glared at Mrs. Frith with shocked expressions.</p> + + <p>“What ever are you doing, Cook?” said Nurse.</p> + + <p>“That’s all right, lovey. That’s All Sir Garnet, and don’t you make no + mistake. Don’t you—make no mistake.”</p> + + <p>Here Mrs. Frith gave a very loud hiccup and waved her arms and did not + even say ‘beg pardon’ for the offensive noise.</p> + + <p>“Michael,” said Nurse, “go upstairs at once. Mrs. Frith, get up. You + ignorant and vulgar woman. Get up.”</p> + + <p>“And you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Cook to Nurse. “You old + performing monkey, that’s what you are.”</p> + + <p>“Annie,” said Nurse, “fetch a policeman in, and go and get this woman’s + box.”</p> + + <p> + “Woman!” said Mrs. Frith. “Woman yourself. Who’s a woman? I’m not a + woman. No, I’m not. And if I am a woman, you’re not the one to say so. + Ah, I know how + <a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> + many bottles have gone out of this house and come + in—not by me.” + </p> + + <p>“Hold your impudent tongue,” said Nurse.</p> + + <p>“I shall not hold my tongue, so now,” retorted Mrs. Frith.</p> + + <p>Michael had squeezed himself behind the kitchen door fascinated by this + duel. It was like Alice in Wonderland, and every minute he expected to + see Cook throwing plates at Nanny, who was certainly making faces + exactly like the Duchess. The area door slammed, and Michael wondered + what was going to happen. Presently there came the sound of a deep tread + in the passage and a policeman entered.</p> + + <p>“What’s all this?” he said in a deep voice.</p> + + <p>“Constable,” said Nurse, “will you please remove this dreadful woman?”</p> + + <p>“What’s she been doing?” asked the policeman.</p> + + <p>“She’s drunk.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Frith apparently overwhelmed by the enormity of the accusation + tottered to her feet and seized a saucepan.</p> + + <p>“None of that now,” said the policeman roughly, as he caught her by the + waist.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I’m not afraid of a bluebottle,” said Mrs. Frith haughtily. “Not of + a bluebottle, I’m not.”</p> + + <p>“Are you going to charge her?” the policeman asked.</p> + + <p>“No, no. Nothing but turn her out. The girl’s packing her box. Give her + the box and let her go.”</p> + + <p>“Not without my wages,” said Mrs. Frith. “I’m not going to leave my + wages behind. Certaintly I’m not.”</p> + + <p>Nurse fumbled in her purse, and at last produced some money.</p> + + <p>“That’s the easiest way,” said the policeman. “Pay her the month and let + her go. Come on, my lady.”</p> + + <p> + He seized Mrs. Frith and began to walk her to the door as if she were a + heavy sack. Michael began to cry. He did not want Mrs. Frith to be hurt + and he felt frightened. + <a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a> + In the passage she suddenly broke loose and, + turning round, pushed Nurse into the laundry-basket and was so pleased + with her successful effort that she almost ran out of the house and + could presently be heard singing very cheerfully ‘White wings, they + never grow weary,’ to the policeman. In the end her trunk was pushed + down the front-door steps, and after more singing and arguing a + four-wheeler arrived and Mrs. Frith vanished for ever from Carlington + Road. + </p> + + <p>The effect of this scene on Nurse was to make her more repressive and + secretive. She was also very severe on vulgarity; and all sorts of old + words were wrapped up in new words, as when bread and dripping became + bread and honey, because dripping was vulgar. The house grew much + gloomier with Mrs. Frith’s departure. The new cook whose name Michael + never found out, because she remained the impersonal official, was very + brusque and used to say: “Now then, young man, out of my kitchen or I’ll + tell Nurse. And don’t hang about in the passage or in two-twos you’ll be + sorry you ever came downstairs.”</p> + + <p>It was autumn again, and the weather was dreary and wet. Michael + suffered a severe shock one morning. It was too foggy to go to school + and he was sitting alone in the window of the morning-room, staring at + the impenetrable and fearful yellowness of the air. Suddenly he heard + the cry, ‘Remember, remember the Fifth of November, and gunpowder, + treason and plot,’ and, almost before he had time to realize it was the + dreaded Guy Fawkes, a band of loud-voiced boys with blackened faces came + surging down the area steps and held close to the window a nodding Guy. + Michael shrieked with fear and ran from the room, only to be told by + Nurse that she’d never heard such old-fashioned nonsense in all her + life.</p> + + <p> + During that November the fogs were very bad and, as an epidemic term had + compelled the Misses Marrow to close their school, Michael brooded at + home in the gaslit rooms + <a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> + that shone dully in the street of footsteps. + The long morning would drag its length out, and dinner would find no + appetite in Michael. Stella seemed not to care to play and would mope + with round eyes saddened by this eternal gloom. Dusk was merely marked + by the drawing down of the blinds at the clock’s hour without regard to + the transit from day to night. Michael used to wonder if it were + possible that this fog would last for ever, if for ever he would live in + Carlington Road in this yellow twilight, if his mother had forgotten + there ever was such a person as Michael Fane. But, at any rate, he would + have to grow up. He could not always be the same size. That was a + consolation. It was jolly to dream of being grown-up, to plan one’s + behaviour and think of freedom. The emancipation of being grown-up + seemed to Michael to be a magnificent prospect. To begin with it was no + longer possible to be naughty. He realized, indeed, that crimes were a + temptation to some grown-ups, that people of a certain class committed + murders and burglaries, but as he felt no inclination to do either, he + looked forward to a life of unbroken virtue. + </p> + + <p> + So far as he could ascertain, grown-up people were exempt from even the + necessity to distinguish between good and evil. If Michael examined the + Commandments one by one, this became obvious. + <i>Thou shalt have none + other gods than me</i> + . Why should one want to have? One was enough. The + Children of Israel must be different from Michael. He could not + understand such peculiar people. + <i>Make not to thyself any graven image</i> + . + The only difficulty about this commandment was its length for learning. + Otherwise it did not seem to bear on present-day life. + <i>Thou shalt not + take the name of the Lord thy God in vain</i> + . This was another vague + injunction. Who wanted to? + <i>Remember thou keep holy the Sabbath Day</i> + . It + was obviously a simple matter for grown-up people, who no longer enjoyed + playing with toys, to keep this commandment. At present it was + <a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> + + difficult to learn and difficult to keep. + <i>Honour thy father and thy + mother</i> + . He loved his mother. He would always love her, even if she + forgot him. He might not love her so much as formerly, but he would + always love her. + <i>Thou shalt do no murder</i> + . Michael had no intention of + doing murder. Since the Hangman in Punch and Judy he was cured of any + inclination towards murder. + <i>Thou shalt not commit adultery</i> + . Why should + he ever want to marry another man’s wife? At present he could not + imagine himself married to anybody. He supposed that as one result of + growing up he would get married. But, forewarned, he would take care not + to choose somebody else’s wife. + <i>Thou shalt not steal</i> + . With perfect + freedom to eat when and where and what one liked, why should one steal? + <i>Thou shalt not bear false witness</i> + . It would not be necessary to lie + when grown up, because one could not then be punished. + <i>Thou shalt not + covet thy neighbour’s ox</i> + . He would covet nothing, for when he was grown + up he would be able to obtain whatever he wanted. + </p> + + <p> + This desire to be grown up sustained him through much, even through the + long foggy nights which made his bedroom more fearfully still than + before. The room would hardly seem any longer to exist in the murk which + crept through it. The crocus-shaped jet of the gas burned in the + vaporous midnight with an unholy flame somehow, thought Michael, as + candles must look, when at the approach of ghosts they burn blue. How + favourable to crime was fog, how cleverly the thief might steal over the + coal-yard at the back of the house and with powerful tools compel the + back-door to open. And the murderers, how they must rejoice in the + impenetrable air as with long knives they stole out from distant streets + in search of victims. Michael’s nerves were so wrought upon by the + unchanging gloom of these wintry days that even to be sent by Nurse to + fetch her thimble or work-bag before tea was a racking experience. + <a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> + </p> + + <p> + “Now then, Michael, run downstairs like a good boy and fetch my needle + and cotton which I left in the morning-room,” Nurse would command. And + in the gathering dusk Michael would practically slide downstairs until + he reached the basement. Then, clutching the object of his errand, he + would brace himself for the slower ascent. Suppose that when he reached + the hall there were two skeletons sitting on the hall chest? Suppose + that on the landing above a number of rats rushed out from the + housemaid’s closet to bite his legs and climb over him and gnaw his + face? Suppose that from the landing outside his own room a masked + burglar were stealing into his room to hide himself under the bed? + Suppose that when he arrived back at the day-nursery, Stella and Nurse + were lying with their heads chopped off, as he had once seen a family + represented by a pink newspaper in the window of a little shop near + Hammersmith Broadway? Michael used to reach his goal, white and shaking, + and slam the door against the unseen follower who had dogged his + footsteps from the coal-cellar. The cries of a London twilight used to + oppress him. From the darkening streets and from the twinkling houses + inexplicable sounds floated about the air. They had the sadness of + church-bells, and like church-bells they could not be located exactly. + Michael thought that London was the most melancholy city in the world. + Even at Christmas-time, behind all the gaiety and gold of a main road + lay the trackless streets that were lit, it seemed, merely by pin-points + of gas, so far apart were the lamp-posts, such a small sad circle of + pavement did they illuminate. The rest was shadows and glooms and + whispers. Even in the jollity of the pantomime and comfortable smell of + well-dressed people the thought of the journey home through the rainy + evening brooded upon the gayest scene. The going home was sad indeed, as + in the farthest corner of the jolting omnibus they jogged through the + darkness. The painted board of places and fares + <a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> + used to depress + Michael. He could not bear to think of the possibilities opened up by + the unknown names beyond Piccadilly Circus. Once in a list of fares he + read the word Whitechapel and shivered at the thought that an omnibus + could from Whitechapel pass the corner of Carlington Road. This very + omnibus had actually come from the place where murders were done. + Murderers might at this moment be travelling in his company. Michael + looked askance at the six nodding travellers who sat opposite, at the + fumes of their breath, at their hands clasped round the handles of their + umbrellas. There, for all he knew, sat Jack the Ripper. It happened that + night that one of the travellers, an old gentleman with gold-rimmed + eye-glasses, alighted at the corner and actually turned down Carlington + Road. Michael was horrified and tugged at Nanny’s arm to make her go + faster. + </p> + + <p>“Whyever on earth are you dancing along like a bear for? Do you want to + go somewhere, you fidgety boy?” said Nurse, pulling Michael to her side + with a jerk.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Nanny, there’s a man following us, who got out of our bus.”</p> + + <p>“Well, why shouldn’t he get out? Tut-tut. Other people besides you want + to get out of buses. I shan’t ever take you to the pantomime again, if + you aren’t careful.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I will be careful,” said Michael, who, perceiving the lamp in + their front hall, recovered from his fright and became anxious to + propitiate Nanny.</p> + + <p>“So I should think,” muttered Nurse. “Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut.” Michael + thought she would never stop clicking her tongue.</p> + + <p> + About this time with the fogs and the rain and the loneliness and + constant fear that surrounded him, Michael began to feel ill. He worried + over his thin arms, comparing them with the sleek Stella’s. His golden + hair lost its lustre and became drab and dark and skimpy. His cheeks + lost their rose-red, and black lines ringed his large and sombre blue + eyes. + <a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> + He cared for little else but reading, and even reading tired him + very much, so that once he actually fell asleep over the big Don + Quixote. About two hundred pages were bent underneath the weight of his + body, and the book was taken away from him as a punishment for his + carelessness. It was placed out of his reach on top of the bookcase and + Michael used to stand below and wish for it. No entreaties were well + enough expressed to move Nurse; and Don Quixote remained high out of + reach in the dust and shadows of the ceiling. Nurse grew more and more + irrational in her behaviour and complained more and more of the + neuralgia to which she declared she was a positive martyr. Annie went + away into the country because she was ill and a withered housemaid took + her place, while the tall thin house in Carlington Road became more grim + every day. + </p> + + <p> + Then a lucky event gave Michael a new interest. Miss Caroline Marrow + began to teach him the elements of Botany, and recommended all the boys + to procure window-boxes for themselves. Michael told Nurse about this; + and, though she muttered and clicked and blew a great deal, one day a + bandy-legged man actually came and fitted Michael’s window-sills with + two green window-boxes. He spent the whole of his spare time in prodding + the sweet new mould, in levelling it and patting it, and filling in + unhappy little crevices which had been overlooked. Then on a fine spring + morning he paid a visit to the old woman who sold penny packets of + seeds, and bought nasturtiums, mignonette, Virginia stocks and + candytuft, twelve pansy roots and twelve daisy roots. Michael’s flowers + grew and flourished and he loved his window-boxes. He liked to turn + towards his window at night now. Somehow those flowers were a + protection. He liked to lie in bed during the sparrow-thronged mornings + of spring and fancy how the birds must enjoy hopping about in his + window-boxes. He was always careful to scatter plenty of crumbs, so that + they + <a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> + should not be tempted to peck up his seeds or pull to pieces the + pansy buds. He was disappointed that neither the daisies nor the pansies + smelt sweet, and when the mignonette bloomed, he almost sniffed it away, + so lovely was the perfume of it during the blue days of June. He had a + set of gardening tools, so small and suitable to the size of his garden + that rake and hoe and spade and fork were all originally fastened to one + small square of cardboard. + </p> + + <p>But, best of all, when the pansies were still a-blowing and the Virginia + stocks were fragrant, and when from his mother’s window below he could + see his nasturtium flowers, golden and red and even tortoiseshell + against the light, his mother came home suddenly for a surprize, and the + house woke up.</p> + + <p>“But you’re not looking well, darling,” she said.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes, quite well. Quite well,” muttered Nurse, “Quite well. Mustn’t + be a molly-coddle. No. No.”</p> + + <p> + “I really must see about a nice governess for you,” said Mrs. Fane. + Nurse sniffed ominously. + <a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_V_The_First_Fairy_Princess" id="Chapter_V_The_First_Fairy_Princess"></a> + Chapter V: + <i>The First Fairy Princess</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ISS CARTHEW’S arrival widened very considerably Michael’s view of life. + Nurse’s crabbed face and stunted figure had hitherto appropriately + enough dominated such realities of existence as escaped from the glooms + and shadows of his solitary childhood. Michael had for so long been + familiar with ugliness that he was dangerously near to an eternal + imprisonment in a maze of black fancies. He had come to take pleasure in + the grotesque and the macabre, and even on the sunniest morning his + imagination would turn to twilight and foggy eves, to basements and + empty houses and loneliness and dust. Michael would read furtively the + forbidden newspapers that Nurse occasionally left lying about. In these + he would search for murders and crimes, and from their association with + thrills of horror, the newspapers themselves had gradually acquired a + definitely sinister personality. If at dusk Michael found a newspaper by + Nurse’s arm-chair, he would approach it with beating heart, and before + he went over to read it where close to the window the light of day + lingered, he would brood upon his own daring, as if some Bluebeard’s + revenge might follow. + </p> + + <p> + When Michael’s mother was at home, he was able to resume the + cheerfulness of the last occasion on which her company had temporarily + relieved his solitude; but always behind the firelit confidences, the + scented good mornings and good nights, the gay shopping walks and all + the joys which belonged to him and her, stood threatening and inevitable + the normal existence with Nurse in which these + <a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> + rosy hours must be + remembered as only hours, fugitive and insecure and rare. Now came Miss + Carthew’s brisk and lively presence to make many alterations in the life + of 64 Carlington Road, Kensington. + </p> + + <p>Michael’s introduction to his governess took place in the presence of + his mother and, as he stood watching the two women in conversation, he + was aware of a tight-throated feeling of pleasure. They were both so + tall and slim and beautiful: they were both so straight and clean that + they gave him the glad sensation of blinds pulled up to admit the sun.</p> + + <p>“I think we’re going to be rather good friends,” said Miss Carthew.</p> + + <p>Michael could only stare his agreement, but he managed to run before + Miss Carthew in order to open the door politely, when she was going out. + In bed that night he whispered to his mother how much he liked Miss + Carthew and how glad he was that he could leave the Miss Marrows’ for + the company of Miss Carthew all day long.</p> + + <p>“And all night?” he asked wistfully.</p> + + <p>“No, not at present, darling,” she answered. “Nanny will still look + after you at night.”</p> + + <p>“Will she?” Michael questioned somewhat doubtfully.</p> + + <p>After Mrs. Fane went away, there was a short interval before the + new-comer assumed her duties. During this time Michael hummed + incessantly and asked Nurse a thousand questions about Miss Carthew.</p> + + <p>“Goodness gracious, what a fuss about a governess,” commented Nanny. + “Tut-tut. It might be the Queen of England. She’ll be here quite soon + enough for everyone, I dare say.”</p> + + <p> + It fell out that Miss Carthew was to arrive on Valentine Day, and + Michael with a delicious breathlessness thought how wonderful it would + be to present her with a Valentine. He did not dare tell Nurse of his + intention; but he hoped that + <a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> + by sending Valentines to every inmate of + the house he might be allowed to include Miss Carthew. Nurse was + agreeable to the notion of receiving a token, and in her company Michael + set out to a neighbouring stationer’s shop to make his purchases. A + Valentine for Cook was bought, and one of precisely the same design for + Gladys the withered housemaid, and a rather better one for Stella, and a + better one still for Nurse. + </p> + + <p>“Come along now,” said Nanny.</p> + + <p>“Oh, but can’t I get one for Miss Carthew? Do let me.”</p> + + <p>“Tut-tut-tut. What nonsense. I do declare. Whatever do you want to give + her a Valentine for?” Nurse demanded, as she tried to hustle Michael + from the shop.</p> + + <p>“Oh, do let me, Nanny.”</p> + + <p>“Well, come along, and don’t be all day choosing. Here, this will do,” + said Nurse, as she picked one from the penny tray.</p> + + <p>But Michael had other ideas. He had noticed an exquisite Valentine of + apple-green satin painted with the rosiest of Cupids, the most crimson + of pierced hearts, a Valentine that was almost a sachet so thick was it, + so daintily fringed with fretted silver-paper.</p> + + <p>“That one,” he declared, pointing.</p> + + <p>“Now what have I told you about pointing?”</p> + + <p>“That large one’s a shilling,” said the stationer.</p> + + <p>“Come along, come along,” grumbled Nurse. “Wasting good money.”</p> + + <p>“But I want to have that one,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>For the first time in his life he did not feel at all afraid of Nurse, + so absolutely determined was he to present Miss Carthew with the + Valentine of his own free choice.</p> + + <p>“I will have that one,” he added. “It’s my money.”</p> + + <p> + “You will, will you, you naughty boy? You won’t, then. So now! You dare + defy me. I never heard of such a thing. No, nothing more this morning, + thank you,” + <a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a> + Nurse added, turning to the stationer. “The little boy has + got all he wants. Say ‘thank you’ to the gentleman and ‘good morning,’” + Nurse commanded Michael. + </p> + + <p>“I won’t,” he declared. “I won’t.” Scowling so that his nose nearly + vanished into his forehead, and beating back the tears that were surging + to his eyes, Michael followed Nurse from the shop. As he walked home, he + dug his nails wrathfully into the envelope of Valentines, and then + suddenly he saw a drain in the gutter. He hastily stooped and pushed the + packet between the bars of the grating, and let it fall beyond the + chance of recovery. When they reached their house, Nurse told him to + give her the cards, so that they might not be soiled before + presentation.</p> + + <p>“I’ve dropped them,” said Michael sullenly.</p> + + <p>“Dropped them? Dropped them? What do you mean—dropped them?”</p> + + <p>“I threw them away,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“On purpose?”</p> + + <p>“Yes. I can do what I like with my own things.”</p> + + <p>“You ungrateful wicked boy,” said Nurse, horrified by such a claim.</p> + + <p>“I don’t care if I am,” Michael answered. “I wanted to give Miss Carthew + a Valentine. Mother would have let me.”</p> + + <p>“Your mother isn’t here. And when she isn’t here, I’m your mother,” said + Nurse, looking more old and wrinkled and monkey-like than ever.</p> + + <p>“How dare you say you’re my mother?” gasped the outraged son. “You’re + not. You’re not. Why, you’re not a lady, so you couldn’t ever be my + mother.”</p> + + <p> + Hereupon Nurse disconcerted Michael by bursting into tears, and he + presently found himself almost petting her and declaring that he was + very sorry for having been so unkind. He found a certain luxury in this + penitence just as he used to enjoy a reconciliation with the black + kittens. + <a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a> + Perhaps it was this scene with Nurse that prompted him soon + afterwards to the creation of another with his sister. The second scene + was brought about by Stella’s objection to the humming with which + Michael was somewhat insistently celebrating the advent of Miss Carthew. + </p> + + <p>“Don’t hum, Michael. Don’t hum. Please don’t hum,” Stella begged very + solemnly. “Please don’t hum, because it makes my head hurt.”</p> + + <p> + “I + <i>will</i> + hum, and every time you ask me not to hum, I’ll hum more + louder,” said Michael. + </p> + + <p>Stella at once went to the piano in the day-nursery and began to play + her most unmelodious tune. Michael ran to the cupboard and produced a + drum which he banged defiantly. He banged it so violently that presently + the drum, already worn very thin, burst. Michael was furious and + immediately proceeded to twang an over-varnished zither. So furiously + did he twang the zither that finally he caught one of his nails in a + sharp string of the treble, and in great pain hurled the instrument + across the room. Meanwhile, Stella continued to play, and when Michael + commanded her to stop, answered annoyingly that she had been told to + practise.</p> + + <p>“Don’t say pwactise, you silly. Say practise,” Michael contemptuously + exclaimed.</p> + + <p>“Shan’t,” Stella answered with that cold and fat stolidity of demeanour + and voice which disgusted Michael like the fat of cold mutton.</p> + + <p>“I’m older than you,” Michael asserted.</p> + + <p> + Stella made no observation, but continued to play, and Michael, now + acutely irritated, rushed to the piano and slammed down the lid. Stella + must have withdrawn her fingers in time, for there was no sign of any + pinch or bruise upon them. However, she began to cry, while Michael + addressed to her the oration which for a long time he had wished to + utter. + <a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> + </p> + + <p>“You are silly. You are a cry-baby. Fancy crying about nothing. I + wouldn’t. Everybody doesn’t want to hear your stupid piano-playing. Boys + at school think pianos are stupid. You always grumble about my humming. + You are a cry-baby.</p> + + <p class="nind"> + What are little boys made of? + <br/> + + Sugar and spice and all that’s nice, + <br/> + + That’s what little boys are made of. + <br/> + + What are little girls made of? + <br/> + + Slugs and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails, + <br/> + + Ugh! that’s what little girls are made of.” + </p> + + <p>“They’re not,” Stella screamed. “They’re not!” Michael’s perversion of + the original rhyme made her inarticulate with grief and rage. “They’re + not, you naughty boy!”</p> + + <p>Michael, contented with his victory, left Stella to herself and her + tears. As he hummed his way downstairs, he thought sensuously of the + imminent reconciliation, and in about ten minutes, having found some + barley-sugar buried against an empty day, Michael came back to Stella + with peace-offerings and words of comfort.</p> + + <p>Miss Carthew arrived on the next morning and the nervous excitement of + waiting was lulled. Miss Carthew came through the rain of Valentine Day, + and Michael hugged himself with the thought of her taking off her + mackintosh and handing it to Gladys to be dried. With the removal of her + wet outdoor clothes, Miss Carthew seemed to come nearer to Michael and, + as they faced each other over the schoolroom table (for the day-nursery + in one moment had become the schoolroom), Michael felt that he could + bear not being grown up just for the pleasure of sitting opposite to his + new governess.</p> + + <p> + It was not so much by these lessons that Michael’s outlook was widened + as by the conversations he enjoyed with Miss Carthew during their + afternoon walks. She told him, so + <a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a> + far as she could, everything that he + desired to know. She never accused him of being old-fashioned or + inquisitive, and indeed as good as made him feel that the more questions + he asked the better she would like it. Miss Carthew had all the mental + and imaginative charm of the late Mrs. Frith in combination with an + outward attractiveness that made her more dearly beloved. Indeed Miss + Carthew had numberless pleasant qualities. If she promised anything, the + promise was always kept to the letter. If Michael did not know his + lesson or omitted the performance of an ordained task, Miss Carthew was + willing to hear the explanation of his failure and was never + unreasonable in her judgment. One morning very soon after her arrival, + Michael was unable to repeat satisfactorily the verse of the psalm + Venite Adoremus set for him to learn. + </p> + + <p>“Why don’t you know it, Michael?” Miss Carthew asked.</p> + + <p>“I had to go to bed.”</p> + + <p>“But surely you had plenty of time before you went to bed?” Miss Carthew + persisted.</p> + + <p>“Nanny wanted to go out, and I went to bed early,” Michael explained.</p> + + <p>For a moment or two Miss Carthew considered the problem silently. Then + she rang the bell and told withered Gladys that she wished to speak to + Nurse. Presently Nurse came in, very aggressive and puckered.</p> + + <p>“Did Michael have to go to bed very early last night?” Miss Carthew + enquired.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes. Yes,” Nurse blew out. “Early last night. Wednesday night. Yes. + I had to go out. Yes.”</p> + + <p>“What time did he go to bed?” Miss Carthew went on.</p> + + <p>“What time?” repeated Nurse. “Why the proper time, of course.”</p> + + <p> + “Don’t be insolent,” said Miss Carthew very tranquilly. + <a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a> + </p> + + <p>Nurse blustered and wrinkled her nose and frowned and came very close to + Miss Carthew and peered up into her face, blowing harder than ever.</p> + + <p>“The arrangements can’t be altered for governesses,” said Nurse. “No. + Tut-tut. Never heard of such a thing.”</p> + + <p> + “The arrangements + <i>will</i> + be altered. In future Michael will go to bed at + half-past seven. It’s not good for him to go to bed earlier. Do you + understand?” + </p> + + <p>“Do I understand? No, I don’t understand,” Nurse snapped.</p> + + <p>“Very well,” said Miss Carthew. “You need not wait, Nurse.”</p> + + <p>Nurse blinked and peered and fumed, but Miss Carthew paid so little + attention that Michael felt himself blushing for her humiliation. + However, he did not go to bed that night till half-past seven and at the + end of the week could rattle off the Venite in two breaths. It was + extraordinary how Nurse shrank into nothing at Miss Carthew’s approach, + like a witch in the presence of a good fairy.</p> + + <p> + The nights were still a trial to Michael, but gradually they became less + terrible, as Miss Carthew’s conversation gave him something better to + meditate upon than the possibilities of disaster and crime. On the + afternoon walks would be told stories of Miss Carthew’s youth in the + West Country, of cliffs and sea-birds and wrecks, of yachting cruises + and swimming, of golden sands and magical coves and green islands. Miss + Carthew’s own father had been a captain in the Royal Navy and she had + had one brother, a midshipman, who was drowned in trying to save the + life of his friend. By all accounts the Carthews must have lived in as + wonderful a house as was ever known. From the windows it was possible to + look down into the very sea itself, and from the front door, all + wreathed in roses, ran a winding path edged with white stones down to + the foot of the cliff. + <a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a> + Day and night great ships used to sail from the + harbour, some outward bound with the crew singing in the cool airs of a + summer morning, some homeward bound, battered by storms. Miss Carthew, + when a little girl, had been the intimate friend of many coastguards, + had been allowed to peep through their long telescopes, had actually + seen a cannon fired at close quarters. Before her own eyes the lifeboat + had plunged forth to rescue ships and with her own hands she had caught + fish on quiet sunny mornings and on windless nights under the moon. Her + most valuable possession, however, must have been that father who could + sit for hours and never tell the same tale twice, but hold all who heard + him entranced with a narrative of hostile Indians, of Chinese junks, of + cannibals and wrecks and mutinies and bombardments. It was sad to hear + that Captain Carthew was now dead: Michael would have been glad to make + his acquaintance. It was sad to hear that the Carthews no longer lived + in the West within the sound of waves and winds; but it was consoling to + learn that they still lived in the depth of the country and that some + time, perhaps during this very next summer, Michael should certainly pay + Mrs. Carthew a visit. He would meet other Miss Carthews, one of whom was + only fourteen and could obviously without ceremony be hailed immediately + as Nancy. Of Joan and May, who were older, Michael spoke in terms of the + familiar Christian name with embarrassment, and he was much perplexed in + his own mind how he should address them, when actually they met. + </p> + + <p>“I wish you were going to take us away for our holidays to the seaside,” + Michael said.</p> + + <p>“Perhaps I will another time,” Miss Carthew replied. “But this year you + and Stella are going with Nurse, because Stella isn’t going to begin + lessons with me till you go to school.”</p> + + <p> + “Am I really going to school?” + <a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Yes, to St. James’ Preparatory School,” Miss Carthew assured him.</p> + + <p>In consideration of Michael’s swiftly approaching adventure, he was + allowed to take in the Boy’s Own Paper monthly, and as an even greater + concession to age he was allowed to make friends with several boys in + Carlington Road, some of whom were already scholars of St. James’ + Preparatory School and one of whom actually had a brother at St. James’ + School itself, that gigantic red building whose gates Michael himself + would enter of right one day, however difficult at present this was to + believe.</p> + + <p> + What with the prospect of going to school in the autumn and Miss + Carthew’s tales of freedom and naval life, Michael began to disapprove + more than ever of Nurse’s manners and appearance. He did not at all + relish the notion of passing away the summer holidays in her society. To + be sure, for the end of the time he had been invited by Mrs. Carthew’s + own thin writing to spend a week with her in Hampshire; but that was at + least a month away, and meanwhile there was this month to be endured + with Nurse at Mr. and Mrs. Wagland’s lodgings, where the harmonium was + played and conversation was carried on by whispers and the mysterious + nods of three heads. However, the beginning of August arrived, and Miss + Carthew said good-bye for a month. Wooden spades, still gritty with last + year’s sand, were produced from the farthest corners of cupboards: + mouldy shrimping nets and dirtied buckets and canvas shoes lay about on + the bed, and at last, huddled in paraphernalia, Nurse and Stella and + Michael jogged along to the railway station, a miserable hour for + Michael, who all the time was dreading many unfortunate events, as for + the cabman to get down from his box and quarrel about the fare, or for + the train to be full, or for Stella to be sick during the journey, or + for him and her to lose Nurse, or for all of them to get into the wrong + train, or for a railway accident + <a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a> + to happen, or for any of the + uncomfortable contingencies to which seaside travellers were liable. + </p> + + <p>During these holidays Michael grew more and more deeply ashamed of + Nurse, and more and more acutely sensitive to her manners and + appearance. He was afraid that people on the front would mistake him and + Stella for her children. He grew hot with shame when he fancied that + people looked at him. He used to loiter behind on their walks and + pretend that he did not belong to Nurse, and hope sincerely that nobody + would think of connecting him with such an ugly old woman. He had heard + much talk of ‘ladies and gentlemen’ at the Kindergarten, and since then + Miss Carthew had indirectly confirmed his supposition that it was a + terrible thing not to be a gentleman and the son of a gentleman. He grew + very critical of his own dress and wished that he were not compelled to + wear a sailor-top that was slightly shabby. Once Mr. and Mrs. Wagland + accompanied them to church on a Sunday morning, and Michael was + horrified. People would inevitably think that he was the son of Mr. + Wagland. What a terrible thing that would be. He loitered farther behind + than ever, and would liked to have killed Mr. Wagland when he offered + him the half of his hymn-book. This incident seemed to compromise him + finally, to drag him down from the society of Miss Carthew to a degraded + status of unutterable commonness. Mr. Wagland would persist in digging + him with his elbow and urging him to sing up. Worse even, he once said + quite audibly ‘Spit it out, sonny.’ Michael reeled with shame.</p> + + <p> + September arrived at last, and then Michael realized suddenly that he + would have to make the journey to Hampshire alone. This seemed to him + the most astonishing adventure of his life. He surveyed his existence + from the earliest dawn of consciousness to the last blush caused by + Nurse’s abominable habits, and could see no parallel of daring. He was + about to enter upon a direct relationship with the + <a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> + world of men. He + would have to enquire of porters and guards; he would have to be polite + without being prodded to ladies sitting opposite. No doubt they would + ask questions of him and he would have to answer distinctly. And beyond + this immediate encounter with reality was School. He had not grasped how + near he was to the first morning. A feeling of hopelessness, of + inability to grapple with the facts of life seized him. Growing old was + a very desperate business after all. How remote he was getting from + Nurse, how far away from the dingy solitude which had so long oppressed + his spirit. Already she seemed unimportant and already he could almost + laugh at the absurdity of being mistaken for a relation of hers. The + world was opening her arms and calling to him. + </p> + + <p> + On the day before he was to set out for Hampshire, he and Nurse and + Stella and Mr. Wagland and Mrs. Wagland drove in a wagonette to picnic + somewhere in the country behind the sea. It had been a dry August and + the rolling chalk downs over which they walked were uniformly brown. The + knapweed was stunted and the scabious blooms drooped towards the dusty + pasture. Only the flamy ladies’ slippers seemed appropriate to the miles + of heat that flickered against the landscape. Michael ran off alone, + sliding as he went where the drouth had singed the close-cropped grass. + The rabbits ran to right and left of him, throwing distorted shadows on + the long slopes, and once a field-mouse skipped anxiously across his + path. On the rounded summit of the highest hill within reach he sat down + near a clump of tremulous harebells. The sky was on every side of him, + the largest sky ever imagined. Far away in front was the shining sea, + above whose nebulous horizon ships hung motionless. Up here was the + sound of summer airs, the faint lisp of wind in parched herbage, the + twitter of desolate birds, and in some unseen vale below the bleating of + a flock of sheep. Bumble-bees droned from + <a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> + flower to flower of the + harebells and a church clock struck the hour of four. The world was + opening her arms and calling to Michael. He felt up there in the silver + weather as the ugly duckling must have felt when he saw himself to be a + radiant swan. Michael almost believed, in this bewitching meditation, + that he was in a story by Hans Christian Andersen. Always in those tales + the people flew above the world whether in snow-time or in spring-time. + It was really like flying to sit up here. For the first time Michael + flung wide his arms to grasp the unattainable; and, as he presently + charged down the hill-side in answer to distant holloas from the picnic + party, he saw before him a flock of sheep manœuvring before his + advance. Michael shouted and kept a swift course, remembering Don + Quixote and laughing when he saw the flock break into units and gallop + up the opposite slope. + </p> + + <p>“Tut-tut,” clicked Nurse. “What a mess you do get yourself into, I’m + sure. Can’t you sit down and enjoy yourself quietly?”</p> + + <p>“Did you see me make those silly old sheep run away, Nanny?” Michael + asked.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I did. And I should be ashamed to frighten poor animals so. You’ll + get the policeman on your tracks.”</p> + + <p>“I shouldn’t care,” said Michael boastfully. “He wouldn’t be able to + catch me.”</p> + + <p>“Wouldn’t he?” said Nurse very knowingly, as she laid out the tea-cups + on a red rug.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Michael,” Stella begged, “don’t make a policeman come after you.”</p> + + <p>Michael was intoxicated by the thought of his future. He could not + recognize the ability of any policeman to check his desires, and because + it was impossible to voice in any other way the impulses and ambitions + and hopes that were surging in his soul, he went on boasting.</p> + + <p> + “Ha, I’d like to see an old policeman run after me. I’d + <a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a> + trip him up and + roll him all down the hill, I would. I’d put his head in a rabbit hole. + I would. I can run faster than a policeman, I can.” + </p> + + <p>Michael was swaggering round and round the spread-out cups and saucers + and plates.</p> + + <p>“If you put your foot on those jam sandwiches, you’ll go straight back + to the carriage and wait there till we’ve finished tea. Do you hear?”</p> + + <p>Michael considered for a moment the possibility that Nanny might execute + this threat. He decided that she might and temporarily sobered down. But + the air was in his veins and all tea-time he could not chatter fast + enough to keep pace with the new power which was inspiring him with + inexpressible energy. He talked of what he was going to do in Hampshire; + he talked of what he was going to do on the journey; he talked of what + he was going to do at school and when he was grown up. He arranged + Stella’s future and bragged and boasted and fidgeted and shouted, so + that Nurse looked at him in amazement.</p> + + <p>“Whatever’s the matter with you?” she asked.</p> + + <p>Just then a tortoiseshell butterfly came soaring past and Michael, + swinging round on both his legs to watch the flight, swept half the + tea-cups with him. For a moment he was abashed; but after a long sermon + of reproof from Nurse he was much nearer to laughter than tears.</p> + + <p> + A gloomy reaction succeeded, as the party drove home through the grey + evening that was falling sadly over the country-side. A chilly wind + rustled in the hedgerows and blew the white dust in clouds behind the + wagonette. Michael became his silent self again and was now filled with + apprehensions. All that had seemed so easy to attain was now complicated + by the unknown. He would have been glad of Miss Carthew’s company. The + green-shaded lamp and creaking harmonium of the seaside lodgings were a + dismal end to all that loveliness of wind and silver so soon + <a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> + finished. + Nevertheless it had made him very sleepy and he was secretly glad to get + to bed. + </p> + + <p> + The next day was a dream from which he woke to find himself clinging + affectionately to Miss Carthew’s arm and talking shyly to Nancy Carthew + and a sidling spaniel alternately, as they walked from the still country + station and packed themselves into a pony-chaise that was waiting + outside behind a dun pony. + <a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_VI_The_Enchanted_Palace" id="Chapter_VI_The_Enchanted_Palace"></a> + Chapter VI: + <i>The Enchanted Palace</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HE dun pony ambled through the lanes to the village of Basingstead + Minor where Mrs. Carthew and her four daughters lived in a house called + Cobble Place. It stood close to the road and was two stories high, very + trim and covered with cotoneaster. On either side of the door were two + windows and above it in a level row five more windows: the roof was + thatched. On the left of the house were double doors which led into the + stable-yard, a large stable-yard overlooked by a number of irregular + gables in the side of the house and continually fluttered by white + fantail pigeons. Into the stable-yard the dun pony turned, where, + clustered in the side entrance of Cobble Place under a clematis-wreathed + porch, stood Mrs. Carthew and Miss May Carthew and Miss Joan Carthew, + all smiling very pleasantly at Michael and all evidently very glad to + see him safely arrived. Michael climbed out of the chaise and politely + shook hands with Mrs. Carthew and said he was very well and had had a + comfortable journey and would like some tea very much, although if Nancy + thought it was best he was quite ready to see her donkey before doing + anything else. However, Nancy was told that she must wait, and soon + Michael was sitting at a large round table in a shady dining-room, + eating hot buttered tea-cake and chocolate cake and macaroons, with + bread-and-butter as an afterthought of duty. He enjoyed drinking his tea + out of a thin teacup and he liked the silver and the satin tea-cosy and + the yellow Persian cat purring on the hearthrug and the bullfinch + flitting from + <a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> + perch to perch of his bright cage. He noticed with + pleasure that the pictures on the wall were full of interest and detail, + and was particularly impressed by two very long steel engravings of the + Death of Nelson and the Meeting of Wellington and Blücher on the field + of Waterloo. The only flaw in his pleasure was the difficulty of + addressing Miss May Carthew and Miss Joan Carthew, and he wished that + his own real Miss Carthew would suggest a solution. As for the bedroom + to which he was taken after tea, Michael thought there never could have + been such a jolly room before. It was just the right size, as snug as + possible with its gay wall-paper and crackling chintzes and ribboned + bed. The counterpane was patchwork and therefore held the promise of + perpetual entertainment. The dressing-table was neatly set with china + toilet articles whose individual importance Michael could not discover. + One in particular like the antler of a stag stuck upright in a china + tray he was very anxious to understand, and when he was told it was + intended for rings to hang upon, he wished he had a dozen rings to adorn + so neat a device. + </p> + + <p>After he had with Miss Carthew’s help unpacked and put his clothes away, + Michael joined Nancy in the stable-yard. He stroked the donkey and the + dun-coloured pony and watched the fantail pigeons in snowy circles + against the pale blue sky. He watched the gardener stirring up some + strange stuff for the pig that grunted impatiently. He watched the + pleasant Carthew cook shelling peas in the slanting sunlight by the + kitchen door. The air was very peaceful, full of soft sounds of lowing + cows, of ducks and hens and sheep. The air was spangled with glittering + insects: over a red wall hung down the branch of a plum tree, loaded + with creamy ovals of fruit, already rose-flushed with summer. Nancy said + they must soon go into the garden.</p> + + <p> + “Is there a garden more than this?” Michael asked. + <a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> + His bedroom window + had looked out on to the stable-yard. + </p> + + <p>“Through here,” said Nancy. She led the way to a door set in the wall, + which when open showed a green glowing oblong of light that made Michael + catch his breath in wonder.</p> + + <p> + Then together he and Nancy sauntered through what was surely the + loveliest garden in the world. Michael could scarcely bear to speak, so + completely did it fulfil every faintest hope. All along the red walls + were apples and pears and plums and peaches; all along the paths were + masses of flowers, phloxes and early Michaelmas daisies and Japanese + anemones and sunflowers and red-hot pokers and dahlias. The air was so + golden and balmy that it seemed as though the sunlight must have been + locked up in this garden for years. At the bottom of the vivid path was + a stream with real fish swimming backwards and forwards, and beyond the + stream, safely guarded and therefore perfectly beautiful, were cows + stalking through a field beyond which was a dark wood beyond which was a + high hill with a grey tower on the top of it. Some princess must have + made this garden. He and Nancy turned and walked by the stream on which + was actually moored a punt, a joy for to-morrow, since, explained Nancy, + Maud had said they were not to go on the river this afternoon. How + wonderful it was, Michael thought, to hear his dearest Miss Carthew + called Maud. Never was spoken so sweet a name as Maud. He would say it + to himself in bed that night, and in the morning he would wake with Maud + calling to him from sleep. Then he and Nancy turned from the tempting + stream and walked up a pleached alley of withies woven and interarched. + Over them September roses bloomed with fawn and ivory and copper and + salmon-pink buds and blossoms. At the end of the pleached alley was a + mulberry tree with a seat round its trunk and a thick lawn that ran + right up to the + <a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a> + house itself. On the lawn Nancy and Michael played + quoits and bowls and chased Ambrose the spaniel, until the sun sent + still more slanting shadows across the garden and it was possible to + feel that night was just behind the hill beyond the stream. The sun went + down. The air grew chilly and Miss Carthew appeared from the door, + beckoning to Michael. She sat with him in the dusky dining-room while he + ate his bread and milk, and told him of her brother the midshipman, + while he looked pensively at the picture of the Death of Nelson. Then + Michael went to the drawing-room where all the sisters and Mrs. Carthew + herself were sitting. He kissed everybody good night in turn, and Mrs. + Carthew put on a pair of spectacles in order to follow his exit from the + room with a kindly smile. Miss Carthew sat with him while he undressed, + and when he was in bed, she told him another story and kissed him good + night and blew out the candle, and before the sound of pleasant voices + coming upstairs from the supper-table had ceased, Michael was fast + asleep. + </p> + + <p>In the morning while he was lying watching the shadows on the ceiling, + Nancy’s freckled face appeared round the door.</p> + + <p>“Hurry up and dress,” she cried. “Fishing!”</p> + + <p>Michael had never dressed so quickly before. In fact when he was ready, + he had to wait for Nancy who had called him before she had dressed + herself. Nancy and Michael lived a lifetime of delight in that golden + hour of waiting for breakfast.</p> + + <p> + However, at Cobble Place every minute was a lifetime of delight to + Michael. He forgot all about everything except being happy. His + embarrassment with regard to the correct way of addressing May and Joan + was terminated by being told to call them May and Joan. He was shown the + treasures of their bedrooms, the butterfly collections, the sword of + Captain Carthew, the dirk of their brother the midshipman, + <a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> + the birds’ + eggs, the fossils, the bones, the dried flowers, the photographs, the + autographs, in fact everything that was most absorbing to look at. With + Mrs. Carthew he took sedate walks into the village, and held the flowers + while she decorated the altar in church, and sat with her while she + talked to bed-ridden old women. With Nancy on one memorable day he + crossed the river and disembarked on the other side and walked through + the field of cows, through the meadowsweet and purple loosestrife and + spearmint. Then they picked blackberries and dewberries by the edge of + the wood and walked on beneath the trees without caring about + trespassing or tramps or anything else. On the other side they came out + at the foot of the high hill. Up they walked, up and up until they + reached the grey tower at the top, and then, to Michael’s amazement, + Nancy produced the key of the tower and opened the door. + </p> + + <p>“Can we really go in?” asked Michael, staggered by the adventure.</p> + + <p>“Of course. We can always get the key,” said Nancy.</p> + + <p>They walked up some winding stone steps that smelt very damp, and at the + top they pushed open a trap-door and walked out on top of the tower. + Michael leaned over the parapet and for the second time beheld the + world. There was no sea, but there were woods and streams and spires and + fields and villages and smoke from farms. There were blue distances on + every side and great white clouds moving across the sky. The winds + battled against the tower and sang in Michael’s ears and ruffled his + hair and crimsoned his cheeks. He could see the fantail pigeons of + Cobble Place circling below. He could look down on the wood and the + river they had just crossed. He could see the garden and his dearest + Miss Carthew walking on the lawn.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Nancy,” he said, “it’s glorious.”</p> + + <p> + “Yes, it is rather decent,” Nancy agreed. + <a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I suppose that’s almost all of England you can see.”</p> + + <p>“Only four counties,” said Nancy carelessly. “Berkshire and I forget the + other three. We toboggan down this hill in winter. That’s rather decent + too.”</p> + + <p>“I’d like to come here every day,” sighed Michael. “I’d like to have + this tower for my very own. What castle is it called?”</p> + + <p>“Grogg’s Folly,” said Nancy abruptly.</p> + + <p>Michael wished the tower were not called Grogg’s Folly, and very soon + Nancy and he, shouting and laughing, were running at full speed down the + hill towards Cobble Place, while the stalks of the plantains whipped his + bare legs and larks flew up in alarm before his advance.</p> + + <p> + The time of his stay at Cobble Place was drawing to a close: the hour of + his greatest adventure was near. It had been a visit of unspoiled + enjoyment; and on his last night, Michael was allowed for a treat to + stay up to supper, to sit at the round table rose-stained by the + brooding lamp, while the rest of the room was a comfortable mystery in + which the parlour-maid’s cap and apron flitted whitely to and fro. Nor + did Michael go to bed immediately after supper, for he actually sat + grandly in the drawing-room, one of a semicircle round the autumnal fire + of logs crackling and leaping with blue flames. He sat silent, listening + to the pitter-pat of Mrs. Carthew’s Patience and watching the halma + board waiting for May to encounter Joan, while in a low voice Nancy read + to him one of Fifty-two Stories of Adventure for Girls. Bed-time came at + the end of the story and Michael was sad to say good night for the last + time and sad to think, when he got into his ribboned bed, that to-morrow + night he would be in Carlington Road among brass knobs and Venetian + blinds and lamp-posts and sounds of London. Then came a great surprize + that took away nearly all the regrets he felt at leaving Cobble Place, + <a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a> + + for Miss Carthew leaned over and whispered that she was coming to live + at Sixty-four. + </p> + + <p>“Oh!” Michael gasped. “With us—with Stella and me?”</p> + + <p>Miss Carthew nodded.</p> + + <p>“I say!” Michael whispered. “And will Stella have lessons when I’m going + to school?”</p> + + <p>“Every morning,” said Miss Carthew.</p> + + <p>“I expect you’ll find her rather bad at lessons,” said Michael + doubtfully.</p> + + <p>He was almost afraid that Miss Carthew might leave in despair at + Stella’s ineptitude.</p> + + <p>“Lots of people are stupid at first,” said Miss Carthew.</p> + + <p>Michael blushed: he remembered a certain morning when capes and + promontories got inextricably mixed in his mind and when Miss Carthew + seemed to grow quite tired of trying to explain the difference.</p> + + <p>“Will you teach her the piano now?” he enquired.</p> + + <p>“Oh dear, no. I’m not clever enough to do that.”</p> + + <p>“But you teach me.”</p> + + <p>“That’s different. Stella will be a great pianist one day,” said Miss + Carthew earnestly.</p> + + <p>“Will she?” asked Michael incredulously. “But I don’t like her to play a + bit—not a bit.”</p> + + <p>“You will one day. Great musicians think she is wonderful.”</p> + + <p>Michael gave up this problem. It was another instance of the chasm + between youth and age. He supposed that one day he would like Stella’s + playing. One day, so he had been led to suppose, he would also like fat + and cabbage and going to bed. At present such a condition of mind was + incomprehensible. However, Stella and the piano mattered very little in + comparison with the solid fact that Miss Carthew was going to live in + Carlington Road.</p> + + <p> + On the next morning before they left, Michael and Mrs. + <a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a> + Carthew walked + round the garden together, while Mrs. Carthew talked to him of the new + life on which he was shortly going to enter. + </p> + + <p>“Well, Michael,” she said, “in a week, so my daughter tells me, you will + be going to school.”</p> + + <p>“Yes,” corroborated Michael.</p> + + <p>“Dear me,” Mrs. Carthew went on. “I’m glad I’m not going to school for + the first time; you won’t like it at all at first, and then you’ll like + it very much indeed, and then you’ll either go on liking it very much or + you’ll hate it. If you go on liking it—I mean when you’re quite + old—sixteen or seventeen—you’ll never do anything, but if you hate it + then, you’ll have a chance of doing something. I’m glad my daughter Maud + is going to look after you. She’s a good girl.”</p> + + <p>Michael thought how extraordinary it was to hear Miss Carthew spoken of + in this manner and felt shy at the prospect of having to agree verbally + with Mrs. Carthew.</p> + + <p>“Take my advice—never ask questions. Be content to make a fool of + yourself once or twice, but don’t ask questions. Don’t answer questions + either. That’s worse than asking. But after all, now I’m giving advice, + and worst of anything is listening to other people’s advice. So pick + yourself some plums and get ready, for the chaise will soon be at the + door.”</p> + + <p> + Nurse was very grumpy when he and Miss Carthew arrived. She did not seem + at all pleased by the idea of Miss Carthew living in the house, and + muttered to herself all the time. Michael did no more lessons in the + week that remained before the autumn term began; but he had to go with + Miss Carthew to various outfitters and try on coats and suits and + generally be equipped for school. The afternoons he spent in Carlington + Road, trying to pick up information about St. James’ Preparatory School + from the boys already there. One of these boys was Rodber, the son of + <a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a> + a + doctor, and probably by his manner and age and appearance the most + important boy in the school. At any rate Michael found it difficult to + believe that there could exist a boy with more right to rule than this + Rodber with his haughty eye and Eton suit and prominent ears and quick + authoritative voice. + </p> + + <p>“Look here,” said Rodber one evening, “can you borrow your mail-cart? I + saw your sister being wheeled in one this morning. We’ve got three + mail-carts and we want a fourth for trains.”</p> + + <p>Michael ran as fast as he could back to Sixty-four, rushed down the area + steps, rang the bell half a dozen times and tapped continuously on the + ground glass of the back door until Cook opened it.</p> + + <p>“Whatever’s the matter?” said Cook.</p> + + <p>Michael did not stop to answer, but ran upstairs, until breathless he + reached the schoolroom.</p> + + <p>“Please, Miss Carthew, may we have Stella’s mail-cart? Rodber wants + it—for trains. Do let me. Rodber’s the boy I told you about who’s at + school. Oh, do let us have the cart. Rodber’s got three, but he wants + ours. May I, Miss Carthew?”</p> + + <p>She nodded.</p> + + <p>Michael rushed downstairs in a helter-skelter of joy and presently, with + Cook’s assistance in getting it up the steps, Michael stood proudly by + the mail-cart which was of the dogcart pattern, very light and swift + when harnessed to a good runner. Rodber examined it critically.</p> + + <p>“Yes, that’s a fairly decent one,” he decided.</p> + + <p>Michael was greatly relieved by his approval.</p> + + <p>“Look here,” said Rodber, “I don’t mind telling you, as you’ll be a new + kid, one or two tips about school. Look here, don’t tell anybody your + Christian name and don’t be cocky.”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, no, I won’t,” Michael earnestly promised. + <a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> + </p> + + <p>“And don’t, for goodness’ sake, look like that when chaps speak to you, + or you’ll get your head smacked.”</p> + + <p>This was the sum of Rodber’s advice, and presently Michael was stationed + as signalman by the junction which was a pillar-box, while Rodber went + off at express speed, bound for the next station which was a lamp-post. + A signalman’s life on the Carlington Road line was a lonely one, and it + was also a very tiring one, when any obstruction caused the signals to + be up. Michael’s arm ached excruciatingly when Rodber’s train got + entangled with Garrod’s train and Macalister’s train had to be kept from + running into them. Moreover, the signalman’s life had none of the + glories of controlling other people; a signalman on the Carlington Road + line was dependent on the train for his behaviour. He was not allowed to + interfere with the free running of any freight, but if the engine-driver + insisted he had to let him go past, and if there was an accident, he was + blamed. A signalman’s life was lonely, tiring, humiliating and + dangerous.</p> + + <p>These few fine days of mid-September went quickly by and one evening + Rodber said casually, almost cruelly it seemed to Michael:</p> + + <p>“Well, see you to-morrow in the break, young Fane.”</p> + + <p>Michael wondered what on earth a ‘break’ was; he longed to ask Rodber, + but he dared not display at the very beginning of his career what would + evidently be a disgraceful ignorance, and so he said that he would see + Rodber in the ‘break’ to-morrow. He asked Miss Carthew when he got home + what a ‘break’ was, and she told him it was a large wagonette sometimes + driven by four horses. Michael was very much puzzled, but thought school + would be fun if large wagonettes were commonplace objects of school + life, and dreamed that night of driving furiously with Rodber in a + gigantic mail-cart along the Hammersmith Road.</p> + + <p> + At breakfast Miss Carthew asked Michael if he would like + <a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> + her to come + with him. He thought for a moment, and wished that Rodber had invited + him to accompany him that first morning. + </p> + + <p>“You know, it’s for you to choose, Michael,” said Miss Carthew.</p> + + <p>“Well, I would like you to come,” said Michael at last.</p> + + <p>So at ten minutes past nine they set out. All sorts of boys were going + to school along the Hammersmith Road, boys of every size carrying + satchels or bags or loose bundles of books. Most of them wore the + Jacobean cap, and Michael eyed them with awe; but many wore the cap of + St. James’ Preparatory School, and these Michael eyed with curiosity as + well as awe. He spoke very little during the walk and felt all the way a + sinking of the heart. When actually he reached the gate of Randell + House, the less formal appellation of St. James’ Preparatory School, he + longed to turn back with Miss Carthew, as he thought with sentimental + pangs of the pleasant schoolroom and of Stella sitting by Miss Carthew, + learning to read through a sunlit morning.</p> + + <p>“Don’t come in with me,” he whispered.</p> + + <p>“Quite right,” said Miss Carthew approvingly. “Much better without me.”</p> + + <p>“And don’t wave, will you?” he begged. Then with an effort he joined the + stream of boys walking confidently through the big gate.</p> + + <p>In the entrance hall a ginger-haired foxy-faced man in a green uniform + said sharply:</p> + + <p>“New boy?”</p> + + <p>Michael nodded.</p> + + <p>“Stand on one side, please. Mr. Randell will see you presently.”</p> + + <p> + Michael waited. He noticed with pride that the boy next to him had + brought with him either his mother or his sister or his governess. + Michael felt very superior and was + <a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a> + glad he had resisted the temptation + to ask Miss Carthew to come in with him. He noticed how curiously the + other boys eyed this lady and fancied that they threw contemptuous + glances at the boy who had introduced her. Michael was very glad indeed + that he had let Miss Carthew turn back. + <a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_VII_Randell_House" id="Chapter_VII_Randell_House"></a> + Chapter VII: + <i>Randell House</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HE preliminaries of Michael’s career at St. James’ Preparatory School + passed in a dream-like confusion of thought and action. First of all he + waited anxiously in the Headmaster’s study in an atmosphere of + morocco-leather and large waste-paper baskets. Like every other room in + which Michael had waited, whether of dentist or doctor, the outlook from + the window was gloomy and the prospect within was depressing. He was + glad when Mr. Randell led him and several other boys towards the First + Form, where in a dream, peopled by the swinging legs of many boys, he + learnt from a scarlet book that while Cornelia loved Julia, Julia + returned Cornelia’s affection. When this fact was established in both + English and Latin, all the boys shuffled to their desks and the record + of a great affection was set down largely and painfully. + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left">1.</td> + <td align="left">Cornelia Juliam amat.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">2.</td> + <td align="left">Julia Corneliam amat.</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p> + Blotted and smudged and sprawling though it ultimately appeared, Michael + felt a great satisfaction in having dealt successfully with two + nominatives, two accusatives and a verb. The first part of the morning + passed away quickly in the history of this simple love. At eleven + o’clock a shrill electric bell throbbed through the school, and Michael, + almost before he knew what was happening, was carried in a torrent of + boys towards the playground. Michael had never felt supreme loneliness, + even at night, until he stood in the middle of that green prairie of + recreation, + <a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> + distinguishing nobody, a very small creature in a throng of + chattering giants. Some of these giants, who usually walked about arm in + arm, approached him. + </p> + + <p>“Hullo, are you a new kid?”</p> + + <p>Michael breathed his ‘yes.’</p> + + <p>“What’s your name?”</p> + + <p>With an effort Michael remembered Rodber’s warning and replied simply:</p> + + <p>“Fane.”</p> + + <p>“What’s your Christian name?”</p> + + <p>This was a terribly direct attack, and Michael was wondering whether it + would be best to run quickly out of the playground, to keep silence or + to surrender the information, when the quick and authoritative voice of + Rodber flashed from behind him.</p> + + <p>“Fish and find out, young Biden.”</p> + + <p>“Who are you calling young, young Rodber?”</p> + + <p>“You,” said Rodber. “So you’d jolly well better scoot off and leave this + kid alone.”</p> + + <p>“Church said I was to collar all the new kids for his army,” Biden + explained.</p> + + <p>“Did he? Well, this kid’s in our army, so sucks! And you can tell young + Church that Pearson and me are going to jolly well lam him at four + o’clock,” announced Rodber very fiercely.</p> + + <p>“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” asked Biden, whose teeth seemed to + project farther and farther from his mouth as his indignation grew.</p> + + <p>“All right, Toothy Biden,” jeered Rodber. “We’ll tell the whole of your + rotten army at four o’clock, when we give you the biggest lamming you’ve + ever had. Come on, young Fane,” he went on, and Michael, somewhat + perturbed by the prospect of being involved in these encounters, + followed at his heels.</p> + + <p> + “Look here,” said Rodber presently, “you’d better + <a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> + come and show + yourself to Pearson. He’s the captain of our army; and for goodness’ + sake look a bit cheerful.” + </p> + + <p>Michael forced an uncomfortable grin such as photographers conjure.</p> + + <p>Under the shade of a gigantic tree stood Pearson the leader, languidly + eating a very small and very unripe pear.</p> + + <p>“Hullo, Pinky,” he drawled.</p> + + <p>“I say, Pearson,” said Rodber in a reverent voice, “I know this kid at + home. He’s awfully keen to be allowed to join your army.”</p> + + <p>Pearson scarcely glanced at Michael.</p> + + <p>“All right. Swear him in. I’ve got a new oath written down in a book at + home, but he can take the old one.”</p> + + <p>Pearson yawned and threw away the core of the pear.</p> + + <p>“He’s awfully glad he’s going to join your army, Pearson. Aren’t you, + young Fane?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, awfully glad,” Michael echoed.</p> + + <p>“It’s the best army,” said Pearson simply.</p> + + <p>“Oh, easily,” Rodber agreed. “I say, Pearson, that kid Biden said Church + was going to lam you at four o’clock.”</p> + + <p>The offended Pearson swallowed a large piece of a second unripe pear and + scowled.</p> + + <p>“Did he? Tell the army to line up behind the lav. at four o’clock.”</p> + + <p>Rodber’s eyes gleamed.</p> + + <p>“I say, Pearson, I’ve got an awfully ripping plan. Supposing we ambush + them.”</p> + + <p>“How?” enquired the commander.</p> + + <p>“Why, supposing we put young Fane and two or three more new kids by the + tuckshop door and tell them to run towards the haunted house, we could + cop them simply rippingly.”</p> + + <p> + “Give the orders before afternoon school,” said Pearson curtly, and just + then the bell for ‘second hour’ sounded. + <a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Wait for me at half-past twelve,” Rodber shouted to Michael as he ran + to get into school.</p> + + <p>Michael grew quite feverish during ‘second hour’ and his brain whirled + with the imagination of battles, so that the landing of Julius Cæsar + seemed of minor importance. Tuckshops and haunted houses and doors and + ambushes and the languid pale-faced Pearson occupied his thoughts fully + enough. At a quarter-past twelve Mr. Whichelo the First Form master told + Michael and the other new boys to go to the book-room and get their + school caps, and at half-past twelve Michael waited outside on the + yellow gravel for Rodber, splendidly proud of himself in a blue cap + crested with a cockleshell worked in silver wire. He was longing to look + at himself in the glass at home and to show Miss Carthew and Stella and + Nanny and Cook and Gladys his school cap.</p> + + <p>However, before he could go home Rodber took him round to where the + tuckshop ambush would ensue at four o’clock. He showed him a door in a + wall which led apparently into the narrow shady garden of an empty house + next to the school. He explained how Michael was to hang about outside + this door and when the Churchites demanded his presence, he told him + that he was to run as hard as he could down the garden towards the + house.</p> + + <p>“We’ll do the rest,” said Rodber. “And now cut off home.”</p> + + <p> + As soon as Michael was inside Number 64 he rushed upstairs to his + bedroom and examined himself critically in the looking-glass. Really the + new cap made a great difference. He seemed older somehow and more + important. He wished that his arms and legs were not so thin, and he + looked forward to the time when like Rodber he would wear Etons. + However, his hair was now pleasantly and inconspicuously straight: he + had already seen boys woefully teazed on account of their curls, and + Michael congratulated + <a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> + himself that generally his dress and appearance + conformed with the fashion of the younger boys’ dress at Randell’s. It + would be terrible to excite notice. In fact, Michael supposed that to + excite notice was the worst sin anybody could possibly commit. He hoped + he would never excite notice. He would like to remain perfectly + ordinary, and very slowly by an inconspicuous and gradual growth he + would thus arrive in time at the dignity and honour enjoyed by Rodber, + and perhaps even to the sacred majesty that clung to Pearson. Already he + was going to take an active part in the adventures of school; and he + felt sorry for the boys who without Rodber’s influence would mildly go + straight home at four o’clock. + </p> + + <p>Indeed, Michael set out for afternoon school in a somewhat elated frame + of mind, and when he turned into the schoolyard, wearing the school cap, + he felt bold enough to watch a game of Conquerors that was proceeding + between two solemn-faced boys. He thought that to try to crack a + chestnut hanging on a piece of string with another chestnut similarly + suspended was a very enthralling pastime, and he was much upset when one + of the solemn-faced antagonists suddenly grabbed his new school-cap and + put it in his pocket and, without paying any attention to Michael, went + on with the game as if nothing had happened. Michael had no idea how to + grapple with the situation and felt inclined to cry.</p> + + <p>“I say, give me my cap,” he said at last.</p> + + <p>The solemn-faced boys went on in silence with the game.</p> + + <p>“I say, please give me my cap,” Michael asked again.</p> + + <p>No notice was taken of his appeal and Michael, looking round in despair, + saw Rodber. He ran up to him.</p> + + <p>“I say, Rodber, that boy over there has got my cap,” he said.</p> + + <p> + “Well, don’t come sneaking to me, you young ass. Go and smack his + head.” + <a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Am I to really?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p>“Of course.”</p> + + <p>Michael was not prepared to withstand Rodber’s advice, so he went up to + the solemn-faced boy and hit him as hard as he could. The solemn-faced + boy was so much surprized by this attack that he did not for a moment + retaliate, and it was only his friend’s gasp ‘I say, what fearful + cheek,’ that restored him to a sense of what had happened.</p> + + <p>In a moment Michael found himself lying on his back and almost smothered + by the solemn-faced boy’s whole body and presently suffering agony from + the pressure of the solemn-faced boy’s knees upon his arms pinioned + cross-wise. Excited voices chattered about him from an increasing + circle. He heard the solemn-faced boy telling his horrified auditors + that a new kid had smacked his head. He heard various punishments + strongly recommended, and at last with a sense of relief he heard the + quick authoritative voice of the ubiquitous Rodber.</p> + + <p>“Let him get up, young Plummer. A fight! A fight!”</p> + + <p>Plummer got up, as he was told, and Michael in a circle of eager faces + found himself confronted by Plummer.</p> + + <p>“Go on,” shouted Rodber. “I’m backing you, young Fane.”</p> + + <p>Michael lowered his head and charged desperately forward for the honour + of Rodber; but a terrible pain in his nose and another in his arm and a + third in his chin brought tears and blood together in such quantity that + Michael would have liked to throw himself on to the grass and weep his + life out, too weak to contend with solemn-faced boys who snatched caps.</p> + + <p> + Then over his misery he heard Rodber cry, ‘That’s enough. It’s not fair. + Give him back his cap.’ The crowd broke up except for a few admirers of + Rodber, who was telling Michael that he had done tolerably well for a + new + <a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> + kid. Michael felt encouraged and ventured to point out that he had + not really blabbed. + </p> + + <p>“You cocky young ass,” said Rodber crushingly. “I suppose you mean + ‘blubbed.’”</p> + + <p>Michael was overwhelmed by this rebuke and, wishing to hide his shame in + a far corner of the field, turned away. But Rodber called him back and + spoke pleasantly, so that Michael forgot the snub and wandered for the + rest of the dinner-hour in Rodber’s wake, with aching nose, but with a + heart beating in admiration and affection.</p> + + <p> + Within a fortnight Michael had become a schoolboy, sharing in the + general ambitions and factions and prejudices and ideals of + schoolboyhood. He was a member of Pearson’s victorious army; he + supported the London Road Car Company against the London General Omnibus + Company, the District Railway against the Metropolitan Railway; he was + always ready to lam young boarders who were cheeky, and when an older + boarder called him a ‘day-bug’ Michael was discreetly silent, merely + registering a vow to take it out of the young boarders at the first + opportunity. He also learnt to speak without blushing of the gym. and + the lav. and arith. and hols. and ‘Bobbie’ Randell and ‘my people’ and + ‘my kiddy sister.’ He was often first with the claimant ‘ego,’ when + someone shouted ‘quis?’ over a broken pocket-knife found. He could shout + ‘fain I’ to be rid of an obligation and ‘bags I’ to secure an advantage. + He was a rigid upholder of the inviolableness of Christian names as + postulated by Randellite convention. He laid out threepence a week in + the purchase of sweets, usually at four ounces a penny; while during the + beggary that succeeded he was one of the most persistent criers of + ‘donnez,’ when richer boys emerged from the tuckshop, sucking gelatines + and satin pralines and chocolate creams and raspberry noyau. As for the + masters, he was always ready to hear scandalous rumours about their + un- + <a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> + official lives, and he was one of the first to fly round the + playground with the news that ‘Squeaky’ Mordaunt had distinctly muttered + ‘damn’ beneath his breath, when Featherstone Minor trod on his toe + towards the close of first hour. Soon also with one of the four hundred + odd boys who made up the population of this very large private school, + Michael formed a great friendship. He and Buckley were inseparable for + sixteen whole weeks. During that time they exchanged the most intimate + confidences. Buckley told Michael that his Christian names were Claude + Arnold Eustace, and Michael told Buckley that he was called Charles + Michael Saxby, and also that his mother was generally away from home, + that his father was dead, that his governess was called Miss Carthew, + that he had a sister who played the piano and that one day when he grew + up he hoped to be an explorer and search for orchids in Borneo. + Sometimes on Saturday or Wednesday half-holidays Buckley came to tea + with Michael and sometimes Michael went to tea with Buckley, and + observed how well Buckley kept in order his young brothers and kiddy + sisters. Buckley lived close to Kensington Gardens and rode to school + every morning on a London Road Car, which was the reason of Michael’s + keen partizanship of that company. In the eleven o’clock break between + first and second hours, Michael and Buckley walked arm in arm round the + field, and in the dinner-hour Michael and Buckley shared a rope on the + Giant Stride and talked intimately on the top of the horizontal ladder + in the outdoor gymnasium. During the Christmas holidays they haunted the + banks of the Round Pond and fished for minnows and sailed capsizable + yachts and cheeked keepers. Every night Michael thought of Buckley and + every night Michael hoped that Buckley thought of him. Even in + scholarship they were scarcely distinguishable; for when at the end of + the autumn term Michael was top of the class in Divinity and English, + Buckley headed the Latin + <a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> + list. As for Drawing they were bracketed equal + at the very bottom of the form. + </p> + + <p>Then towards the middle of the Lent term Randell House was divided + against itself; for one half of the school became Oxford and the other + half Cambridge, in celebration of the boat-race which would be rowed at + the end of March. When one morning Michael saw Buckley coming into + school with a light blue swallow pinned to the left of his sailor-knot + and when Buckley perceived attached to Michael’s sailor-top a medal + dependent from a dark blue ribbon, they eyed each other as strangers. + This difference of opinion was irremediable. Neither romance nor + sentiment could ever restore to Michael and Buckley their pristine + cordiality, because Michael was now a despised Oxtail and Buckley was a + loathed Cabbage-stalk.</p> + + <p>They shouted to one another from the heart of massed factions mocking + rhymes. Michael would chant:</p> + + <p>“Oxford upstairs eating all the cakes; Cambridge downstairs licking up + the plates.”</p> + + <p>To which Buckley would retort:</p> + + <p>“Cambridge, rowing on and on for ever; Oxford in a matchbox floating + down the river.”</p> + + <p> + Snow fell in February, and great snow-ball fights took place between the + Oxtails and the Cabbage-stalks in which the fortunes of both sides + varied from day to day. During one of these fights Michael hit Buckley + full in the eye with a snow-ball alleged to contain a stone, and the + bitterness between them grew sharper. Then Oxford won the boat-race, and + Buckley cut Michael publicly. Finally, owing to some alteration in the + Buckley home, Buckley became a boarder, and was able with sneering voice + to call Michael a beastly ‘day-bug.’ Such was the friendship of Michael + and Buckley, which lasted for sixteen weeks and might not indeed have so + much wounded Michael, when the rupture was made final, if Buckley had + proved loyal to that + <a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> + friendship. Unfortunately for Michael’s belief in + human nature Buckley one day, stung perhaps by some trifling advantage + gained by day-boys at the expense of boarders, divulged Michael’s + Christian names. He called out distinctly, “Ha! ha! Charles Michael + Saxby Fane! Oh, what a name! Kiddy Michael Sacks-of-coals Fane!” + </p> + + <p>Michael regretted his intimacy with one who was not within the circle of + Carlington Road. In future he would not seek friends outside Carlington + Road and the six roads of the alliance. There all secrets must be kept, + and all quarrels locally adjusted, for there Christian names were known + and every household had its skeleton of nurse or governess.</p> + + <p> + Meanwhile, Mrs. Fane did not come home and Miss Carthew assumed more and + more complete control of Number 64, until one day in spring Nurse + suddenly told Michael that she was leaving next day. Somehow, Nurse had + ceased to influence Michael’s life one way or the other, and he could + only feel vaguely uncomfortable over her departure. Nurse cried a good + deal particularly at saying good-bye to Stella, whom she called her own + girl whatever anybody might say. When Michael perceived Nurse’s tears he + tried hard to drag up from the depths of his nature a dutiful + sentimentality. For the last time he kissed that puckered monkey-like + face, and in a four-wheeler Nurse vanished without making any difference + in the life of Sixty-four, save by a convenient shifting about of the + upstair rooms. The old night-nursery was redecorated and became for many + years Michael’s bedroom. Miss Carthew slept in Michael’s old big lonely + front room, and Stella slept in a little dressing-room opening out of + it. Down in the kitchen, whence withered Gladys and the impersonal cook + had also vanished, Michael gleaned a certain amount of gossip and found + that the immediate cause of Nurse’s departure was due to Miss Carthew’s + discovery of her dead drunk in a + <a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> + kitchen chair. It seemed that Miss + Carthew, slim and strong and beautiful, had had to carry the old woman + up to her bedroom, while Michael lay sleeping, had had to undress and + put her to bed and on the next day to contend with her asseverations + that the collapse was due to violent neuralgia. It seemed also that for + years the neighbourhood had known of Nurse’s habits, had even seen her + on two occasions upset Stella’s perambulator. Indeed, so far as Michael + could gather, he and Stella had lived until Miss Carthew’s arrival in a + state of considerable insecurity. + </p> + + <p> + However, Nurse was now a goblin of the past, and the past could be + easily forgotten. In these golden evenings of the summer-term, there was + too much going forward in Carlington Road to let old glooms overshadow + the gaiety of present life. As Mrs. Carthew had prophesied, Michael + enjoyed being at school very much, and having already won a prize for + being top of his class in Divinity and English at Christmas with every + prospect of being top of his class again in the summer, he was anxious + to achieve the still greater distinction of winning a prize in the + school sports which were to be held in July. All the boys who lived in + the Carlington Confederate Roads determined to win prizes, and Rodber + was very much to the fore in training them all to do him credit. It was + the fashion to choose colours in which to run, and Michael after a + week’s debate elected to appear in violet running-drawers and + primrose-bordered vest. The twin Macalisters, contemporaries of Michael, + ran in cerise and eau-de-nil, while the older Macalister wore + ultramarine and mauve. Garrod chose dark green and Rodber looked + dangerously swift in black and yellow. Every evening there was steady + practice under Rodber, either in canvas shoes from lamp-post to + lamp-post or, during the actual week before the sports, in spiked + running-shoes on the grass-track, with corks to grip and a temperamental + stop-watch to cause many disputes. + <a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> + It was a great humiliation for the + Confederate Roads when Rodber himself failed to last the half-mile + (under 14) on the day itself. However, the Macalister twins won the + sack-race (under 11) and in the same class Michael won the hundred yards + Consolation Race and an octagonal napkin-ring, so Carlington Road + congratulated itself. In addition to athletic practice there were + several good fights with ‘cads’ and a disagreeable Colonel had his + dining-room window starred by a catapult. Other notable events included + a gas explosion at Number 78, when the front door was blown across the + street and flattened a passer-by against the opposite wall. There was a + burglary at Number 33 and the housemaid at Number 56 fell backwards from + the dining-room window-sill and bruised her back on the lid of the + dustbin in the area. + </p> + + <p> + With all these excitements to sustain the joy of life Michael was very + happy and, when school broke up for the summer holidays, he had never + yet looked forward so eagerly to the jolly weeks by the sea. Miss + Carthew and Michael and Stella went to Folkestone that year, and Michael + enjoyed himself enormously. Miss Carthew, provided that she was allowed + a prior inspection, offered no opposition to friendship with strange + children, and Michael joined an association for asking everybody on the + Leas what the time was. The association would not have been disbanded + all the holidays if one of the members had not asked the time from the + same old gentleman twice in one minute. The old gentleman was so acutely + irritated by this that he walked about the Leas warning people against + the association, until it became impossible to find out the time, when + one really wanted to know. Michael moved inland for a while after this + and fell into Radnor Park pond, when he returned to the sea and got + stung by a jelly-fish while he was paddling, and read Treasure Island in + the depths of his own particular cave among the tamarisks of the Lower + Sandgate Road. + <a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> + </p> + + <p>After about a fortnight of complete rest a slight cloud was cast over + the future by the announcement at breakfast one morning that he was to + do a couple of hours’ work at French every day with a French governess: + remembering Madame Flauve, he felt depressed by the prospect. But Miss + Carthew found a charming and youthful French governess at a girls’ + school, where about half a dozen girls were remaining during the + holidays, and Michael did not mind so much. He rather liked the + atmosphere of the girls’ school, although when he returned to Randell’s + he gave a very contemptuous account of female education to his masculine + peers. An incident happened at this girls’ school which he never told, + although it made a great impression on his imagination.</p> + + <p> + One afternoon he had been invited to take tea with the six girls and + Mademoiselle, and after tea the weather being wet, they all played games + in the recreation-room. One of the smaller girls happened to swing + higher than decorum allowed, and caused Michael to blush and to turn his + head quickly and look intently at houses opposite. He knew that the girl + was unaware of the scandal she had created, and therefore blushed the + deeper and hoped that the matter would pass off quietly. But very soon + he heard a chatter of reproof, and the poor little girl was banished + from the room in disgrace, while all the other girls discussed the + shameful business from every point of view, calling upon Mademoiselle + and Michael to endorse their censure. Michael felt very sorry for the + poor little girl and wished very much that the others would let the + matter drop, but the discussion went on endlessly and as, just before he + went home, he happened to see the offending girl sitting by a window + with tear-stained face, Michael felt more sorry than ever and wished + that he dared to say a comforting word, to explain how well he + understood it was all an accident. On the way home, he walked silently, + meditating upon disgrace, and for the + <a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> + first time he realized something + of human cruelty and the lust to humiliate and submerge deeper still the + fallen. At the same time he himself experienced, in retrospect of the + incident, a certain curious excitement, and did not know whether, after + all, he had not taken pleasure in the little girl’s shame, whether, + after all, he would not have liked to go back and talk the whole matter + out again. However, there was that exciting chapter in Treasure Island + to finish and the September Boy’s Own Paper to expect. On the next day + Michael, walking with Miss Carthew on the Leas, met General Mace, and + girls’ schools with their curious excitements and blushes were entirely + forgotten. General Mace, it appeared, was an old friend of Miss + Carthew’s father and was staying by himself at Folkestone. General Mace + had fought in the Indian Mutiny and was exactly what a general should + be, very tall with a white moustache fiercely curling and a rigid back + that bent inwards like a bow and a magnificent ebony walking-stick and a + gruff voice. General Mace seemed to take a fancy to Michael and actually + invited him to go for a walk with him next day at ten o’clock. + </p> + + <p>“Sharp, mind,” said the General as he saluted stiffly. “Ten o’clock to + the minute.”</p> + + <p>Michael spent the rest of the day in asking questions of Miss Carthew + about General Mace, and scarcely slept that night for fear he might be + late. At nine o’clock, Michael set out from the lodgings and ran all the + way to the General’s house on the Leas, and walked about and fidgeted + and fretted himself until the clock struck the first chime of ten, when + he rang the bell and was shown upstairs and was standing on the + General’s hearthrug before the echo of the last chime had died away.</p> + + <p> + The General cleared his throat and after saluting Michael suggested a + walk. Proudly Michael walked beside this tall old soldier up and down + the Leas. He was told tales + <a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> + of the Mutiny; he learned the various ranks + of the British Army from Lance-corporal to Field-marshal; he agreed at + the General’s suggestion to aim at a commission in the Bengal Cavalry, + preferably in a regiment which wore an uniform of canary-yellow. Every + morning Michael walked about Folkestone with General Mace, and one + morning they turned into a toy-shop where Michael was told to choose two + boxes of soldiers. Michael at first chose a box of Highlanders doubling + fiercely with fixed bayonets and a stationary Highland Regimental Band, + each individual of which had a different instrument and actually a + music-stand as well. These two boxes together cost seven shillings, and + Michael was just leaving the shop when he saw a small penny box + containing twelve very tiny soldiers. Michael was in a quandary. For + seven shillings he would be able to buy eighty-four penny boxes, that is + to say one thousand and eight soldiers, whereas in the two boxes of + Highlanders already selected there were only twelve with bayonets, + twelve with instruments and twelve music-stands. It was really very + difficult to decide, and General Mace declined to make any suggestion as + to which would be the wiser choice, Michael was racked by indecision and + after a long debate chose the original two boxes and played with his + Highlanders for several years to come. + </p> + + <p>“Quite right,” said the General when they reached the sunlight from the + dusty little toy-shop. “Quite right. Quality before quantity, sir. I’m + glad to see you have so much common sense.”</p> + + <p> + Almost before the holidays seemed to have begun, the holidays were over. + There was a short and melancholy day of packing up, and a farewell visit + through the rain to General Mace. He and Michael sat for a while in his + room, while they talked earnestly of the Indian Army and the glories of + patriotism. Michael told tales, slightly exaggerated, of the exploits of + Pearson’s army and General + <a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> + Mace described the Relief of Lucknow. + Michael felt that they were in profound sympathy: they both recognized + the splendour of action. The rain stopped, and in a rich autumnal sunset + they walked together for the last time over the golden puddles and + spangled wetness of the Leas. Michael went through the ranks of the + British Army without a single mistake, and promised faithfully to make + the Bengal Lancers his aim through youth. + </p> + + <p>“Punctuality, obedience and quality before quantity,” said the General, + standing up as tall and thin as Don Quixote against the sunset glow. + “Good-bye.”</p> + + <p>“Good-bye,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + They saluted each other ceremoniously, and parted. The next day Michael + was in London, and after a depressing Sunday and an exciting Monday + spent in buying a Norfolk suit and Eton collars, the new term began with + all the excitements of ‘moving up,’ of a new form-master, of new boys, + of seeing who would be in the Football Eleven and of looking forward to + Christmas with its presents and pantomimes. + <a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_VIII_Siamese_Stamps" id="Chapter_VIII_Siamese_Stamps"></a> + Chapter VIII: + <i>Siamese Stamps</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + N the Upper Fourth class, under the tutorship of Mr. Macrae, Michael + began to prosecute seriously the study of Greek, whose alphabet he had + learnt the preceding term. He now abandoned the scarlet book of + Elementary Latin for Henry’s Latin Primer, which began with ‘Balbus was + building a wall,’ and looked difficult in its mulberry-cloth binding. + This term in the Upper Fourth was very trying to Michael. Troubles + accumulated. Coincident with the appearance of Greek irregular verbs + came the appearance of Avery, a new boy who at once, new boy though he + was, assumed command of the Upper Fourth and made Michael the target for + his volatile and stinging shafts. Misfortune having once directed her + attention to Michael, pursued him for some time to come. Michael was + already sufficiently in awe of Avery’s talent for hurting his feelings, + when from the Hebrides Mrs. Fane sent down Harris tweed for Michael’s + Norfolk suits. He begged Miss Carthew to let him continue in the + inconspicuous dark blue serge which was the fashion at Randell’s; but + for once she was unsympathetic, and Michael had to wear the tweed. + Avery, of course, was very witty at his expense and for a long time + Michael was known as ‘strawberry-bags,’ until the joke palled. Michael + had barely lived down the Harris tweed, when Avery discovered, while + they were changing into football shorts, that Michael wore combinations + instead of pants and vest. Combinations were held to be the depth of + effeminacy, and Avery often enquired when Michael was going to appear in + petticoats + <a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> + and stays. Michael spoke to Miss Carthew about these + combinations which at the very moment of purchase he had feared, but + Miss Carthew insisted that they were much healthier than the modish + pants and vest, and Michael was not allowed to change the style of his + underclothing. In desperation he tied some tape round his waist, but the + observant Avery noticed this ruse, and Michael was more cruelly teazed + than ever. Then one Monday morning the worst blow of all fell suddenly. + The boys at Randell’s had on Saturday morning to take down from + dictation the form-list in a home-book, which had to be brought back on + Monday morning signed by a parent, so that no boy should escape the + vigilance of the paternal eye. Of course, Miss Carthew always signed + Michael’s home-book and so far no master had asked any questions. But + Mr. Macrae said quite loudly on this Monday morning: + </p> + + <p>“Who is this Maud Carthew that signs your book, Fane?”</p> + + <p>Michael felt the pricking of the form’s ears and blushed hotly.</p> + + <p>“My mother’s away,” he stammered.</p> + + <p>“Oh,” said Mr. Macrae bluntly, “and who is this person then?”</p> + + <p>Michael nearly choked with shame.</p> + + <p>“My governess—my sister’s governess, I mean,” he added, desperately + trying to retrieve the situation.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Macrae. “I see.”</p> + + <p> + The form tittered, while the crimson Michael stumbled back to his desk. + It was a long time before Avery grew tired of Miss Carthew or before the + class wearied of crying ‘Maudie’ in an united falsetto whenever Michael + ventured to speak. Mr. Macrae, too, made cruel use of his advantage, for + whenever Michael tripped over an irregular verb, Mr. Macrae would + address to the ceiling in his soft unpleasant voice sarcastic remarks + about governesses, while every + <a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> + Monday morning he would make a point of + putting on his glasses to examine Michael’s home-book very carefully. + The climax of Michael’s discomfort was reached, when a snub-nosed boy + called Jubb with a cockney accent asked him what his father was. + </p> + + <p>“He’s dead,” Michael answered.</p> + + <p>“Yes, but what was he?” Jubb persisted.</p> + + <p>“He was a gentleman,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>Avery happened to overhear this and was extremely witty over Michael’s + cockiness, so witty that Michael was goaded into retaliation, + notwithstanding his fear of Avery’s tongue.</p> + + <p>“Well, what is your father?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“My father’s a duke, and I’ve got an uncle who’s a millionaire, and my + governess is a queen,” said Avery.</p> + + <p> + Michael was silent: he could not contend with Avery. Altogether the + Upper Fourth was a very unpleasant class; but next term Michael and half + of the class were moved up to the Lower Fifth, and Avery left to go to a + private school in Surrey, because he was ultimately destined for + Charterhouse, near which school his people had, as he said, taken a + large house. Curiously enough the combination of half the Upper Fourth + with the half of the Lower Fifth left behind made a rather pleasant + class, one that Michael enjoyed as much as any other so far, + particularly as he was beginning to find that he was clever enough to + avoid doing as much school-work as hitherto he had done, without in any + way permanently jeopardizing his position near the top of the form. To + be sure Mr. Wagstaff, the cherub-faced master of the Lower Fifth, + complained of his continually shifting position from one end of the + class to the other; but Michael justified himself and incidentally + somewhat annoyed Mr. Wagstaff by coming out head boy in the Christmas + examinations. Meanwhile, if he found Greek irregular verbs and Latin + gender rhymes tiresome, Michael read unceasingly + <a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> + at home, preferably + books that encouraged the private schoolboy’s instinct to take sides. + Michael was for the Trojans against the Greeks, partly on account of the + Greek verbs, but principally because he once had a straw hat inscribed + H.M.S. Hector. He was also for the Lancastrians against the Yorkists, + and, of course, for the Jacobites against the Hanoverians. Somewhat + illogically, he was for the Americans against the English, because as + Miss Carthew pointed out he was English himself and the English were + beaten. She used to teaze Michael for nearly always choosing the beaten + side. She also used to annoy him by her assertion that in taking the + part of the Americans in the War of Independence, he showed that most of + his other choices were only due to the books he read. She used to make + him very angry by saying that he was at heart a Roundhead and a Whig, + and even hinted that he would grow up a Radical. This last insinuation + really annoyed him very much indeed, because at Randell House no boy + could be anything but a Conservative without laying himself open to the + suggestion that he was not a gentleman. + </p> + + <p>In time, after an absence of nearly two years, Mrs. Fane came home for a + long time; but Michael did not feel any of those violent emotions of joy + that once he used to feel when he saw her cab rounding the corner. He + was shy of his mother, and she for her part seemed shy of him and told + Miss Carthew that school had not improved Michael. She wondered, too, + why he always seemed anxious to be playing with other boys.</p> + + <p>“It’s quite natural,” Miss Carthew pointed out.</p> + + <p>“Darling Michael. I suppose it is,” Mrs. Fane agreed vaguely. “But he’s + so grubby and inky nowadays.”</p> + + <p> + Michael maintained somewhat indignantly that all the boys at Randell’s + were like him, for he was proud that by being grubby and inky no boy + could detect in him any inclination to differentiate himself from the + mass. At + <a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> + Randell’s, where there was one way only of thinking and + behaving and speaking, it would have been grossly cocky to be brushed + and clean. Michael resented his mother’s attempt to dress him nicely and + was almost rude when she suggested ideas for charming and becoming + costumes. + </p> + + <p>“I do think boys are funny,” she used to sigh.</p> + + <p>“Well, mother,” Michael would argue, “if I wore a suit like that, all + the other boys would notice it.”</p> + + <p>“But I think it’s nice to be noticed,” Mrs. Fane would contend.</p> + + <p>“I think it’s beastly,” Michael always said.</p> + + <p>“I wish you wouldn’t use that horrid word,” his mother would say + disapprovingly.</p> + + <p>“All the boys do,” was Michael’s invariable last word.</p> + + <p>Then, “Michael,” Miss Carthew would say sharply, as she fixed him with + that cold look which he so much dreaded. Michael would blush and turn + away, abashed; while Stella’s company would be demanded by his mother + instead of his, and Stella would come into the room all lily-rosed + beside her imp-like brother.</p> + + <p> + Stella was held by Michael to be affected, and he would often point out + to her how little such behaviour would be tolerated at a boys’ school. + Stella’s usual reply was to pout, a form of expression which came under + the category of affectations, or she would cry, which was a degree worse + and was considered to be as good as sneaking outright. Michael often + said he hoped that school would improve Stella’s character and + behaviour; yet when she went to school, Michael thought that not only + was she none the better for the experience, but he was even inclined to + suggest that she was very much the worse. Tiresome little girl friends + came to tea sometimes and altered Michael’s arrangements; and when they + came they used to giggle in corners and Stella used to show off + detestably. Once Michael was so much vexed by a certain Dorothy that he + <a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> + + kissed her spitefully, and a commotion ensued from the middle of which + rose Miss Carthew, grey-eyed and august like Pallas Athene in The + Heroes. It seemed to Michael that altogether too much importance was + attached to this incident. He had merely kissed Dorothy in order to show + his contempt for her behaviour. One would think from the lecture given + by Miss Carthew that it was pleasant to kiss giggling little girls. + Michael felt thoroughly injured by the imputation of gallantry, and + sulked instead of giving reasons. + </p> + + <p>“I really think your mother is right,” Miss Carthew said at last. “You + are quite different from the old Michael.”</p> + + <p>“I didn’t want to kiss her,” he cried, exasperated.</p> + + <p>“Doesn’t that make it all the worse?” Miss Carthew suggested.</p> + + <p>Michael shrugged his shoulders feeling powerless to contend with all + this stupidity of opinion.</p> + + <p>“Surely,” said Miss Carthew at last, “Don Quixote or General Mace or + Henry V wouldn’t have kissed people against their will in order to be + spiteful.”</p> + + <p>“They might,” argued Michael; “if rotten little girls came to tea and + made them angry.”</p> + + <p>“I will not have that word ‘rotten’ used in front of me,” Miss Carthew + said.</p> + + <p>“Well, fat-headed then,” Michael proposed as a euphemism.</p> + + <p>“The truth is,” Miss Carthew pointed out, “you were angry because you + couldn’t have the Macalisters to tea and you vented your anger on poor + Stella and her friends. I call it mean and unchivalrous.”</p> + + <p>“Well, Stella goes to mother and asks for Dorothy to come to tea, when + you told me I could have the Macalisters, and I don’t see why I should + always have to give way.”</p> + + <p> + “Boys always give way to girls,” generalized Miss Carthew. + <a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I don’t believe they do nowadays,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“I see it’s hopeless to argue any more. I’m sorry you won’t see you’re + in the wrong. It makes me feel disappointed.”</p> + + <p>Michael again shrugged his shoulders.</p> + + <p>“I don’t see how I can possibly ask your mother to let Nancy stay here + next Christmas. I suppose you’ll be trying to kiss her.”</p> + + <p>Michael really had to laugh at this.</p> + + <p>“Why, I like Nancy awfully,” he said. “And we both think kissing is + fearful rot—I mean frightfully stupid. But I won’t do it again, Miss + Carthew. I’m sorry. I am really.”</p> + + <p>There was one great advantage in dealing with Miss Carthew. She was + always ready to forgive at once, and, as Michael respected her enough to + dislike annoying her, he found it perfectly easy to apologize and be + friends—particularly as he had set his heart on Nancy’s Christmas + visit.</p> + + <p> + Carlington Road and the Confederate Roads were now under the control of + Michael and his friends. Rodber had gone away to a public school: the + elder Macalister and Garrod had both got bicycles which occupied all + their time: Michael, the twin Macalisters and a boy called Norton were + in a very strong position of authority. Norton had two young brothers + and the Macalisters had one, so that there were three slaves in + perpetual attendance. It became the fashion to forsake the school field + for the more adventurous wasteland of the neighbourhood. At the end of + Carlington Road itself still existed what was practically open country + as far as it lasted. There were elm-trees and declivities and broken + hedges and the excavated hollows of deserted gravel-pits. There was an + attractive zigzag boundary fence which was sufficiently ruinous at + certain intervals to let a boy through to wander in the allotments of + railway workers. Bands of predatory ‘cads’ prowled + <a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> + about this + wasteland, and many were the fierce fights at sundown between the cads + and the Randellites. Caps were taken for scalps, and Miss Carthew was + horrified to observe nailed to Michael’s bedroom wall the filthiest cap + she had ever seen. + </p> + + <p>Apart from the battles there were the luxurious camps, where cigarettes + at five a penny were smoked to the last puff and were succeeded by the + consumption of highly scented sweets to remove the traces of tobacco. + These camps were mostly pitched in the gravelly hollows, where Michael + and the Macalisters and Norton used to sit round a camp-fire on the warm + evenings of summer, while silhouetted against the blue sky above stood + the minor Macalister and the junior Nortons in ceaseless vigilance. The + bait held out to these sentries, who sometimes mutinied, was their + equipment with swords, guns, pistols, shields, bows, arrows and + breastplates. So heavily and decoratively armed and sustained by the + prospect of peppermint bull’s-eyes, Dicky Macalister and the two Nortons + were content for an hour to scan the horizon for marauding cads, while + down below the older boys discussed life in all its ambiguity and + complication. These symposiums in the gravel-pit tried to solve certain + problems in a very speculative manner.</p> + + <p> + “There must be + <i>some</i> + secret about being married,” said Michael one + Saturday afternoon, when the sun blazed down upon the sentries and the + last cigarette had been smoked. + </p> + + <p> + “There + <i>is</i> + ,” Norton agreed, + </p> + + <p>“I can’t make out about twins,” Michael continued, looking critically at + the Macalisters.</p> + + <p>Siegfried Macalister, generally known as ‘Smack’ in distinction to his + brother Hugh always called ‘Mac,’ felt bound to offer a suggestion.</p> + + <p> + “There’s twenty minutes’ difference between us. I heard my mater tell a + visitor, and besides I’m the eldest.” + <a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a> + </p> + + <p>Speculation was temporarily interrupted by a bout between Smack and Mac, + because neither was allowed to claim priority. At the end of an + indecisive round Michael struck in:</p> + + <p>“But why are there twins? People don’t like twins coming, because in + Ally Sloper there’s always a joke about twins.”</p> + + <p>“I know married people who haven’t got any children at all,” said Norton + in order still more elaborately to complicate the point at issue.</p> + + <p>“Yes, there you are,” said Michael. “There’s some secret about + marriage.”</p> + + <p>“There’s a book in my mater’s room which I believe would tell us,” + hinted Smack.</p> + + <p>“There’s a good deal in the Bible,” Norton observed. “Only it’s + difficult to find the places and then you can’t tell for certain what + they mean.”</p> + + <p>Then came a long whispering at the end of which the four boys shook + their heads very wisely and said that they were sure that was it.</p> + + <p>“Hullo!” Michael shouted, forgetting the debate. “Young Dicky’s + signalling.”</p> + + <p>“Indians,” said Mac.</p> + + <p>“Sioux or Apaches?” asked Smack anxiously.</p> + + <p>“Neither. It’s Arabs. Charge,” shouted Norton.</p> + + <p>All problems went to the winds in the glories of action, in the clash of + stick on stick, in the rending of cad’s collar and cad’s belt, and in + the final defeat of the Arabs with the loss of their caravan—a + sugar-box on a pair of elliptical wheels.</p> + + <p> + In addition to the arduous military life led by Michael at this period, + he was also in common with Smack and Mac and Norton a multiplex + collector. At first the two principal collections were silkworms and + silver-paper. Afterwards came postage stamps and coins and medals and + autographs + <a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> + and birds’ eggs and shells and fossils and bones and skins + and butterflies and moths and portraits of famous cricketers. From the + moment the first silkworm was brought home in a perforated cardboard-box + to the moment when by some arrangement of vendible material the first + bicycle was secured, the greater part of Michael’s leisure was + mysteriously occupied in swapping. This swapping would continue until + the mere theory of swapping for swapping’s sake as exemplified in a + paper called The Exchange and Mart was enough. When this journal became + the rage, the most delightful occupation of Michael and his friends was + that of poring over the columns of this medium of barter in order to + read of X.Y.Z. in Northumberland who was willing to exchange five Buff + Orpingtons, a suit, a tennis racket and Cowper’s Poems for a mechanical + organ or a 5 ft. by 4 ft. greenhouse. All the romance of commerce was to + be found in The Exchange and Mart together with practical hints on the + moulting of canaries or red mange in collies. Cricket was in the same + way made a mathematical abstraction of decimals and initials and + averages and records. All sorts of periodicals were taken in—Cricket, + The Cricketer, Cricketing amongst many others. From an exact perusal of + these, Michael and the Macalisters knew that Streatham could beat + Hampstead and were convinced of the superiority of the Incogniti C.C. + over the Stoics C.C. With the collections of cricketers’ portraits some + of these figures acquired a conceivable personality; but, for the most + part, they remained L.M.N.O.P.Q. Smith representing 36·58 an innings and + R.S.T.U.V.W. Brown costing 11·07 a wicket. That they wore moustaches, + lived and loved like passionate humanity did not seem to matter compared + with the arithmetical progression of their averages. When Michael and + Norton (who was staying with him at St. Leonards) were given shillings + and told to see the Hastings’ Cricket Week from the + <a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a> + bowling of the + first ball to the drawing of the final stump, Michael and Norton were + very much bored indeed, and deprecated the waste of time in watching + real cricket, when they might have been better occupied in collating the + weekly cricketing journals. + </p> + + <p>At Christmas Michael emerged from a successful autumn term with Stories + from the Odyssey by Professor Church and a chestnut that was reputed to + have conquered nine hundred and sixty-six other and softer chestnuts. + That nine hundred and sixty-sixer of Michael’s was a famous nut, and the + final struggle between it (then a five hundred and forty-oner) and the + four hundred and twenty-fourer it smashed was a contest long talked of + in circles where Conquerors were played. Michael much regretted that the + etiquette of the Lent term, which substituted peg-tops for Conquerors, + should prevent his chestnut reaching four figures. He knew that next + autumn term, if all fell out as planned, he would be at St. James’ + School itself, where Conquerors and tops and marbles were never even + mentioned, save as vanities and toys of early youth. However, he swapped + the nine hundred and sixty-sixer for seven white mice and a slow-worm in + spirits of wine belonging to Norton; and he had the satisfaction of + hearing later on that after a year in rejuvenating oil the nine hundred + and sixty-sixer became a two thousand and thirty-threer before it fell + down a drain, undefeated.</p> + + <p> + After Christmas Nancy Carthew came up from Hampshire to spend a + fortnight at Carlington Road, and the holidays were spent in a fever of + theatres and monuments and abbeys. Michael asked Nancy what she thought + of Stella and her affectation, and was surprized by Nancy saying she + thought Stella was an awfully jolly kid and ‘no end good’ at the piano. + Michael in consideration of Nancy’s encomium tried to take a fresh view + of Stella and was able sincerely to admit that, compared with many other + little girls of + <a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a> + the neighbourhood, Stella was fairly pretty. He decided + that it would be a good thing for Norton to marry her. He told Norton + that there seemed no reason why he and Stella should not come together + in affection, and Norton said that, if Michael thought he should, he was + perfectly willing to marry Stella, when he was grown up. Michael + thereupon swapped a box of somewhat bent dragoons for a ring, and + presented this ring to Norton with the injunction that he should on no + account tell Stella that he was engaged to her, in case it made her + cocky. He also forbade Norton to kiss her (not that he supposed Norton + wanted to kiss Stella), because Miss Carthew would be annoyed and might + possibly close the area door to Norton for the future. + </p> + + <p>When Nancy went back to Hampshire, Michael felt lonely. The Macalisters + and the Nortons had gone away on visits, and Carlington Road was dreary + without them. Michael read a great deal and by reason of being at home + he gradually became less grubby, as the holidays wore on. Also his hair + grew long and waved over his forehead with golden lights and shadows and + curled in bunches by his ears. A new Eton suit well became him, and his + mother said how charming he looked. Michael deplored good looks in boys, + but he managed to endure the possession of them during the little space + that remained before the Lent term began. He took to frequenting the + drawing-room again as of old and, being nowadays allowed to stay up till + a quarter to nine, he used to spend a rosy half-hour after dinner + sitting on a footstool in the firelight by his mother’s knee. She used + to stroke his hair and sigh sometimes, when she looked at him.</p> + + <p> + One afternoon just before term began Mrs. Fane told him to make himself + as tidy as possible, because she wanted to take him out to pay a call. + Michael was excited by this notion, especially when he heard that they + were to travel + <a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a> + by hansom, a form of vehicle which he greatly admired. + The hansom bowled along the Kensington Road with Michael in his Eton + suit and top-hat sitting beside his mother scented sweetly with + delicious perfumes and very silky to the touch. They drove past + Kensington Gardens all dripping with January rains, past Hyde Park and + the Albert Memorial, past the barracks of the Household Cavalry, past + Hyde Park Corner and the Duke of Wellington’s house. They dashed along + with a jingle and a rattle over the slow old omnibus route, and Michael + felt very much distinguished as he turned round to look at the + melancholy people crammed inside each omnibus they passed. When they + came to Devonshire House, they turned round to the left and pulled up + before a grand house in a square. Michael pressed the bell, and the door + opened immediately, much more quickly than he had ever known a door + open. + </p> + + <p>“Is his lordship in?” asked Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“His lordship is upstairs, ma’am,” said the footman.</p> + + <p>The hall seemed full of footmen, one of whom took Michael’s hat and + another of whom led the way up a wide soft staircase that smelt like the + inside of the South Kensington Museum. All the way up, the walls were + hung with enormous pictures of men in white wigs. Presently they stood + in the largest room Michael had ever entered, a still white room full of + golden furniture. Michael had barely recovered his breath from + astonishment at the size of the room, when he saw another room round the + corner, in which a man was sitting by a great fire. When the footman had + left the room very quietly, this man got up and held Mrs. Fane’s hand + for nearly a minute. Then he looked at Michael, curiously, Michael + thought, so curiously as to make him blush.</p> + + <p>“And this is the boy?” the gentleman asked.</p> + + <p> + Michael thought his mother spoke very funnily, as if she were just going + to cry, when she answered: + <a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Yes, this is Michael.”</p> + + <p>“My God, Valérie,” said the man, “it makes it harder than ever.”</p> + + <p>Michael took the opportunity to look at this odd man and tried to think + where he had seen him before. He was sure he had seen him somewhere. But + every time just as he had almost remembered, a mist came over the + picture he was trying to form, so that he could not remember.</p> + + <p>“Well, Michael,” said the gentleman, “you don’t know who I am.”</p> + + <p>“Ah, don’t, Charles,” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Well, he’s not so wise as all that,” laughed the gentleman.</p> + + <p>Michael thought it was a funny laugh, more sad than cheerful.</p> + + <p>“This is Lord Saxby,” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“I say, my name is Saxby,” Michael exclaimed.</p> + + <p>“Nonsense,” said Lord Saxby, “I don’t believe it.”</p> + + <p>“It is really. Charles Michael Saxby Fane.”</p> + + <p>“Well, that’s a very strange thing,” said Lord Saxby.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I think it’s awfully funny,” Michael agreed. “Because I never + heard of anyone called Saxby. My name’s Charles too. Only, of course, + that’s quite a common name. But nobody at our school knows I’m called + Saxby except a boy called Buckley who’s an awful beast. We don’t tell + our Christian names, you know. If a chap lets out his Christian name he + gets most frightfully ragged by the other chaps. Chaps think you’re an + awfully silly ass if you let out your Christian name.”</p> + + <p>Michael was finding it very easy to talk.</p> + + <p>“I must hear some more about this wonderful school,” Lord Saxby + declared.</p> + + <p> + Then followed a delightful conversation in which due justice was done to + the Macalister twins and to Norton, and to the life they shared with + Michael. + <a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> + </p> + + <p>“By gad, Valérie, he ought to go to Eton, you know,” declared Lord + Saxby, turning to Michael’s mother.</p> + + <p>“No, no. I’m sure you were right, when you said St. James’,” persisted + Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Perhaps I was,” Lord Saxby sighed. “Well, Valérie—not again. It’s too + damnably tantalizing.”</p> + + <p>“I thought just once while he was still small,” said Mrs. Fane softly. + “Photographs are so unsatisfactory. And you haven’t yet heard Stella + play.”</p> + + <p>“Valérie, I couldn’t. Look at this great barrack of a house. If you only + knew how I long sometimes for—what a muddle it all is!”</p> + + <p>Then a footman came in with tea, and Michael wondered what dinner was + like in this house, if mere tea were so grand and silvery.</p> + + <p>“I think I must drive you back in the phaeton,” said Lord Saxby.</p> + + <p>“No, no, Charles. No more rules must be broken.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But don’t—not again, please. I can’t bear + to think of the ‘ifs.’”</p> + + <p>Then Lord Saxby turned to Michael.</p> + + <p>“Look here, young man, what do you want most?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, boxes of soldiers and an unused set of Siamese,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Siamese what? Siamese cats?”</p> + + <p>“No, you silly,” laughed Michael, “Stamps, of course!”</p> + + <p>“Oh, stamps,” said Lord Saxby. “Right—and soldiers, eh? Good.”</p> + + <p>All the way back in the hansom Michael wished he had specified Artillery + to Lord Saxby; but two days afterwards dozens of boxes of all kinds of + soldiers arrived, and unused sets not merely of Siamese, but of North + American Tercentenaries and Borneos and Labuans and many others.</p> + + <p> + “I say,” Michael gasped, “he’s a ripper, isn’t he? What + <a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> + spiffing boxes! + I say, he is a decent chap, isn’t he? When are we going to see Lord + Saxby again, mother?” + </p> + + <p>“Some day.”</p> + + <p>“I can have Norton to tea on Wednesday, can’t I?” begged Michael. “He’ll + think my soldiers are awfully ripping.”</p> + + <p>“Darling Michael,” said his mother.</p> + + <p>“Mother, I will try and not be inky,” said Michael in a burst of + affectionate renunciation.</p> + + <p> + “Dearest boy,” said his mother gently. + <a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_IX_Holidays_in_France" id="Chapter_IX_Holidays_in_France"></a> + Chapter IX: + <i>Holidays in France</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + N Michael’s last term at St. James’ Preparatory School, Mrs. Fane + settled that he should for the holidays go to France with Mr. Vernon and + Mr. Lodge, two masters who were accustomed each year to take a few boys + away with them to the coast of Brittany. Five boys were going this + summer—Michael and Hands and Hargreaves and Jubb and Rutherford; and + all five of them bragged about their adventure for days before school + broke up. Miss Carthew drove with Michael to Victoria Station and handed + him over to Mr. Lodge who was walking about in a very thick and romantic + overcoat. Mr. Lodge was a clean-shaven, large-faced and popular master, + and Mr. Vernon was an equally popular master, deep-voiced, + heavy-moustached, hook-nosed. In fact it was impossible to say which of + the two one liked the better. Mr. Lodge at once produced two packets of + Mazawattee tea which he told Michael to put in his pocket and say + nothing about when he landed in France, and when Hands, Hargreaves, + Rutherford and Jubb arrived, they were all given packets of tea by Mr. + Lodge and told to say nothing about them when they landed in France. Mr. + Vernon appeared, looking very business-like and shouting directions + about the luggage to porters, while Mr. Lodge gathered the boys together + and steered them through the barrier on to the platform and into the + train for Newhaven. The steamer by which they were going to cross was + not an ordinary packet-boat, but a cargo-boat carrying vegetable ivory. + For Channel voyagers they were going to be a long while at sea, calling + <a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> + + at Havre and afterwards rounding Cherbourg and Brest, before they + reached St. Corentin, the port of their destination at the mouth of the + Loire. It was rough weather all the way to Havre, and Michael was too + ill to notice much the crew or the boat or any of the other boys. + However, the excitement of disembarking at Havre about midnight put an + end to sea-sickness, for it was very thrilling at such an hour to follow + Mr. Lodge and Mr. Vernon through the gloomy wharves and under their + dripping archways. When after this strange walk, they came to a wide + square and saw cafés lighted up and chairs and tables in the open air + before the doors, Michael felt that life was opening out on a vista of + hitherto unimagined possibilities. They all sat down at midnight, + wrapped up in their travelling coats and not at all too much tired to + sip grenadine sucrée and to crunch Petit Beurre biscuits. Michael + thought grenadine sucrée was just as nice as it looked and turned to + Hands, a skull-headed boy who was sitting next to him: + </p> + + <p>“I say, this is awfully decent, isn’t it?”</p> + + <p>“Rather,” squeaked Hands in his high voice. “Much nicer than + Pineappleade.”</p> + + <p> + After they had stayed there for a time, watching isolated passers-by + slouch across the wind-blown square, Mr. Lodge announced they must hurry + back to the boat and get a good night’s sleep. Back they went between + the damp walls of the shadowy wharves, plastered with unfamiliar + advertizements, until they reached their boat and went to bed. In the + morning when Michael woke up, the steamer was pitching and rolling: + everything in the cabin was lying in a jumble on the floor, and + Rutherford and Hargreaves were sitting up in their bunks wideawake. + Rutherford was the oldest boy of the party and he was soon going in for + his Navy examination; but he had been so sea-sick the day before that + Michael felt that he was just as accessible + <a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a> + as the others and was no + longer afraid to talk to this hero without being spoken to first. + Rutherford, having been so sick, felt bound to put on a few airs of + grandeur; but he was pleasant enough and very full of information about + many subjects which had long puzzled Michael. He spoke with authority on + life and death and birth and love and marriage, so that when Michael + emerged into the wind from the jumbled cabin, he felt that to dress + beside Rutherford was an event not easily to be forgotten: but later on + as he paced the foam-spattered deck, and meditated on the facts of + existence so confidently revealed, he began to fear that the learned + Rutherford was merely a retailer of unwarranted legends. Still he had + propounded enough for Michael, when he returned to Carlington Road, to + theorize upon and impart to the Macalisters; and anyway, without + bothering about physiological problems, it was certainly splendid to + walk about the deck in the wind and rain, and no longer to hate, but + even to enjoy the motion of the boat. It was exhilarating to clamber + right up into the bows among coils of rope and to see how the boat + charged through the spuming water. Michael nearly made up his mind to be + a sailor instead of a Bengal Lancer, and looked enviously at the ship’s + boy in his blue blouse. But presently he heard a savage voice, and one + of the sailors so much admired kicked the ship’s boy down the companion + into the forecastle. Michael was horrified when, late in the grey and + stormy afternoon, he heard cries of pain from somewhere down below. He + ran to peer into the pit whence they came, and in the half-light he + could see a rope’s-end clotted with blood. This sight dismayed him, and + he longed to ask Mr. Lodge or Mr. Vernon to interfere and save the poor + ship’s boy, but a feeling of shame compelled silence and, though he was + sincerely shocked by the thought of the cruel scenes acted down there in + the heart of the ship, he could not keep back a certain exultation and + excitement + <a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a> + similar to that which he had felt at Folkestone in the + girls’ school last summer. + </p> + + <p>Soon the steamer with its cargo of vegetable ivory and tortured ship’s + boy and brutal crew were all forgotten in the excitement of arriving at + St. Corentin, of driving miles into the country until they reached the + house where they were going to spend six weeks. It was an old house set + far back from the high road and reached by a long drive between + pollarded acacias. All round the house were great fig trees and pear + trees and plum trees. The garden was rank with unpruned gooseberry and + currant bushes, untidy with scrambling gourds and grape vines. It was a + garden utterly unlike any garden that Michael had ever known. There + seemed to be no flowers in this overwhelming vegetation which matted + everything. It was like the garden of the Sleeping Beauty’s palace. The + crumbling walls were webbed with briars; their foundations were buried + in thickets of docks and nettles, and the fruit trees that grew against + them had long ago broken loose from any restraint. It was a garden that + must surely take a very long time to explore, so vast was it, so + trackless, so much did every corner demand a slow advance.</p> + + <p> + When the boys had unpacked and when they had been introduced to Mrs. + Wylde, the mistress of the house, and when they had presented to her the + packets of Mazawattee tea and when they themselves had eaten a + deliciously novel dinner at the unusual hour of six, they all set out to + explore the luxuriant wilderness behind the house. Mr. Vernon and Mr. + Lodge shouted to them to eat only the ripe fruit and with this solitary + injunction left them to their own amusements until bed-time. Rutherford, + Hargreaves and Jubb at once set out to find ripe fruit, and as the first + tree they came to was loaded with greengages, Rutherford, Hargreaves and + Jubb postponed all exploration for the present. Michael and Hands, who + was sleeping in his + <a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> + room and with whom he had already made friends, + left the others behind them. As they walked farther from the house, they + spoke in low tones, so silent was this old garden. + </p> + + <p>“I’m sure it’s haunted,” said Michael. “I never felt so funny, not + exactly frightened, you know, but sort of frightened.”</p> + + <p>“It’s still quite light,” squeaked the hopeful Hands.</p> + + <p>“Yes, but the sun’s behind all these trees and you can’t hear anything, + but only us walking,” whispered Michael.</p> + + <p>However, they went on through a jungle of artichokes and through an + orchard of gnarled apple trees past a mildewed summer-house, until they + reached a serpentine path between privet bushes, strongly scented in the + dampness all around.</p> + + <p>“Shall we?” murmured Hands doubtfully.</p> + + <p>“Yes. We can bunk back if we see anything,” said Michael. “I like this.”</p> + + <p>They walked on following the zigzags of the path, but stopped dead as a + blackbird shrilled and flapped into the bushes affrighted.</p> + + <p>“By Jove, that beastly bird made me awfully funky,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Let’s go back,” said Hands. “Suppose we got murdered. People do in + France.”</p> + + <p>“Rot,” said Michael. “Not in a private garden, you cuckoo.”</p> + + <p>With mutual encouragement the two boys wandered on, until they found + farther progress barred by a high hedge, impenetrable apparently and + viewless to Michael and Hands who were not very tall.</p> + + <p> + “What sucks!” said Michael. “I hate turning back. I think it’s rotten to + turn back. Don’t you? Hullo!” he cried. “Look here, Hands. Here’s a + regular sort of tunnel going down hill. It’s quite steep.” + <a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> + </p> + + <p>In a moment Hands and Michael were half sliding, half climbing down a + cliff. The lower they went, the faster they travelled and soon they were + sliding all the way, because they had to guard their faces against the + brambles that twined above them.</p> + + <p>“Good Lord!” gasped Michael, as he bumped down a sheer ten-feet of loose + earth. “I’m getting jolly bumped. Look out, Hands, you kicked my neck, + you ass.”</p> + + <p>“I can’t help it,” gasped Hands. “I’m absolutely slipping, and if I try + to catch hold, I scratch myself.”</p> + + <p>They were sliding so fast that the only thing to do was to laugh and + give way. So, with shouts and laughter and bumps and jolts and the + pushing of loose stones and earth before them, Michael and Hands came + with a run to the bottom of the cliff and landed at last on soft + sea-sand.</p> + + <p>“By gum,” said Michael, “we’re right on the beach. What a rag!”</p> + + <p>The two boys looked back to the scene of their descent. It was a high + cliff covered with shrubs and brambles, apparently unassailable. Before + them was the sea, pale blue and gold, and to the right and to the left + were the flat lonely sands. They ran, shouting with excitement, towards + the rippling tide. The sand-hoppers buzzed about their ankles: Hands + tripped over a jelly-fish and fell into several others: sea-gulls + swooped above them, crying continually.</p> + + <p>“It’s like Robinson Crusoe,” Michael declared.</p> + + <p>He was mad with the exhilaration of possession. He owned these sands.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, young Hands fell down on the sands,” he cried, bursting into + uncontrollable laughter at the absurdity of the rhyme. Then he found + razor-shells and waved his arms triumphantly. He found, too, + wine-stained shells and rosy shells and great purple mussels. He and + Hands took off their shoes and stockings and ran through the limpid + water that sparkled with gold and tempted them to wade + <a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> + for ever ankle + deep. They reached a broken mass of rock which would obviously be + surrounded by water at high tide; they clambered up to the summit and + found there grass and rabbits’ holes. + </p> + + <p>“It’s a real island,” said Michael. “It is! I say, Hands, this is our + island. We discovered it. Bags I, we keep it.”</p> + + <p>“Don’t let’s get caught by the tide,” suggested cautious Hands.</p> + + <p>“All right, you funk,” jeered Michael.</p> + + <p>They came back to the level sands and wandered on towards the black + point of cliff bounding the immediate view.</p> + + <p>“I say, there’s a cave. I bet you there’s a cave,” Michael called to his + companion who was examining a dead fish.</p> + + <p>“Wait a jiffy,” shouted Hands; but Michael hurried on to the cave. He + wanted to be the first to enter under its jagged arch. Already he could + see the silver sand shimmering upon the threshold of the inner darkness. + He walked in, awed by the secrecy of this sea-cavern, almost expectant + of a mermaid or octopus in the deepest cranny. Suddenly he stopped. His + heart beat furiously: his head swam: his legs quivered under him. Then + he turned and ran towards the light.</p> + + <p>“Good lummy!” said Hands, when Michael came up to him. “Whatever’s the + matter? You’re simply frightfully white.”</p> + + <p>“Come away,” said Michael. “I saw something beastly.”</p> + + <p>“What was it?”</p> + + <p>“There’s a man in there and a woman. Oh, it was beastly.”</p> + + <p>Michael dragged Hands by the arm, but not before they had left the cave + far behind would he speak.</p> + + <p>“What was it really?” asked Hands, when they stood at the bottom of the + cliff.</p> + + <p>“I couldn’t possibly tell anybody ever,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + “You’re making it up,” scoffed Hands. + <a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> + </p> + + <p>“No, I’m not,” said Michael. “Look here, don’t say anything to the + others about that cave. Promise.”</p> + + <p>Hands promised silence; and he and Michael soon discovered a pathway up + the cliff. When they reached the garden, it was a deeper green than ever + in the falling twilight, and they did not care to linger far from the + house. It was a relief to hear voices and to see Rutherford, Hargreaves + and Jubb still eating plums. Presently they played games on a lawn with + Mr. Vernon and Mr. Lodge, and soon, after reading sleepily for a while + in the tumble-down room which was set apart for the boys’ use, Michael + and Hands went to bed and, after an exciting encounter with a bat, fell + asleep.</p> + + <p>The days in Brittany went by very swiftly. In the morning at eight + o’clock there were great bowls of café au lait and rolls with honey and + butter waiting in the dining-room for the boys, when they came back from + bathing. All the other boys except Michael had come to France to improve + their French; but he worked also at the first book of Ovid’s + Metamorphoses and at Lucian’s Charon, because he was going in for a + scholarship at St. James’. However, these classical subjects were put + away at eleven o’clock, when déjeuner with all sorts of new and + delicious dishes was served. After this there was nothing to do until + six o’clock but enjoy oneself. Sometimes the boys made expeditions into + St. Corentin, where they wondered at the number of dogs to each + inhabitant and bought cakes and sweets at a pastrycook’s and gas-filled + balloons which they sent up in the market-place. Or they would stroll + down to the quays and watch the shipping and practise their French on + sailors looking more like pirates than ordinary sailors.</p> + + <p> + Once, while Michael was gazing into a shop window at some dusty foreign + stamps in a brass tray, a Capuchin friar spoke to him in very good + English and asked if he collected stamps. Michael said that he did, and + the Capuchin invited + <a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> + him to come back to the convent and see his + collection. Michael thought this was a splendid invitation and willingly + accompanied the Capuchin whom, except for a sore on his lip, he liked + very much. He thought the inside of the convent was rather like the + inside of an aquarium, but he enjoyed the stamps very much. The friar + gave him about a dozen of his duplicates, and Michael promised to write + to him, when he got home, and to send him some of his own. Then they had + tea in the friar’s cell, and afterwards Michael set out to walk back to + St. Antoine. It was not yet six o’clock when he reached the house, but + there was a terrible fuss being made about his adventure. Telegrams had + been despatched, the gendarmerie had been informed, and the British + Vice-consul had been interviewed. Mr. Vernon asked in his deepest voice + where the deuce he had been, and when Michael told him he had been + taking tea with a monk, Mr. Vernon was more angry than ever. + </p> + + <p>“Don’t do things like that. Good heavens, boy, you might have been + kidnapped and turned into a Catholic, before you knew where you were. + Hang it all, remember I’m responsible for your safety and never again + get into conversation with a wandering monk.”</p> + + <p> + Michael explained about the stamps, but Mr. Vernon said that was a very + pretty excuse, and would by no means hear of Michael visiting the + convent again. When Michael thought over this fuss, he could not + understand what it had all been about. He could not imagine anything + more harmless than this Capuchin friar with the sore on his lip. + However, he never did see him again, except once in the distance, when + he pointed him out to Mr. Vernon, who said he looked a dirty ruffian. + Michael discovered that grown-up people always saw danger where there + was no danger, but when, as on the occasion when Hands and he plainly + perceived a ghost in the garden, there was every cause for real alarm, + they merely laughed. + <a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> + </p> + + <p> + The weather grew warmer as August moved on, and Michael with Mr. Vernon + and Mr. Lodge used sometimes to plunge into the depths of the country, + there to construe Ovid and Lucian while the other boys worked at French + with the Frenchman who came in from St. Corentin to teach them. Michael + enjoyed these expeditions with Mr. Vernon and Mr. Lodge. They would sit + down in the lush grass of a shady green lane, close to a pool where the + bull-frogs croaked. Michael would construe the tale of Deucalion and + Pyrrha to Mr. Lodge, while Mr. Vernon lay on his back and smoked a large + pipe. Then a White Admiral butterfly would soar round the oak trees, and + Ovid would be thrown behind them like Deucalion’s stones; while Michael + and Mr. Vernon and Mr. Lodge manœuvred and shouted and ran up and + down, until the White Admiral was either safely bottled with the cyanide + of potassium or soared away out of sight. When Ovid was finished for the + day, Mr. Lodge used to light a big pipe and lie on his back, while + Michael construed the Dialogue of Charon to Mr. Vernon. Then an Oak + Eggar moth would fly with tumbling reckless flight beyond the pool, + luring Michael and Mr. Lodge and Mr. Vernon to charge through in + pursuit, not deterred by the vivid green slime of the wayside water as + the ghosts were deterred by gloomy Styx. Indeed, as the hot August days + went by, each one was marked by its butterflies more definitely than by + anything else. Michael thought that France was a much better place for + collecting them than England. Scarce Swallow-tails and Ordinary + Swallow-tails haunted the cliffs majestically. Clouded Yellows were + chased across the fields of clover. Purple Emperors and Camberwell + Beauties and Bath Whites were all as frequent as Heath Browns at home. + Once, they all went a long expedition to Bluebeard’s Castle on the other + side of the Loire, and, while they sat in a garden café, drinking their + grenadine sucrée, hundreds of Silver-washed Fritillaries + <a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> + appeared over + the tables. How the fat French bourgeois stared to see these mad English + boys chasing butterflies in their sunny bee-haunted garden. But how + lovely the Fritillaries looked, set upside down to show their powdered + green and rosy wings washed by silver streaks. Perhaps the most exciting + catch of all happened, close to the shutting in of a September dusk, in + the avenue of pollarded acacias. Michael saw the moth first on the + lowest bough of a tree. It was jet-black marked with thick creamy + stripes. Neither he nor Hands had a net, and they trembled with + excitement and chagrin. Michael threw a stone rather ineffectively and + the moth changed its position, showing before it settled down on a + higher branch underwings of glowing vermilion. + </p> + + <p>“Oh, what can it be?” Michael cried, dancing.</p> + + <p>“It’s frightfully rare,” squeaked Hands.</p> + + <p>“You watch it carefully, while I scoot for a net,” commanded Michael.</p> + + <p>He tore along up the darkening drive, careless of ghosts or travelling + seamen bent on murder and robbery. He rushed into the hall and shouted, + ‘A terribly rare moth in the drive! Quick, my net!’ and rushed back to + the vigilant Hands. The others followed, and after every cunning of the + hunter had been tried, the moth was at last secured and after a search + through Kirby’s Butterflies and Moths pronounced to be a Jersey Tiger, + not so rare, after all, in fact very common abroad. But it was a + glorious beast when set, richly black, barred and striped with damasked + cream over a flame of orange-scarlet.</p> + + <p> + The six weeks were over. Michael had to leave in advance of the others, + in order to enter for his scholarship examination at St. James’. Mr. + Lodge took him to St. Malo and handed him over to the charge of + Rutherford’s older brother, who was already at St. James’ and would see + Michael safely to London. Michael could scarcely believe that this + Rutherford was a boy, so tall was he, such a heavy + <a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a> + black moustache had + he and so pleasant was he to Michael. Michael thought with regret of the + green and golden days in Brittany, as he waved to Mr. Lodge standing on + the St. Malo jetty. He felt, as the steamer sailed across the glassy sea + through a thick September haze, that he was coming back to greater + adventures, that he was older and, as he paced beside Rutherford up and + down the deck, that he was more important. But he thought with regret of + Brittany and squeaky Hands and the warm days of butterflies. He hoped to + return next year and see again the fig tree by his bedroom window and + the level shore of the Loire estuary and the tangled tumble-down garden + on the cliff’s edge. He would always think of Mr. Lodge and Mr. Vernon, + those very dearly loved schoolmasters. He would think of the ghostly + Breton lanes at twilight and the glorious Sundays unspoilt by church or + best clothes and of the bull-frogs in the emerald pools. + </p> + + <p>Michael disliked the examination very much indeed. He hated the way in + which all the other competitors stared. He disliked the speed with which + they wrote and the easy manners of some of them. However, he gained his + scholarship mostly by age marks and was put in the Lower Third, the + youngest boy in the class by two years, and became a Jacobean, turning + every morning round the same gate, walking every morning up the same + gravel path, running every morning up the same wide steps, meeting every + morning the same smell of hot-water pipes and hearing every day the same + shuffle of quick feet along the corridors past the same plaster cast of + the Laocoön.</p> + + <h3 class="c"> + <a name="BOOK_TWO" id="BOOK_TWO"></a> + BOOK TWO + <br/> + CLASSIC EDUCATION + </h3> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="margin-top:15%;"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>“What is it then that thou hast got</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>By drudging through that five-year task?</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>What knowledge or what art is thine?</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>Set out thy stock, thy craft declare.”</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">Ionica.</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <div class="blockquott"> + <p class="hang"> + <i>“Sic cum his, inter quos eram, voluntatum enuntianaarum signa + conmunicavi; et vitae humanae procellosam societatem altius + ingressus sum, pendens ex parentum auctoritate nutuque maiorum + hominum.”</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + S + <small>T</small> + . A + <small>UGUSTINE</small> + . + </p> + </div> + + <p> + <a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_I_The_Jacobean" id="Chapter_I_The_Jacobean"></a> + Chapter I: + <i>The Jacobean</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ICHAEL found the Lower Third at St. James’ a jolly class. He was so + particularly young that he was called ‘Baby,’ but with enough obvious + affection to make the dubious nickname a compliment. To be sure, Mr. + Braxted would often cackle jokes in a raucous voice about his age, and + if Michael made a false quantity he would grumble and say he was paid as + a schoolmaster not as a wet-nurse. However, Mr. Braxted was such a dandy + and wore such very sharply creased and tight trousers and was so well + set up and groomed that the class was proud of his neat appearance, and + would inform the Upper Third that Foxy Braxted did, at any rate, look a + gentleman, a distinction which the Upper Third could scarcely claim for + their own form-master. + </p> + + <p> + Michael liked the greater freedom of a public school. There were no + home-books to be signed by governesses: there was no longer any taboo + upon the revelation of Christian names. Idiosyncrasies were overlooked + in the vaster society of St. James’. The senior boys paid no attention + to the juniors, but passed them by scornfully as if they were grubs not + worth the trouble of squashing. There was no longer the same zest in the + little scandals and petty spitefulness of a private school. There was + much greater freedom in the choice of one’s friends, and Michael no + longer felt bound to restrict his intimacy to the twin Macalisters and + Norton. Sometimes in the ‘quarter’ (as the break was now called) Michael + would stand on the top of the steps that led down from the great red + building into + <a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> + the school-ground. From this point he would survey the + huge green field with its archipelago of countless boys. He would think + how few of their names he knew and from what distances many of them + travelled each morning to school. He could wander among them by himself + and not one would turn a curious head. He was at liberty even to stare + at a few great ones whom athletic prowess had endowed already with + legendary divinity, so that among small boys tales were told of their + daring and their immortality gradually woven into the folk-lore of St. + James’. Sometimes a member of the first fifteen would speak to Michael + on a matter of athletic business. + </p> + + <p>“What’s your name?”</p> + + <p>“Fane,” Michael would answer, hoping the while that his contemporaries + might be passing and see this colloquy between a man and a god.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes,” the hero would carelessly continue, “I’ve got you down + already. Mind you turn up to Little Side at 1.45 sharp.”</p> + + <p>Little Side was the football division that included the smallest third + of the school. Sometimes the hero would ask another question, as:</p> + + <p>“Do you know a kid called Smith P.L.?”</p> + + <p>And Michael with happy blushes would be able to point out Smith P.L. to + the great figure.</p> + + <p> + Michael played football on Little Side with great regularity, rushing + home to dinner and rushing off again to change and be in the field by a + quarter to two. He could run very fast and for that reason the lords of + Little Side made him play forward, a position for which the slightness + of his body made him particularly unsuited. One day, however, he managed + to intercept a pass, to outwit a three-quarter, to dodge the full-back + and to score a try, plumb between the posts. Luckily one of the heroes + had strolled down from Pelion that afternoon to criticize Little Side + <a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> + + and Michael was promoted from the scrum to play three-quarter back on + the left wing, in which position he really enjoyed football very much + indeed. + </p> + + <p>It fell out that year that the St. James’ fifteen was the most + invincible ever known in the school’s history, and every Saturday + afternoon, when there was a home match, Michael in rain or wind or pale + autumnal sunlight would take up his position in the crowd of spectators + to cheer and shout and urge St. James’ to another glorious victory. + Match after match that year earned immortal fame in the school records, + sending the patriotic Jacobeans of every size and age home to a happy + tea in the rainy twilight. Those were indeed afternoons of thunderous + excitement. How everybody used to shout—School—Schoo-oo-ol—Schoo-ol! + Play up—Schoo-oo-ool! James! Ja-a-a-mes! Oh, go low. Kick! Touch! + Forward! Held! Off-side! Go in yourself! Schoo-ool!</p> + + <p> + How Michael’s heart beat at the thud of the Dulford forwards in their + last desperate rush towards the School ‘twenty-five.’ Down went the + School halves, and over them like a torrent swept the Dulford pack. Down + went the three-quarters in a plucky attempt to sit on the ball. Ah! + There was an unanimous cry of agony, as everybody pressed against the + boundary rope and craned towards the touch-line until the posts creaked + before the strain. Not in vain had those gallant three-quarters been + smeared with mud and bruised by the boots of the surging Dulford pack; + for the ball had been kicked on too far and Cutty Jackson, the School + back, had fielded it miraculously. He was going to punt. ‘Kick!’ yelled + the despairing spectators. And Jackson, right under the disappointed + groans of the Dulford forwards whose muscles cracked with the effort to + fetch him down, kicked the ball high, high into the silvery November + air. Up with that spinning greasy oval travelled the hopes of the + onlookers, and, as it fell safely into touch, + <a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> + from all round the field + rose like a rocket a huge sigh of relief that presently broke into + volleys and pæans of exultation, as half-time sounded with St. James’ a + goal to the good. How Michael admired the exhausted players when they + sucked the sliced lemons and lay about in the mud; how he envied Cutty + Jackson, when the lithe and noble fellow leaned against the goalpost and + surveyed his audience. ‘Sidiness’ could be easily forgiven after that + never-to-be-forgotten kick into touch. Why, thought Michael, should not + he himself be one day ranked as the peer of Cutty Jackson? Why should + not he, six or seven years hence, penetrate the serried forces of + Dulford and score a winning try, even as the referee’s whistle was + lifted to sound ‘time’? Ambition woke in Michael, while he surveyed upon + that muddy field the prostrate forms of the fifteen, like statues in a + museum. Then play began and personal desires were merged in the great + hope of victory for the School. Hardly now could the spectators shout, + so tense was the struggle, so long was each full minute of action. + Michael’s brain swam with excitement. He saw the Dulford team as giants + bull-necked and invulnerable. He saw the School halves shrinking, the + School three-quarters shiver like grass and the School forwards crumple + before the Dulford charges. They were beaten: the untarnished record was + broken: Michael could have sobbed for his side. Swifter than swallows, + the Dulford three-quarters flew down the now all too short field of + play. They were in! Look! they were dancing in triumph. A try to + Dulford! Disconsolately the School team lined up behind their disgraced + goal. Jauntily the Dulford half walked away with the shapely leather. + The onlookers held their breath, as the ball, evilly accurate, + dangerously direct, was poised in position for the kick at goal. The + signal was given: the School team made their rush: the ball rose in the + air: hung for a moment motionless, hit a goalpost, quivered and fell + back. One goal to a + <a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> + try—five points to three—and St. James’ was + leading. Then indeed did the School play up. Then indeed did every man + in the team ‘go low’: and for the rest of the game to neither side did + any advantage incline. Grunts and muttered oaths, the thud of feet, the + smack of wet leather lasted continually. In the long line-ups for the + throw in from touch, each man marked his man viciously: the sweat poured + down from hanging jaws: vests were torn, knees were grimed with mud and + elbows were blackened. The scrimmages were the tightest and neatest ever + watched, and neither scrum could screw the other a foot. At last the + shrill whistle of the referee proclaimed the end of an immortal contest. + There were cheers for the victors by the vanquished, by the vanquished + for their conquerors. The spectators melted away into the gathering mist + and rain, a flotsam of black umbrellas. In a few moments the + school-ground was desolate and silent. Michael, as he looked at the + grass ploughed into mud by the severe struggle, thought what superb + heroes were in his School team; and just as he was going home, content, + he saw a blazer left on a post. It was Jackson’s, and Michael, + palpitating with the honour, ran as fast as he could to the + changing-room through the echoing cloister beneath the school. + </p> + + <p>“I say, Jackson, you left this on the ground,” he said shyly.</p> + + <p>Jackson looked up from a conversation with the Dulford full-back.</p> + + <p>“Oh, thanks very much,” he murmured, and went on with his talk.</p> + + <p>Michael would not have missed that small sentence for any dignity in the + world.</p> + + <p> + During his first term at St. James’, Michael went on with his study of + the art of dancing, begun during the previous winter without much + personal satisfaction and with a good deal of self-consciousness. These + dancing lessons + <a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a> + took place in the hall at Randell’s, and Michael + revisited his old school with a new confidence. He found himself + promoted to stay beyond the hour of pupilage in order pleasantly to pass + away a second hour by dancing formally with the sisters and cousins of + other boys. He had often admired last year those select Jacobeans who, + buttoning white gloves, stood in a supercilious group, while their + juniors clumped through the Ladies’ Chain uninspired by the swish of a + single petticoat. Now he was of their sacred number. It was not + surprizing that under the influence of the waltz and the Circassian + circle and the schottische and the quadrille and the mazurka that + Michael should fall in love. He was not anxious to fall in love: many + times to other boys he had mocked at woman and dilated upon the folly of + matrimony. He had often declared on his way to and from school that + celibacy should be the ideal of every man. He used to say how little he + could understand the habit of sitting in dark corners and kissing. Even + Miss Carthew he grew accustomed to treat almost with rudeness, lest some + lynx-eyed friend of his should detect in his relation with her a + tendency towards the sentimental. However, Muriel in her + salmon-coloured, accordion-pleated frock bowled Michael off his superior + pedestal. He persuaded himself that this was indeed one of those + unchangeable passions of which he read or rather did read now. This + great new emotion was certainly Love, for Michael could honestly affirm + that as soon as he saw Muriel sitting on a chair with long black legs + outstretched before her, he loved her. No other girl existed, and when + he moved towards her for the pleasure of the next dance, he felt his + heart beating, his cheeks on fire. Muriel seemed to like him after a + fashion. At any rate, she cordially supported him in a project of + long-deferred revenge upon Mr. Macrae of the Upper Fourth at Randell’s, + and she kept ‘cavé’ while Michael tried the door of his empty class-room + off the top gallery + <a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a> + of the hall. It was unlocked, and Michael crept in + and quickly threw the contents of Mr. Macrae’s desk out of the window + and wrote on the blackboard: ‘Mr. Macrae is the silliest ass in + England.’ Then he and Muriel walked demurely back to join the tinkling + mazurka down below and, though many enquiries were set on foot as to the + perpetrator of the outrage, Michael was never found out. + </p> + + <p> + Michael’s passion for Muriel increased with every evening of her + company, and he went so far as to make friends with a very unpopular boy + who lived in her road, for the sake of holding this unpopular boy in + close conversation by his threshold on the chance of seeing Muriel’s + grey muff in the twilight. Muriel was strangely cold for the heroine of + such a romance, and indeed Michael only once saw her really vivacious, + which was when he gave her a catapult. Yet sometimes she would make a + clandestine appointment and talk to him for twenty minutes in a secluded + terrace, so that he consoled himself with a belief in her untold + affection. Michael read Don Quixote again on account of Dulcinea del + Toboso, and he was greatly moved by the knight’s apostrophes and + declamations. He longed for a confidant and was half inclined to tell + Stella about Muriel; but when he came to the point Stella was engrossed + in a new number of Little Folks and Michael feared she was unworthy of + such a trust. The zenith of his passion was attained at the Boarders’ + dance to which he and Muriel and even Stella were invited. Michael had + been particularly told by Miss Carthew that he was to dance four times + at least with Stella and never to allow her to be without a partner. He + was in despair and felt, as he encountered the slippery floor with + Stella hanging nervously on his arm, that round his neck had been tied a + millstone of responsibility. There in a corner was Muriel exquisite in + yellow silk, and in her hair a yellow bow. Boys + <a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> + flitted round her, like + bees before a hive, and here was he powerless with this wretched sister. + </p> + + <p>“You wait here,” said Michael. “I’ll be back in half a jiffy.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no,” pouted Stella. “You’re not to leave me alone, Michael. Miss + Carthew said you were to look after me.”</p> + + <p>Michael groaned.</p> + + <p>“Do you like ices?” he asked desperately. “You do, don’t you?”</p> + + <p>“No,” said Stella. “They make my tooth ache.”</p> + + <p>Michael almost wept with chagrin. He had planned to swap with Stella for + unlimited ices all her dances with him. Then he saw a friend whom he + caught hold of, and with whom he whispered fiercely for a moment.</p> + + <p>“I say, you might dance with my kiddy sister for a bit. She’s awfully + fond of ices, so you needn’t really dance.”</p> + + <p>The friend said he preferred to remain independent at a dance.</p> + + <p>“No, I say, do be a decent chap,” begged Michael. “Just dance with her + once and get another chap to dance with her after you’ve had your shot. + Oh, do. Look here. What’ll you swap for the whole of her programme?”</p> + + <p>The friend considered the proposition in its commercial side.</p> + + <p>“Look here,” Michael began, and then, as he nervously half turned his + head, he saw the crowd thickening about Muriel. He waved his arm + violently in the hope that she would realize his plight and keep the + rivals at arm’s length. “Look here,” he went on, “you know my bat with + the whalebone splice?” This bat was Michael’s most precious possession, + and even as he bartered it for love, he smelt the fragrant linseed-oil + of the steeped bandages which now preserved it for summer suns.</p> + + <p> + The friend’s eyes twinkled greedily. + <a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I’ll swap that bat,” said Michael, “if you’ll make sure my kiddy sister + hasn’t got a single empty place on her programme all the dance.”</p> + + <p>“All right,” said the friend. And as he was led up to Stella, Michael + whispered hurriedly, when the introduction had been decorously made:</p> + + <p>“This chap’s frightfully keen on you, Stella. He simply begged me to + introduce him to you.”</p> + + <p>Then from the depths of Michael’s soul a deep-seated cunning inspired + him to add:</p> + + <p>“I wouldn’t at first, because he was awfully in love with another girl + and I thought it hard cheese on her, because she’s here to-night. But he + said he’d go home if he didn’t dance with you. So I had to.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked enquiringly at Stella, marked the smirk of satisfaction + on her lips, then recklessly, almost sliding over the polished floor, he + plunged through Muriel’s suitors and proffered his programme. They + danced together nearly all the evening, and alas, Muriel told him that + she was going to boarding-school next term. It was a blow to Michael, + and the dance programme with Muriel’s name fourteen times repeated was + many times looked at with sentimental pangs each night of next term + before Michael went to bed a hundred miles away from Muriel at her + boarding-school.</p> + + <p> + However, Muriel and her porcelain-blue eyes and the full bow of her lips + and the slimness and girlishness of her were forgotten in the + complexities of life at a great public school. Michael often looked back + to that first term in the Lower Third as a period of Arcadian + simplicity, a golden age. In his second term Michael after an + inconspicuous position in the honest heart of the list was not moved up, + for which he was very glad, as the man who took the Upper Third was by + reputation a dull driver without any of the amenities by which Foxy + Braxted seasoned scholastic life. + <a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a> + </p> + + <p>One morning, when the Lower Third had been pleasantly dissolved in + laughter by Foxy’s caustic jokes at the expense of a boy who had + pronounced the Hebrides as a dissyllable, following a hazardous guess + that the capital of New South Wales was New York, the door of the + class-room opened abruptly and Dr. Brownjohn the Headmaster sailed in.</p> + + <p>“Is there a boy called Fane in this class?” he demanded deeply.</p> + + <p>The laughter had died away when the tip of Dr. Brownjohn’s nose + glistened round the edge of the door, and in the deadly silence Michael + felt himself withering away.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Braxted, cheerfully indicating Michael with his long + forefinger.</p> + + <p>“Tell him to pack up his books and go to Mr. Spivey in the Hall. I’ll + see him there,” rumbled Dr. Brownjohn as, after transfixing the Lower + Third with a glance of the most intense ferocity, he swung round and + left the room, slamming the door behind him.</p> + + <p>“You’d better take what you’re doing to Mr. Spivey,” said Mr. Braxted in + his throatiest voice, “and tell him with my compliments you’re an idle + young rascal. You can get your books at one o’clock.”</p> + + <p>Michael gathered together pens and paper, and left his desk in the Lower + Third.</p> + + <p>“Good-bye, sir,” he said as he went away, for he knew Foxy Braxted + really rather liked him.</p> + + <p>“Good-bye,” cackled his late form-master.</p> + + <p> + The Lower Third followed his exit from their midst with an united grin + of farewell, and Michael was presently interviewing Mr. Spivey in the + Hall. He realized that he was now a member of that assorted Purgatory, + the Special, doomed to work there for a term of days or weeks and after + this period of intensive culture to be planted out in a higher form + beyond the ordinary mechanics of promotion. Mostly in the Special class + Michael worshipped the two gods + <span title="ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="ean">ἑἁν</span> + , + <a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> + + and his whole life was devoted to the mastery of Greek conditional + sentences in their honour. + </p> + + <p> + The Special form at St. James’ never consisted of more than fourteen or + fifteen boys, all of whom were taught individually, and none of whom + knew when they would be called away. The Special was well called + Purgatory. Every morning and every afternoon the inmates toiled away at + their monotonous work, sitting far removed from one another in the great + echoing hall, concentrated for the most part on + <span title="ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="ean">ἑἁν</span> + . Every morning and every afternoon at a fatal moment + the swinging doors of the lower end of the Hall would clash together, + and the heavy tread of Dr. Brownjohn would be heard as he rolled up one + of the two aisles between the long desks. Every morning and every + afternoon Dr. Brownjohn would sit beside some boy to inspect his work; + and every morning and every afternoon hearts would beat the faster, + until Dr. Brownjohn had seized his victim, when the other boys would + simultaneously work with an almost lustful concentration. + </p> + + <p> + Dr. Brownjohn was to Michael the personification of majesty, dominion, + ferocity and awe. He was huge of build, with a long grey beard to which + adhered stale morsels of food and the acrid scent of strong cigars. His + face was ploughed and fretted with indentations volcanic: scoriac + torrents flowed from his eyes, his forehead was seared and cleft with + frowning crevasses and wrinkled with chasms. His ordinary clothes were + stained with soup and rank with tobacco smoke, but over them he wore a + full and swishing gown of silk. When he spoke his voice rumbled in the + titanic deeps of his body, or if he were angry, it burst forth in an + appalling roar that shook the great hall. His method of approach was + enough to frighten anyone, for he would swing along up the aisle and + suddenly plunge into a seat beside the chosen boy, pushing him along the + form with his black bulk. He would seize the boy’s pen and after + scratching + <a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a> + his own head with the end of the holder would follow word by + word the liturgy of + <span title="ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="ean">ἑἁν</span> + , tapping the + paper between the lines as he read each sentence, so that at the end of + his examination the page was peppered with dots of ink. Dr. Brownjohn, + although he had a voice like ten bulls, was himself very deaf and after + bellowing in a paralyzing bass he would always finish a remark with an + intoned ‘um?’ of tenor interrogation to exact assent or answer from his + terrified pupil. When due reverence was absent from Michael’s worship of + <span title="ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="ean">ἑἁν</span> + Dr. Brownjohn would frown at him and + roar and bellow and rumble and thunder and peal his execration and + contempt. Then suddenly his fury would be relieved by this eruption, and + he would affix his initials to the bottom of the page—S. C. B. standing + for Samuel Constantine Brownjohn—after which endorsement he would pat + Michael’s head, rumble an unintelligible joke and plunge down beside + another victim. + </p> + + <p>One of Michael’s greatest trials was his inability to convince Miss + Carthew how unutterably terrific Dr. Brownjohn really was. She insisted + that Michael exaggerated his appearance and manners, and simply would + not believe the stories Michael told of parents and guardians who had + trembled with fear when confronted by the Old Man. In many ways Michael + found Miss Carthew was very contentious nowadays, and very seldom did an + evening pass without a hot argument between him and her. To be sure, she + used to say it was Michael who had grown contradictory and + self-assertive, but Michael could not see that he had radically altered + since the first moment he saw Miss Carthew, now nearly four years ago.</p> + + <p> + Michael’s purgatory in the Special continued for several weeks, and he + grew bored by the monotony of his work that was only interrupted by the + suspense of the Headmaster’s invasions. Sometimes Dr. Brownjohn would + make his dreadful descent early in the ‘hour,’ and then relieved + <a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> + from + the necessity to work with such ardour, Michael would gaze up to the + raftered roof of the hall and stare at the long lancet windows filled + with the coats of arms in stained glass of famous bygone Jacobeans. He + would wonder whether in those windows still unfilled a place would one + day be found for his name and whether years and years hence, boys doing + Greek conditional sentences would speculate upon the boyhood of Charles + Michael Saxby Fane. Then Mr. Spivey would break into his dreams with + some rather dismal joke, and Michael would make blushing amends to + <span title="ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="ean">ἑἁν</span> + by writing as quickly as he could + three complete conditional sentences in honour and praise of the twin + gods. Mr. Spivey, the master in charge of the Special, was mild and + good-humoured. No one could fail to like him, but he was not + exhilarating; and Michael was greatly pleased when one morning Mr. + Spivey informed him that he was to move into the Shell. Michael was glad + to dodge the Upper Third, for he knew that life in the Shell under Mr. + Neech would be an experience. + </p> + + <p>Chaps had often said to Michael, “Ah, wait till you get into old Neech’s + form.”</p> + + <p>“Is he decent?” Michael would enquire.</p> + + <p>“Some chaps like him,” the chaps in question would ambiguously reply.</p> + + <p>When Mr. Spivey introduced Michael to the Shell, Mr. Neech was sitting + in his chair with his feet on the desk and a bandana handkerchief over + his face, apparently fast asleep. The inmates of the Shell were sitting, + vigorously learning something that seemed to cause them great hardship; + for every face was puzzled and from time to time sighs floated upon the + class-room air.</p> + + <p> + Mr. Spivey coughed nervously to attract Mr. Neech’s attention, and when + Mr. Neech took no notice, he tapped nervously on the desk with Mr. + Neech’s ruler. Somewhere in the back row of desks a titter of mirth was + faintly audible. + <a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a> + Mr. Neech was presumably aroused with great suddenness + by Mr. Spivey’s tapping and swung his legs off the desk and, sitting + bolt upright in his chair, glared at the intruders. + </p> + + <p>“Oh, the Headmaster has sent Fane from the Special,” Mr. Spivey + nervously explained.</p> + + <p>Mr. Neech threw his eyes up to the ceiling and looked as if Michael’s + arrival were indeed the last straw.</p> + + <p>“Twenty-six miserable boys are already having a detestable and + stultifying education in this wretched class,” lamented Mr. Neech. “And + now comes a twenty-seventh. Very well. Very well. I’ll stuff him with + the abominable jargon and filthy humbug. I’ll cram him with the + undigested balderdash. Oh, you unhappy boy,” Mr. Neech went on, directly + addressing Michael. “You unfortunate imp and atom. Sit down, if you can + find a desk. Sit down and fill your mind with the ditchwater I’m paid to + teach you.”</p> + + <p>Mr. Spivey had by this time reached the door and with a nervous nod he + abruptly vanished.</p> + + <p>“Now then everybody,” said Mr. Neech, closing his lips very tightly in a + moment’s pause and then breaking forth loudly. “You have had one quarter + of an hour to learn the repetition you should all have learned last + night. Begin, that mooncalf with a dirty collar, the boy Wilberforce, + and if any stupid stoat or stockfish boggles over one word, I’ll flay + him. Begin! The boy Fane can sit still. The others stand up!” shouted + Mr. Neech. “Now the boy Wilberforce!</p> + + <p> + <i>Tityre tu patulæ recubans sub tegmine fagi</i>——<br/> + Go on, you bladder of idiocy.” + </p> + + <p> + Michael watched the boy Wilberforce concentrate all his faculties upon + not making a single mistake, and hoped that he would satisfy this + alarming master. While Wilberforce spoke the lines of the Eclogue, + panting between each hexameter, Mr. Neech strode up and down the room + with + <a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a> + his arms crossed behind him, wagging the tail of his gown. + Sometimes he would strike his chin and, looking upwards, murmur to + himself the lines with an expression of profound emotion. Wilberforce + managed to get through, and another boy called Verney took up the + Eclogue successfully, and so on through the class it was successfully + sustained. + </p> + + <p>“You pockpuddings, you abysmal apes,” Mr. Neech groaned at his class. + “Why couldn’t you have learned those lines at home? You idle young + blackguards, you pestilent oafs, you fools of the first water, write + them out. Write them out five times.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, sir,” the Shell protested in unison.</p> + + <p>“Oh, sir!” Mr. Neech mimicked. “Oh, sir! Well, I’ll let you off this + time, but next time, next time, my stars and garters, I’ll flog any boy + that makes a single mistake.”</p> + + <p> + Mr. Neech was a dried-up, snuff-coloured man, with a long thin nose and + stringy neck and dark piercing eyes. He always wore a frock-coat green + with age and a very old top-hat and very shiny trousers. He read Spanish + newspapers and second-hand-book catalogues all the way to school and was + never seen to walk with either a master or a boy. His principal hatreds + were Puseyism and actors; but as two legends were extant, in one of + which he had been seen to get into a first-class railway carriage with a + copy of the Church Times and in the other of which he had been seen + smoking a big cigar in the stalls of the Alhambra Theatre, it was rather + doubtful whether his two hatreds were as deeply felt as they were + fervently expressed. He was reputed to have the largest library in + England outside the British Museum and also to own seven dachshunds. He + was a man who fell into ungovernable rages, when he would flog a boy + savagely and, the flogging done, fling his cane out of the window in a + fit of remorse. He would set impositions of unprecedented length, and + revile himself for ruining the victim’s handwriting. He would + <a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a> + keep his + class in for an hour and mutter at himself for a fool to keep himself in + as well. Once, he locked a boy in at one o’clock, and the boy’s mother + wrote a long letter to complain that her son had been forced to go + without his dinner. Legend said that Mr. Neech had been reprimanded by + Dr. Brownjohn on account of this, which explained Mr. Neech’s jibes at + the four pages of complaint from the parents that were supposed + inevitably to follow his mildest rebuke of the most malignant boy. + </p> + + <p> + Michael enjoyed Mr. Neech’s eccentricities after the drabness of the + Special. He was lucky enough to be in Mr. Neech’s good graces, because + he was almost the only boy who could say in what novel of Dickens or + Scott some famous character occurred. Mr. Neech had a conception of + education quite apart from the mere instilling of declensions and + genders and ‘num’ and ‘nonne’ and ‘quin’ + and + <span title="ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="ean">ἑἁν</span> + . He taught Geography and English History and English + Literature, so far as the school curriculum allowed him. Divinity and + English meant more to Mr. Neech than a mere hour of Greek Testament and + a pedant’s fiddling with the text of Lycidas. Michael had a dim + appreciation of his excellence, even in the Shell: he identified him in + some way with Tom Brown’s Schooldays, with prints of Eton and + Westminster, with Miss Carthew’s tales of her brother on the Britannia. + Michael recognized him as a character in those old calf-bound books he + loved to read at home. Once Mr. Neech called a boy a dog-eared + Rosinante, and Michael laughed aloud and when fiercely Mr. Neech + challenged him, denying he had ever heard of Rosinante, Michael soon + showed that he had read Don Quixote with some absorption. After that Mr. + Neech put Michael in one of the favoured desks by the window and would + talk to him, while he warmed his parchment-covered hands upon the + hot-water pipes. Mr. Neech was probably the first person to impress + Michael with the beauty + <a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a> + of the past or rather to give him an impetus to + arrange his own opinions. Mr. Neech, lamenting the old days long gone, + thundering against modernity and denouncing the whole system of + education that St. James’ fostered, was almost the only schoolmaster + with a positive personality whom Michael ever encountered. Michael had + scarcely realized, until he reached the Shell, in what shadowy dates of + history St. James’ was already a famous school. Now in the vulgarity of + its crimson brick, in the servility with which it truckled to bourgeois + ideals, in the unimaginative utility it worshipped, Michael vaguely + apprehended the loss of a soul. He would linger in the corridors, + reading the lists of distinguished Jacobeans, and during Prayers he + would with new interest speculate upon the lancet windows and their + stained-glass heraldry, until vaguely in his heart grew a patriotism + more profound than the mere joy of a football victory, a patriotism that + submerged Hammersmith and Kensington and made him proud that he himself + was veritably a Jacobean. He was still just as eager to see St. James’ + defeat Dulford at cricket, just as proud to read that St. James’ had won + more open scholarships at the Universities than some North-country + grammar school; but at the same time he was consoled in the event of + defeat by pride in the endurance of his school through so many years of + English History. + </p> + + <p> + It was about this time that Michael saw in a second-hand shop a print of + the tower of St. Mary’s College, Oxford. It was an old print and the + people small as emmets, who thronged the base of that slim and lovely + tower, were dressed in a bygone fashion that very much appealed to + Michael. This print gave him the same thrill he experienced in listening + to Mr. Neech’s reminiscences or in reading Don Quixote or in poring over + the inscriptions of famous Jacobeans. Michael had already taken it as an + axiom that one day he would go to Oxford, and now he made + <a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> + up his mind + he would go to St. Mary’s College. At this moment people were hurrying + past that tower, even as they hurried in this grey print and even as + Michael himself would one day hurry. Meanwhile, he was enjoying the + Shell and Mr. Neech’s eccentricities and the prospect of winning the + Junior Form Cricket Shield, a victory in which Michael would participate + as scorer for the Shell. + </p> + + <p> + Summer suns shone down upon the green playground of St. James’ rippling + with flannelled forms. The radiant air was filled with merry cries, with + the sounds of bat and ball, with boyhood in action. In the great red + mass of the school buildings the golden clock moved on through each + day’s breathless hour of cricket. The Junior Shield was won by the + Shell, and the proud victors, after a desperate argument with Mr. Neech, + actually persuaded him to take his place in the commemorative + photograph. School broke up and the summer holidays began. + <a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_II_The_Quadruple_Intrigue" id="Chapter_II_The_Quadruple_Intrigue"></a> + Chapter II: + <i>The Quadruple Intrigue</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ICHAEL, although Stella was more of a tie than a companion, was shocked + to hear that she would not accompany Miss Carthew and himself to + Eastbourne for the summer holidays. He heard with a recurrence of the + slight jealousy he had always felt of Stella that, though she was not + yet eleven years old, she was going to Germany to live in a German + family and study music. To Michael this step seemed a device to spoil + Stella beyond the limits of toleration, and he thought with how many new + affectations Stella would return to her native land. Moreover, why + should Stella have all the excitement of going abroad and living abroad + while her brother plodded to school in dull ordinary London? Michael + felt very strongly that the balance of life was heavily weighted in + favour of girls and he deplored the blindness of grown-up people unable + to realize the greater attractiveness of boys. It was useless for + Michael to protest, although he wasted an evening of Henty in arguing + the point with Miss Carthew. Stella became primed with her own + importance before she left England, and Michael tried to discourage her + as much as he could by pointing out that in Germany her piano-playing + would be laughed at and by warning her that her so evident inclination + to show off would prejudice against her the bulk of Teutonic opinion. + However, Michael’s well-meant discouragement did not at all abash + Stella, who under his most lugubrious prophecies trilled exasperatingly + cheerful scales or ostentatiously folded unimportant articles of + clothing with an + <a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a> + exaggerated carefulness, the while she fussed with her + hair and threw conceited glances over her shoulder into the mirror. + Then, one day, the bonnet of a pink and yellow Fräulein bobbed from a + cab-window, and, after a finale of affectation and condescension on the + front-door steps for the benefit of passers-by, Stella set out for + Germany and Michael turned back into the house with pessimistic fears + for her future. The arrangements for Stella’s transportation had caused + some delay in Michael’s holidays, and as a reward for having been forced + to endure the sight of Stella going abroad, he was told that he might + invite a friend to stay with him at Eastbourne during the remainder of + the time. Such an unexpected benefaction made Michael incredulous at + first. + </p> + + <p>“Anyone I like?” he said. “For the whole of the hols? Good Lord, how + ripping.”</p> + + <p> + Forthwith he set out to consider the personal advantages of all his + friends in turn. The Macalisters as twins were ruled out; besides, of + late the old intimacy was wearing thin, and Michael felt there were + other chaps with more claim upon him. Norton was ruled out, because it + would be the worst of bad form to invite him without the Macalisters and + also because Norton was no longer on the Classical side of St. James’. + Suddenly the idea of asking Merivale to stay with him occurred like an + inspiration. Merivale was not at present a friend with anything like the + pretensions of Norton or the Macalisters. Merivale could not be + visualized in earliest Randell days, indeed he had been at a different + private school, and it was only during this last summer term that he and + Michael had taken to walking arm in arm during the ‘quarter.’ Merivale + turned to the left when he came out of school and Michael turned to the + right, so that they never met on their way nor walked home together + afterwards. Nevertheless, in the course of the term, the friendship had + grown, and once or twice + <a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a> + Michael and Merivale had sat beneath the + hawthorn trees, between them a stained bag of cherries in the long cool + grass, while intermittently they clapped the boundary hits of a school + match that was clicking drowsily its progress through the summer + afternoon. Tentative confidences had been exchanged, and by reason of + its slower advance towards intimacy the friendship of Michael and + Merivale seemed built on a firmer basis than most of the sudden + affinities of school life. Now, as Michael recalled the personality of + Merivale with his vivid blue eyes and dull gold hair and his laugh and + freckled nose and curiously attractive walk, he had a great desire for + his company during the holidays. Miss Carthew was asked to write to Mrs. + Merivale in order to give the matter the weight of authority; but + Michael and Miss Carthew went off to Eastbourne before the answer + arrived. The sea sparkled, a cool wind blew down from Beachy Head; the + tamarisks on the front quivered; Eastbourne was wonderful, so wonderful + that Michael could not believe in the probability of Merivale, and the + more he thought about it, the more he felt sure that Mrs. Merivale would + write a letter of polite refusal. However, as if they were all people in + a book, everything happened according to Michael’s most daringly + optimistic hopes. Mrs. Merivale wrote a pleasant letter to Miss Carthew + to say that her boy Alan was just now staying at Brighton with his uncle + Captain Ross, that she had written to her brother who had written back + to say that Alan and he would move on to Eastbourne, as it did not + matter a bit to him where he spent the next week. Mrs. Merivale added + that, if it were convenient, Alan might stay on with Michael when his + uncle left. By the same post came a letter from Merivale himself to say + that he and his uncle Kenneth were arriving next day, and that he jolly + well hoped Fane was going to meet him at the railway station. + </p> + + <p> + Michael, much excited, waited until the train steamed in + <a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a> + with its + blurred line of carriage windows, from one of which Merivale was + actually leaning. Michael waved: Merivale waved: the train stopped: + Merivale jumped out: a tall man with a very fair moustache and + close-cropped fair hair alighted after Merivale and was introduced and + shook hands and made several jokes and was on terms of equality before + he and Merivale and Michael had got into the blue-lined fly that was to + drive them to Captain Ross’s hotel. During the few days of Captain + Ross’s stay, he and Michael and Merivale and Miss Carthew went sailing + and climbed up Beachy Head and watched a cricket match in Devonshire + Park and generally behaved like all the other summer visitors to + Eastbourne. Michael noticed that Captain Ross was very polite to Miss + Carthew and heard with interest that they both had many friends in + common—soldiers and sailors and Royal Marines. Michael listened to a + great deal of talk about ‘when I was quartered there’ and ‘when he was + stationed at Malta’ and about Gunners and Sappers and the Service. He + himself spoke of General Mace and was greatly flattered when Captain + Ross said he knew him by reputation as a fine old soldier. Michael was + rather disappointed that Captain Ross was not in the Bengal Lancers, but + he concluded that next to being in the Bengal Lancers, it was best to be + with him in the Kintail Highlanders (the Duke of Clarence’s own + Inverness-shire Buffs). + </p> + + <p>“Uncle Ken looks jolly ripping in a kilt,” Merivale informed Miss + Carthew, when on the last evening of Captain Ross’s stay they were all + sitting in the rubied light of the hotel table.</p> + + <p>“Shut up, showman,” said Captain Ross, banging his nephew on the head + with a Viennese roll.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I say, Uncle Kenneth, that loaf hurts most awfully,” protested + Merivale.</p> + + <p> + “Well, don’t play Barnum,” said the Captain as he twirled his little + moustache. “It’s not done, my lad.” + <a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> + </p> + + <p>When Captain Ross went away next morning, Miss Carthew at his earnest + invitation accompanied the boys to see him off, and, as they walked out + of the station, Merivale nudged Michael to whisper:</p> + + <p>“I say, I believe my uncle’s rather gone on Miss Carthew.”</p> + + <p>“Rot,” said Michael. “Why, she’d be most frightfully annoyed. Besides, + chaps’ uncles don’t get gone on——” Michael was going to add ‘chaps’ + sisters’ governesses,’ but somehow he felt the remark was all wrong, and + blushed the conclusion of the sentence.</p> + + <p>The weather grew very hot, and Miss Carthew took to sitting in a canvas + chair and reading books on the beach, so that Michael and Merivale were + left free to do very much as they wanted which, as Michael pointed out, + was rather decent of her.</p> + + <p>“I say, Merivale,” Michael began one day, as he and his friend, arm in + arm, were examining the credentials of the front on a shimmering + morning, “I say, did you notice that Miss Carthew called you Alan?”</p> + + <p>“I know. She often does,” replied Merivale.</p> + + <p>“I say, Merivale,” said Michael shyly, “supposing I call you Alan and + you call me Michael—only during the hols, of course,” he added hastily.</p> + + <p>“I don’t mind,” Alan agreed.</p> + + <p>“Because I suppose there couldn’t be two chaps more friends than you and + me,” speculated Michael.</p> + + <p>“I like you more than I do any other chap,” said Alan simply.</p> + + <p>“So I do you,” said Michael. “And it’s rather decent just to have one + great friend who you call by his Christian name.”</p> + + <p> + After this Michael and Alan became very intimate and neither held a + secret from the other, as through the crowds of seaside folk they + threaded their way along the promenade to whatever band of minstrels had + secured their joint + <a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> + devotion. They greatly preferred the Pierrots to + the Niggers, and very soon by a week’s unbroken attendance at the three + daily sessions, Michael and Alan knew the words and music of most of the + repertory. Of the comic songs they liked best The Dandy Coloured Coon, + although they admired almost equally a duet whose refrain was: + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left">“We are a couple of barmy chaps, hush, not a word!</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> A little bit loose in our tiles, perhaps, hush, not a word!</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> We’re lunatics, lunatics, everybody declares</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> We’re a couple of fellows gone wrong in our bellows,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> As mad as a pair of March hares.”</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>Gradually, however, and more especially under the influence of Japanese + lanterns and a moon-splashed sea, Michael and Alan avowed openly their + fondness for the more serious songs sung by the Pierrettes. The words of + one song in particular were by a reiteration of passionate utterance + deeply printed on their memory:</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left">“Two little girls in blue, lad,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">Two little girls in blue,</span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">They were sisters, we were brothers,</span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">And learnt to love the two.</span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">And one little girl in blue, lad,</span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">Who won your father’s heart,</span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">Became your mother: I married the other,</span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: .35em;">And now we have drifted apart.”</span> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p> + This lyric seemed to Michael and Alan the most profoundly moving + accumulation of words ever known. The sad words and poignant tune wrung + their hearts with the tears always imminent in life. This lyric + expressed for the two boys the incommunicable aspirations of their most + sacred moments. As they leaned over the rail of the promenade and gazed + down upon the pretty Pierrette whose tremolo made the night air vibrant + with emotion, Michael + <a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a> + and Alan were moved by a sense of fleeting time, + by thoughts of old lovers and by an intense self-pity. + </p> + + <p>“It’s frightfully decent, isn’t it?” murmured Michael.</p> + + <p>“Ripping,” sighed Alan. “I wish I could give her more than a penny.”</p> + + <p>“So do I,” echoed Michael. “It’s beastly being without much tin.”</p> + + <p>Then ‘Encore’ they both shouted as the Pierrette receded from the + crimson lantern-light into obscurity. Again she sang that song, so that + when Michael and Alan looked solemnly up at the stars, they became + blurred. They could not bear The Dandy Coloured Coon on such a night, + and, seeing no chance of luring Pierrette once more into the + lantern-light, they pushed their way through the crowd of listeners and + walked arm in arm along the murmurous promenade.</p> + + <p>“It’s beastly rotten to go to bed at a quarter past nine,” Michael + declared.</p> + + <p>“We can talk up in our room,” suggested Alan.</p> + + <p>“I vote we talk about the Pierrots,” said Michael, affectionately + clasping his chum’s arm.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I vote we do too,” Alan agreed.</p> + + <p>The next day the Pierrots were gone. Apparently they had had a quarrel + with the Corporation and moved farther along the South Coast. Michael + and Alan were dismayed, and in their disgust forsook the beach for the + shrubberies of Devonshire Park where in gloomy by-ways, laurel-shaded, + they spoke quietly of their loss.</p> + + <p>“I wonder if we shall ever see that girl again,” said Michael. “I’d know + her anywhere. If I was grown up I’d know her. I swear I would.”</p> + + <p>“She was a clinker,” Alan regretted.</p> + + <p>“I don’t suppose we shall ever see a girl half as pretty,” Michael + thought.</p> + + <p> + “Not by a long chalk,” Alan agreed. “I don’t suppose + <a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> + there is a girl + anywhere in the world a quarter as pretty. I think that girl was simply + fizzing.” + </p> + + <p>They paced the mossy path in silence and suddenly round a corner came + upon a bench on which were seated two girls in blue dresses. Michael and + Alan found the coincidence so extraordinary that they stared hard, even + when the two girls put their heads down and looked sidelong and giggled + and thumped each other and giggled again.</p> + + <p>“I say, are you laughing at us?” demanded Michael.</p> + + <p>“Well, you looked at us first,” said the fairer of the two girls.</p> + + <p>In that moment Michael fell in love.</p> + + <p>“Come away,” whispered Alan. “They’ll follow us if we don’t.”</p> + + <p>“Do you think they’re at all decent?” asked Michael. “Because if you do, + I vote we talk to them. I say, Alan, do let’s anyway, for a lark.”</p> + + <p>“Supposing anyone we know saw us?” queried Alan.</p> + + <p> + “Well, we could say + <i>some</i> + thing,” Michael urged. He was on fire to + prosecute this adventure and, lest Alan should still hold back, he took + from his pocket a feverish bag of Satin Pralines and boldly offered them + to the girl of his choice. + </p> + + <p>“I say, would you like some tuck?”</p> + + <p>The girls giggled and sat closer together; but Michael still proffered + the sweets and at last the girl whom he admired dipped her hand into the + bag. As all the Satin Pralines were stuck together, she brought out half + a dozen and was so much embarrassed that she dropped the bag, after + which she giggled.</p> + + <p>“It doesn’t matter a bit,” said Michael. “I can get some more. These are + beastly squashed. I say, what’s your name?”</p> + + <p> + So began the quadruple intrigue of Dora and Winnie and Michael and + Alan. + <a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a> + </p> + + <p>Judged merely by their dress, one would have unhesitatingly set down + Dora and Winnie as sisters; but they were unrelated and dressed alike + merely to accentuate, as girl friends do, the unanimity of their minds. + They were both of them older by a year or more than Michael and Alan; + while in experience they were a generation ahead of either. The + possession of this did not prevent them from giggling foolishly and from + time to time looking at each other with an expression compounded of + interrogation and shyness. Michael objected to this look, inasmuch as it + implied their consciousness of a mental attitude in which neither he nor + Alan had any part. He was inclined to be sulky whenever he noticed an + exchange of glances, and very soon insisted upon a temporary separation + by which he and Dora took one path, while Alan with Winnie pursued + another.</p> + + <p>Dora was a neatly made child, and Michael thought the many-pleated blue + skirt that reached down to her knees and showed as she swung along a + foam of frizzy white petticoats very lovely. He liked, too, the curve of + her leg and the high buttoned boots and the big blue bow in her curly + golden hair. He admired immensely her large shady hat trimmed with + cornflowers and the string of bangles on her wrist and her general + effect of being almost grown up and at the same time still obviously a + little girl. As for Dora’s face, Michael found it beautiful with the + long-lashed blue eyes and rose-leaf complexion and cleft chin and + pouting bow mouth. Michael congratulated himself upon securing the + prettier of the two. Winnie with her grey eyes and ordinary hair and + dark eyebrows and waxen skin was certainly not comparable to this + exquisite doll of his own.</p> + + <p> + At first Michael was too shy to make any attempt to kiss Dora. + Nevertheless the kissing of her ran in his mind from the beginning, and + he would lie awake planning how the + <a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> + feat was to be accomplished. He was + afraid that if suddenly he threw his arms round her, she might take + offence and refuse to see him again. Finally he asked Alan’s advice. + </p> + + <p>“I say, have you ever kissed Winnie?” he called from his bed.</p> + + <p>Through the darkness came Alan’s reply:</p> + + <p>“Rather not. I say, have you?”</p> + + <p>“Rather not.” Then Michael added defiantly, “But I jolly well wish I + had.”</p> + + <p>“She wouldn’t let you, would she?”</p> + + <p>“That’s what I can’t find out,” Michael said despondently. “I’ve held + her hand and all that sort of rot, and I’ve talked about how pretty I + think she is, but it’s beastly difficult. I say, you know, I don’t + believe I should ever be able to propose to a girl—you know—a girl you + could marry—a lady. I’m tremendously gone on Dora and so are you on + Winnie. But I don’t think they’re ladies, because Dora’s got a sister + who’s in a pantomime and wears tights, so you see I couldn’t propose to + her. Besides, I should feel a most frightful fool going down on my knees + in the path. Still I must kiss her somehow. Look here, Alan, if you + promise faithfully you’ll kiss Winnie to-morrow, when the clock strikes + twelve, I’ll kiss Dora. Will you? Be a decent chap and kiss Winnie, even + if you aren’t beastly keen, because I am. So will you, Alan?”</p> + + <p>There was a minute’s deliberation by Alan in the darkness, and then he + said he would.</p> + + <p>“I say, you are a clinker, Alan. Thanks most awfully.”</p> + + <p>Michael turned over and settled himself down to sleep, praying for the + good luck to dream of his little girl in blue.</p> + + <p> + On the next morning Alan and Michael eyed each other bashfully across + the breakfast table, conscious as they were of the guilty vow not yet + fulfilled. Miss Carthew tried in vain to make them talk. They ate in + silence, oppressed with resolutions. They saw Winnie and Dora in + Devonshire + <a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> + Park at eleven o’clock, and presently went their different + ways along the mazy paths. Michael talked of subjects most remote from + love. He expounded to Dora the ranks of the British Army; he gave her + tips on birds’-nesting; he told her of his ambition to join the Bengal + Lancers and he boasted of the exploits of the St. James’ Football + Fifteen. Dora giggled the minutes away, and at five minutes to twelve + they were on a seat, screened against humanity’s intrusion. Michael + listened with quickening pulses to the thump of tennis balls in the + distance. At last he heard the first stroke of twelve and looked + apprehensively towards Dora. Four more strokes sounded, but Michael + still delayed. He wondered if Alan would keep his promise. He had heard + no scream of dismay or startled giggle from the shrubbery. Then as the + final stroke of midday crashed forth, he flung his arms round Dora, + pressed her to him and in his confusion kissed very roughly the tilted + tip of her nose. + </p> + + <p>“Oh, you cheek!” she gasped.</p> + + <p>Then Michael kissed her lips, coldly though they were set against his + love.</p> + + <p>“I say, kiss me,” he whispered, with a strange new excitement crimsoning + his cheeks and rattling his heart so loudly that he wondered if Dora + noticed anything.</p> + + <p>“Shan’t!” murmured Dora.</p> + + <p>“Do.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, wriggling herself free. “You have got a + cheek. Fancy kissing anyone.”</p> + + <p>“Dora, I’m frightfully gone on you,” affirmed Michael, choking with the + emotional declaration. “Are you gone on me?”</p> + + <p>“I like you all right,” Dora confessed.</p> + + <p>“Well then, do kiss me. You might. Oh, I say, do.”</p> + + <p> + He leaned over and sought those unresponsive lips that, mutely cold, met + his. He spent a long time trying + <a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> + to persuade her to give way, but Dora + protested she could not understand why people kissed at all, so silly as + it was. + </p> + + <p>“But it’s not,” Michael protested. “Or else everybody wouldn’t want to + do it.”</p> + + <p>However, it was useless to argue with Dora. She was willing to put her + curly golden head on his shoulder, until he nearly exploded with + sentiment; she seemed not to mind how often he pressed his lips to hers; + but all the time she was passive, inert, drearily unresponsive. The + deeper she seemed to shrink within herself and the colder she stayed, + the more Michael felt inclined to hurt her, to shake her roughly, almost + to draw blood from those soft lifeless lips. Once she murmured to him + that he was hurting her, and Michael was in a quandary between an + overwhelming softness of pity and an exultant desire to make her cry out + sharply with pain. Yet as he saw that golden head upon his shoulder, the + words and tune of ‘Two little girls in blue’ throbbed on the air, and + with an aching fondness Michael felt his eyes fill with tears. Such love + as his for Dora could never be expressed with the eloquence and passion + it demanded.</p> + + <p>Michael and Alan had tacitly agreed to postpone all discussion of their + passionate adventure until the blackness of night and secret intimacy of + their bedroom made the discussion of it possible.</p> + + <p>“I say, I kissed Dora this morning,” announced Michael.</p> + + <p>“So did I Winnie,” said Alan.</p> + + <p>“She wouldn’t kiss me, though,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Wouldn’t she?” Alan echoed in surprize, “Winnie kissed me.”</p> + + <p>“She didn’t!” exclaimed Michael.</p> + + <p> + “She did, I swear she did. She kissed me more than I kissed her. I felt + an awful fool. I nearly got up and walked away. Only I didn’t like to.” + <a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Good Lord,” apostrophized Michael. He was staggered by Alan’s success + and marvelled that Alan, who was admittedly less clever than himself, + should conquer when he had failed. He could not understand the reason; + but he supposed that Dora, being so obviously the prettier, was + deservedly the more difficult to win. However, Michael felt disinclined + to pursue the subject, because it was plain that Alan took no credit to + himself for his success, and he wished still to be the leader in their + friendship. He did not want Alan to feel superior in anything.</p> + + <p>The next day Miss Carthew was laid up in bed with a sick headache, so + that Michael and Alan were free to take Dora and Winnie upon the + promenade without the risk of detection. Accordingly, when they met in + Devonshire Park, Michael proposed this public walk. He was the more + willing to go, because since Alan’s revelation of Winnie, he took a + certain pleasure in denying to her the attraction of Alan’s company. + Winnie was not very anxious for the walk, but Dora seemed highly + pleased, and Dora, being the leader of the pair, Winnie had to give way. + While they strolled up and down the promenade in a row, Dora pointed out + to Michael and Alan in how many respects they both failed to conform to + the standards of smartness, as she conceived them. For instance, neither + of them carried a stick and neither of them wore a tie of any + distinction. Dora called their attention to the perfectly dressed youths + of the promenade with their high collars and butterfly ties and Wanghee + canes and pointed boots and vivid waistcoats.</p> + + <p> + After the walk the boys discussed Dora’s criticism and owned that she + was right. They marshalled their money and bought made-up bow-ties of + purple and pink that were twisted round the stud with elastic and held + in position by a crescent of whalebone. They bought made-up white silk + knotted ties sown with crimson fleurs-de-lys and impaled + <a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a> + with a + permanent brass horseshoe. They spent a long time in the morning + plastering back their hair with soap and water, while in the ribbons of + their straw hats they pinned inscribed medallions. Finally they + purchased Wanghee canes and when they met their two little girls in + blue, the latter both averred that Michael and Alan were much improved. + </p> + + <p>Miss Carthew remained ill for two or three days; so Michael and Alan + were able to display themselves and their sweethearts all the length of + the promenade. They took to noticing the cut of a coat as it went by and + envied the pockets of the youths they met; they envied, too, the collars + that surrounded the adolescent neck, and wished the time had come for + them to wear ‘chokers.’ Sometimes, before they undressed, they would try + to pin round their necks stiff sheets of note-paper in order to gauge, + however slightly, the effect of high collars on their appearance.</p> + + <p> + The weather was now steadily fine and hot, and Michael begged Miss + Carthew to let him and Alan buy two blazers and cricket belts. Somewhat + to his surprize, she made no objection, and presently Michael and Alan + appeared upon the front in white trousers, blue and yellow blazers and + cherry-coloured silk belts fastened in front by a convenient metal + snake. Dora thought they looked ‘all right,’ and, as Miss Carthew had + succumbed again to her headache, Michael and Alan were free to swagger + up and down on the melting asphalt of the promenade. Miss Carthew grew + no better, and one day she told the boys that Nancy was coming down to + look after them. Michael did not know whether he were really glad or + not, because, fond as he was of Nancy, he was deeply in love with Dora + and he had a feeling that Nancy would interfere with the intrigues. In + the end, as it happened, Nancy arrived by some mistake on the day before + she was expected and, setting forth to look for the boys, she walked + straight into them arm in arm with Dora and Winnie. Michael was very + much upset, and told the + <a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a> + girls to scoot, a command which they obeyed by + rushing across the road, giggling loudly, standing on the opposite curb + and continuing to giggle. + </p> + + <p>“Hullo!” said Nancy, “who are your young friends in blue cashmere?”</p> + + <p>Michael blushed and said quickly they were friends of Alan, but Alan + would not accept the responsibility.</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t admire your taste,” said Nancy contemptuously. “No, and I + don’t admire your get-up,” she went on. “Did you pick those canes up on + the beach, what?”</p> + + <p>“We bought them,” said Michael, rather affronted.</p> + + <p>“My goodness,” said Nancy. “What dreadful-looking things. I say, + Michael, you’re in a fair way towards looking like a thorough young + bounder. Don’t you come to Cobble Place with that button on your hat. + Well, don’t let me disturb you. Cut off to the Camera Obscura with + Gertie and Evangeline. I don’t expect I’m smart enough for you two.”</p> + + <p>“We don’t particularly want to go with those girls,” said Michael, + looking down at his boots, very red and biting his under-lip. Alan was + blushing too and greatly abashed.</p> + + <p> + “Well,” said the relentless Nancy, “it’s a pity you don’t black your + faces, for I never saw two people look more like nigger minstrels. Where + <i>did</i> + you get that tie? No wonder my sister feels bad. That belt of + yours, Michael, would give a South Sea Islander a headache. Go on, hurry + off like good little boys,” she jeered. “Flossie and Cissie are waiting + for you.” + </p> + + <p> + Michael could not help admitting, as he suffered this persiflage from + Nancy, that Dora and Winnie did look rather common, and he wished they + would not stand, almost within earshot, giggling and prodding each + other. Then suddenly Michael began to hate Dora and the quadruple + intrigue was broken up. + <a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I say, Alan,” he said, looking up again, “let’s bung these sticks into + the sea. They’re rotten sticks.”</p> + + <p>Alan at once threw his as far as it would go and betted Michael he would + not beat the distance. So Michael’s stick followed its companion into + oblivion. Nancy was great sport, after all, as both boys admitted, and + when Michael grazed his finger very slightly on a barnacled rock, he + bandaged it up with his silk tie. Very soon he discovered the cut was + not at all serious, but he announced the tie was spoilt and dipped it + casually into a rock pool, where it floated blatantly among the anemones + and rose-plumed seaweed. Alan’s tie vanished less obtrusively: no one + noticed when or where. As for the buttons inscribed with mottoes they + became insignificant units in the millions of pebbles on the beach.</p> + + <p>Nancy was great sport and ready to do whatever the boys suggested in the + way of rock-climbing and walking, provided they would give her due + notice, so that she could get into a hockey skirt and thick shoes. They + had fine blowy days with Nancy up on Beachy Head above the sparkling + blue water. They caught many blue butterflies, but never the famous + Mazarin blue which legend in the butterfly-book said had once been taken + near Eastbourne.</p> + + <p> + Michael and Alan, even in the dark privacy of their room, did not speak + again of Dora and Winnie. Michael had an idea that Alan had always been + ashamed of the business, and felt mean when he thought how he had openly + told Nancy that they were his friends. Once or twice, when Michael was + lying on his back, staring up at the sky over Beachy Head, the wind + lisping round him sadly made him feel sentimental, but sentimental in a + dominion where Dora and Winnie were unknown, where they would have been + regarded as unpleasant intruders. Up here in the daisy’s eye, the two + little girls in blue seemed tawdry and took their place in the + atmosphere of Michael’s earlier childhood + <a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> + with Mrs. Frith’s tales and + Annie’s love-letters. For Michael the whole affair now seemed like the + half-remembered dreams which, however pleasant at the time, repelled him + in the recollection of them. Moreover, he had experienced a sense of + inequality in his passion for Dora. He gave all: she returned nothing. + Looking back at her now under the sailing clouds, he thought her nose + was ugly, her mouth flabby, her voice odious and her hair beastly. He + blushed at the memory of the ridiculous names he had called her, at the + contemplation of his enthusiastic praise of her beauty to Alan. He was + glad that Alan had been involved, however unwillingly. Otherwise he was + almost afraid he would have avoided Alan in future, unable to bear the + injury to his pride. This sad sensation promoted by the wind in the + grasses, by the movement of the clouds and the companionship of Alan and + Nancy, was more thrilling than the Pierrette’s tremolo in the lantern + light. Michael’s soul was flooded with a vast affection for Alan and for + Nancy. He wished that they all could stay here in the wind for ever. It + was depressing to think of the autumn rain and the dreary gaslit hours + of afternoon school. And yet it was not depressing at all, for he and + Alan might be able to achieve the same class. It would be difficult, for + Michael knew that he himself must inevitably be moved up two forms, + while Alan was only in the Upper Third now and could scarcely from being + ninth in his class get beyond the Lower Fourth, even if he escaped the + Shell. How Michael wished that Alan could go into the Special for a + time, and how pleasant it would be suddenly to behold Alan’s entrance + into his class, so that, without unduly attracting attention, he could + manage to secure a desk for Alan next to himself. + </p> + + <p> + But when Michael and Alan (now again the austere Fane and Merivale) went + back to school, Michael was in the Middle Fourth, and Alan just missed + the double remove and inherited Michael’s scrabbled desk in the Shell. + <a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_III_Pastoral" id="Chapter_III_Pastoral"></a> + Chapter III: + <i>Pastoral</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HE new term opened inauspiciously; for Miss Carthew fell ill again more + seriously, and Michael’s mother came back, seeming cross and worried. + She settled that, as she could not stay at home for long, Michael must + be a boarder for a year. Michael did not at all like this idea, and + begged that Nancy might come and look after him. But Mrs. Fane told him + not to make everything more difficult than it was already by grumbling + and impossible suggestions. Michael was overcome by his mother’s + crossness and said no more. Mrs. Fane announced her intention of + shutting up the house in Carlington Road and of coming back in the + summer to live permanently at home, when Michael would be able to be a + day-boy again. Mrs. Fane seemed injured all the time she had to spend in + making arrangements for Michael to go to Mr. Wheeler’s House. She wished + that people would not get ill just when it was most inconvenient. She + could not understand why everything happened at exactly the wrong + moment, and she was altogether different from the tranquil and lovely + lady whom Michael had hitherto known. However, the windows of Number 64 + were covered with newspapers, the curtain-poles were stripped bare, the + furniture stood heaped in the middle of rooms under billowy sheets, and + Michael drove up with all his luggage to the gaunt boarding-house of Mr. + Wheeler that overlooked the School ground. + </p> + + <p> + Michael knew that the alteration in his status would make a great + difference. Long ago he remembered how his friendship with Buckley had + been finally severed by the breaking + <a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> + up of Buckley’s home and the + collapse of all Buckley’s previous opinions. Michael now found himself + in similar case. To be sure, there was not at St. James’ the same icy + river of prejudice between boarders and day-boys which divided them so + irreparably at Randell’s. Nevertheless, it was impossible for a boarder + to preserve unspoilt a real intimacy with a day-boy. To begin with, all + sorts of new rules about streets being in and out of bounds made it + impossible to keep up those delightful walks home with boys who went in + the same direction as oneself. There was no longer that hurried appeal + to ‘wait for me at five o’clock’ as one passed a friend in the + helter-skelter of reaching the class-room, when the five minutes’ bell + had stopped and the clock was already chiming three. It was not + etiquette among the boarders of the four Houses to walk home with + day-boys except in a large and amorphous company of both. It was + impossible to go to tea with day-boys on Saturday afternoons without + special leave both from the Housemaster and from the captain of the + House. A boarder was tied down mercilessly to athletics, particularly to + rowing, which was the pride of the Houses and was exalted by them above + every other branch of sport. Michael, as a promising light-weight, had + to swim, every Saturday, until he could pass the swimming test at the + Paddington Baths, when he became a member of the rowing club, in order + to cox the House four. It did not add to his satisfaction with life, + when by his alleged bad steering Wheeler’s House was beaten by Marlowe’s + House coxed by the objectionable Buckley, now on the Modern Side and, as + a result of his capable handling of the ropes likely to be cox of the + School Eight in the race against Dulford from Putney Bridge to + Hammersmith. The Christmas holidays were a dismal business in Mr. + Wheeler’s empty barracks. To be sure, Mrs. Wheeler made herself as + plumply agreeable as she could; but the boredom of it all was + exasperating and was only sustained + <a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> + by reading every volume that Henty + had ever written. Four weeks never dragged so endlessly, even in the + glooms of Carlington Road under Nurse’s rule. The Lent term with its + persistent rowing practice on the muddy Thames was almost as bad as the + holidays. Michael hated the barges that bore down upon him and the + watermen who pulled across the bows of his boat. He hated the mudlarks + by the river-side who jeered as he followed the crew into the School + boathouse, and he loathed the walk home with the older boys who talked + incessantly of their own affairs. Nor did the culminating disaster of + the defeat by Marlowe’s House mitigate his lot. When the Lent term was + over, to his great disappointment, some domestic trouble made it + impossible for Michael to spend the Easter holidays with Alan, so that + instead of three weeks to weld again that friendship in April + wanderings, in finding an early white-throat’s nest in the front of May, + and in all the long imagined delights of spring, Michael was left again + with Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler to spend a month of rain at a bleak + golf-resort, where he was only kept from an unvoiced misery by reading + ‘Brother takes the hand of brother’ in Longfellow’s Psalm of Life, + melting thereat into a flood of tears that relieved his lonely + oppression. + </p> + + <p> + Even the summer term was a bondage with its incessant fagging for balls, + while the lords of the House practised assiduously at the nets. He and + Alan walked together sometimes during the ‘quarter’ and held on to the + stray threads of their friendship that still resisted the exacting knife + of the House’s etiquette; but it became increasingly difficult under the + stress of boarding-school existence. Indeed, it was only the knowledge + that this summer term would end the miserable time and that Alan was + catching up to Michael’s class which supported the two friends through + their exile. Michael was savagely jealous when he saw Alan leaving the + School at five o’clock arm in arm with another + <a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a> + boy. He used to sulk for + a week afterwards, avoiding Alan in the ‘quarter’ and ostentatiously + burying himself in a group of boarders. And if Alan would affectionately + catch him up when he was alone, Michael would turn on him and with + bitter taunts suggest that Alan’s condescension was unnecessary. In + School itself Michael was bored by his sojourn both in the Middle Fourth + and in the Upper Fourth B. The Cicero and the Thucydides were vilely + dull; all the dullest books of the Æneid were carefully chosen, while + Mr. Marjoribanks and Mr. Gale were both very dull teachers. At the end + of the summer examinations, Michael found himself at the bottom of the + Upper Fourth B in Classics, in Drawing and in English. However, the + knowledge that next term would now inevitably find him and Alan in the + same class, meeting again as equals, as day-boys gloriously free, + sustained him through a thunderous interview with Dr. Brownjohn. He + emerged from the Doctor’s study in a confusion of abusive epithets to + find Alan loyally waiting for him by the great plaster cast of the + Laocoön. + </p> + + <p>“Damn old Brownjohn,” growled Michael. “I think he’s the damnedest old + beast that ever lived. I do hate him.”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, bother him,” cried Alan, dancing with excitement. “Look here, I + say, at this telegram. It’s just arrived. The porter was frightfully + sick at having to give me a telegram. He is a sidy swine. What + <i>do</i> + you + think? My uncle is going to marry Miss Carthew?” + </p> + + <p>“Get out,” scoffed Michael, whose brain, overwhelmed by the pealing + thunders of his late interview, refused to register any more shocks.</p> + + <p>“No, really. Read this.”</p> + + <p>Michael took the piece of paper and read the news. But he was still + under the influence of a bad year, and instead of dancing with Alan to + the tune of his excitement, grumbled:</p> + + <p> + “Well, why didn’t Miss Carthew send a telegram to me? I think she might + have. I believe this is all bally rot.” + <a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> + </p> + + <p>Alan’s face changed, changed indeed to an expression of such absolute + disappointment that Michael was touched and, forgetting all that he had + endured, thrust his arm into Alan’s arm and murmured:</p> + + <p>“By Jove, old Alan, it is rather decent, isn’t it?”</p> + + <p>When Michael reached the House, he found a letter from Miss Carthew, + which consoled him for that bad year and made him still more penitent + for his late ungraciousness towards Alan.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + C + <small>OBBLE</small> + P + <small>LACE</small> + , + <br/> + <i>July 27</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>My dear old Michael</i> + , + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>You will be tremendously surprized to hear that I am going to + marry Captain Ross. I fancy I can hear you say ‘What rot, I don’t + believe it!’ But I am, and of course you can understand how + gloriously happy I feel, for you know how much you liked him. Poor + old boy, I’m afraid you’ve had a horrid time all this year and I + wish I hadn’t been so stupid as to get ill, but never mind, it’s + over now and Captain Ross and I are coming up to London to fetch + you and Alan down here to spend the whole of the holidays and make + the wedding a great success. May, Joan and Nancy and my mother all + send their very best love and Nancy says she’s looking forward to + your new ties (I don’t know what obscure jest of hers this is) and + also to hear of your engagement (silly girl!). I shall see you on + Wednesday and you’re going to have splendid holidays, I can promise + you. Your mother writes to say that she is coming back to live at + home in September, so there’ll be no more boarding-school for you. + Stella wrote to me from Germany and I hear from Frau Weingardt that + everybody prophesies a triumphant career for her, so don’t snub her + when she comes back for her holidays in the autumn. Just be as nice + as you can, and you can be very nice if you like. Will you? Now, + dear old boy, my best love till we meet on Wednesday.</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <span style="margin-right: 4em;"> + <i>Your loving</i> + </span> + <br/> + <i>Maud Carthew.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>Then indeed Michael felt that life was the finest thing conceivable, and + in a burst of affectionate duty wrote a long letter to Stella, giving + with every detail an account of how Wheeler’s beat Marlowe’s at cricket, + including the running-out of that beast Buckley by Michael amidst the + plaudits of his House. Next morning Alan told him that his mother was + frightfully keen for Michael to stay with them at Richmond, until his + Uncle Ken and Miss Carthew arrived; and so Michael by special leave from + Mr. Wheeler left the House a day or two before the others and had the + exquisite pleasure of travelling up with Alan by the District Railway to + Hammersmith Broadway for a few mornings, and of walking arm in arm with + Alan through the School gates. Mrs. Merivale was as pretty as ever, + almost as pretty as his own beautiful mother, and Mr. Merivale + entertained Michael and Alan with his conjuring tricks and his + phonograph and his ridiculous puns. Even when they reached the gate in a + summer shower and ran past the sweet-smelling rose trees in the garden, + Mr. Merivale shouted from the front door ‘Hallo, here come the + Weterans,’ but when he had been severely punched for so disgraceful a + joke, he was flatly impenitent and made half a dozen more puns + immediately afterwards. In a day or two Miss Carthew and Captain Ross + arrived, and after they had spent long mysterious days shopping in town, + Michael and Alan and Miss Carthew and Captain Ross travelled down to + Hampshire—the jolliest railway party that was ever known.</p> + + <p> + Nothing at Basingstead Minor seemed to have changed in five years, from + the dun pony to the phloxes in the garden, from the fantail pigeons to + the gardener who fed the pigs. Michael spent all the first few hours in + rapid renewals of friendship with scenery and animals, dragging Alan at + his heels and even suggesting about ten minutes before the gong would + sound for dinner that they should bunk round and borrow the key of the + tower on the hill. + <a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> + He and Alan slept up in the roof in a delightful + impromptu of a room with uneven bare floor and sloping ceiling and above + their beds a trap-door into an apple loft. There were at least half a + dozen windows with every possible aspect to the neat high road and the + stable-yard and the sun-dyed garden and the tall hills beyond. August + was a blaze of blue and green and gold that year, but everybody at + Cobble Place was busy getting ready for the wedding and Michael and Alan + had the countryside to themselves. Their chief enterprize was the + exploration of the sources of the stream in a canoe and a fixed + endeavour to reach Basingstead Major by water. Early in the morning they + would set out, well equipped with scarlet cushions and butterfly-nets + and poison-bottles and sandwiches and stone bottles of ginger beer and + various illustrated papers and Duke’s Cameo cigarettes. Michael now paid + fivepence for ten instead of a penny for five cigarettes: he also had a + pipe of elegantly tenuous shape, which was knocked out so often that it + looked quite old, although it was scarcely coloured at all by tobacco + smoke. Nowadays he did not bother to chew highly scented sweets after + smoking, because Captain Ross smoked so much that all the blame of + suspicious odours could be laid on him. + </p> + + <p>Those were halcyon days on that swift Hampshire river. Michael and Alan + would have to paddle hard all the morning scarcely making any progress + against the stream. Every opportunity to moor the canoe was taken + advantage of; and the number of Marsh Fritillaries that were sacrificed + to justify a landing in rich water-meadows was enormous.</p> + + <p>“Never mind,” Michael used to say, “they’ll do for swaps.”</p> + + <p> + Through the dazzling weather the kingfishers with wings of blue fire + would travel up and down the stream. The harvest was at its height and + in unseen meadows sounded the throb of the reaper and binder, while + close at hand above + <a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> + the splash and gurgle of the rhythmic paddles could + be heard the munching of cattle. To left and right of the urgent boat + darted the silver companies of dace, and deep in brown embayed pools + swam the fat nebulous forms of chub. Sometimes the stream, narrowing + where a large tree-trunk had fallen, gushed by their prow and called for + every muscle to stand out, for every inch to be fought, for every blade + of grass to be clutched before the canoe won a way through. Sometimes + the stream widened to purling rapids and scarcely would even a canoe + float upon the diamonded rivulets and tumbling pebbles and silting + silver sand, so that Michael and Alan would have to disembark and drag + the boat to deeper water. Quickly the morning went by, long before the + source of the stream was found, long before even the village of + Basingstead Major was reached. Some fathomless millpool would hold + Michael and Alan with its hollow waterfall and overarching trees and + gigantic pike. Here grew, dipping down to the water, sprays of + dewberries, and here, remote even from twittering warblers and the + distant harvest cries, Michael and Alan drowsed away the afternoon. They + scarcely spoke, for they were too well contented with the languorous + weather. Sometimes one of them would clothe a dream with a boy’s slang, + and that was all. Then, when the harvesters had long gone home and when + the last cow was stalled, and when the rabbits were scampering by the + edge of the sloping woodlands, Michael and Alan would unmoor their canoe + and glide homeward with the stream. Through the deepening silence their + boat would swing soundlessly past the purple loosestrife and the creamy + meadowsweet, past the yellow loosestrife and scented rushes and the + misted blue banks of cranesbill, past the figwort and the little yellow + waterlilies, while always before their advance the voles plumped into + the water one by one and in hawthorn bushes the wings of roosting birds + fluttered. Around them on every side crept the mist + <a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> + in whose silver + muteness they landed to gather white mushrooms. Home they would come + drenched with dew, and arm in arm they would steal up the dusky garden + to the rose-red lamps and twinkling golden candlelight of Cobble Place. + </p> + + <p>In the actual week before the wedding Michael and Alan were kept far too + busy to explore streams. They ran from one end of Basingstead Minor to + the other and back about a dozen times a day. They left instructions + with various old ladies in the village at whose cottages guests were + staying. They carried complicated floral messages from Mrs. Carthew to + the Vicar and equally complicated floral replies from the Vicar to Mrs. + Carthew. They were allowed to drive the aged dun pony to meet Mr. and + Mrs. Merivale on the day before the wedding and had great jokes with Mr. + Merivale because he would say that it was an underdone pony and because + he would not believe that dun was spelt d-u-n. As for the wedding-day + itself, it was for Michael and Alan one long message interrupted only by + an argument with the cook with regard to the amount of rice they had a + right to take.</p> + + <p> + Michael felt very shy at the reception and managed to avoid calling Miss + Carthew Mrs. Ross; although Alan distinctly addressed her once with + great boldness as Aunt Maud, for which he was violently punched in the + ribs by Michael, as with stifled laughter they both rushed headlong from + the room. However, they came back to hear old Major Carthew proposing + the bride and bridegroom’s health and plunged themselves into a corner + with handkerchiefs stuffed into their mouths to listen to Captain Ross + stammer an embarrassed reply. They were both much relieved when Mr. + Merivale by a series of the most atrocious puns allowed their laughter + to flow forth without restraint. All the guests went back to London + later in the afternoon and Michael and Alan were left to the supervision + of Nancy, who had promised + <a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a> + to take them out for a day’s shooting. They + had a wonderful day over the flickering September stubble. Michael shot + a lark by mistake and Alan wounded a land-rail; Nancy, however, redeemed + the party’s credit by bagging three brace of fat French partridges + which, when eaten, tasted like pigeons, because the boys could not bear + to wait for them to be hung even for two hours. + </p> + + <p>Michael had a conversation with Mrs. Carthew one afternoon, while they + paced slowly and regularly the gay path beside the sunny red wall of the + garden.</p> + + <p>“Well, how do you like school now?” she asked. “Dear me, I must say + you’re greatly improved,” she went on. “Really, when you came here five + years ago, you were much too delicate-looking.”</p> + + <p>Michael kicked the gravel and tried to turn the trend of the + conversation by admiring the plums on the wall, but Mrs. Carthew went + on.</p> + + <p>“Now you really look quite a boy. You and Alan both slouch abominably, + and I cannot think why boys always walk on one side of their boots. I + must say I do not like delicate boys. My own boy was always such a boy.” + Mrs. Carthew sighed and Michael looked very solemn.</p> + + <p>“Well, do you like school?” she asked.</p> + + <p>“I like holidays better,” answered Michael.</p> + + <p>“I’m delighted to hear it,” Mrs. Carthew said decidedly.</p> + + <p>“I thought last year was beastly,” said Michael. “You see I was a + boarder and that’s rot, if you were a day-boy ever, at least I think so. + Alan and me are in the same form next term. We’re going to have a most + frightful spree. We’re going to do everything together. I expect school + won’t be half bad then.”</p> + + <p>“Your mother’s going to be at home, isn’t she?” Mrs. Carthew enquired.</p> + + <p> + “Yes. Rather,” said Michael. “It will be awfully rum. She’s always away, + you know. I wonder why.” + <a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I expect she likes travelling about,” said Mrs. Carthew.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I expect she does,” Michael agreed. “But don’t you think it’s very + rum that I haven’t got any uncles or aunts or any relations? I do. I + never meet people who say they knew my father like Alan does and like + Miss—like Mrs. Ross does. Once I went with my mater to see an awfully + decent chap called Lord Saxby and my name’s Saxby. Do you think he’s a + relation? I asked the mater, but she said something about not asking + silly questions.”</p> + + <p>“Humph!” said Mrs. Carthew, as she adjusted her spectacles to examine an + espalier of favourite peaches. “I think you’ll have to be very good to + your mother,” she continued after a minute’s silence.</p> + + <p>“Oh, rather,” assented Michael vaguely.</p> + + <p>“You must always remember that you have a particular responsibility, as + you will be alone with her for a long time, and, no doubt, she has given + up a great deal of what she most enjoys in order to stay with you. So + don’t think only of yourself.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, rather not,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + In his heart he felt while Mrs. Carthew was speaking a sense of remote + anxiety. He could not understand why, as soon as he asked any direct + questions, mystery enveloped his world. He had grown used to this in + Miss Carthew’s case, but Mrs. Carthew was just as unapproachable. He + began to wonder if there really were some mystery about himself. He knew + the habit among grown-up people of wrapping everything in a veil of + uncertainty, but in his case it was so universally adopted that he began + to be suspicious and determined to question his mother relentlessly, to + lay conversational traps for her and thereby gain bit by bit the details + of his situation. He was older now and had already heard such rumours of + the real life of the world that a chimera of unpleasant possibilities + was rapidly forming. Left alone, he began to speculate perpetually about + himself, + <a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a> + to brood over anxious guesses. Perhaps his father was in + prison and not dead at all. Perhaps his father was in a lunatic asylum. + Perhaps he himself had been a foundling laid on the doorstep long ago, + belonging neither to his mother nor to anyone else. He racked his brain + for light from the past to be shed upon his present perplexity, but he + could recall no flaw in the care with which his ignorance had been + cherished. + </p> + + <p>When Michael reached Carlington Road on a fine September afternoon and + saw the window-boxes of crimson and white petunias and the sunlight + streaming down upon the red-brick houses, he was glad to be home again + in familiar Sixty-four. Inside it had all been re-papered and + re-painted. Every room was much more beautiful and his mother was glad + to see him. She took him round all the new rooms and hugged him close + and was her slim and lovely self again. Actually, among many surprizes, + Michael was to have the old gloomy morning-room for himself and his + friends. It looked altogether different now in the chequered sunlight of + the plane tree. The walls had been papered with scenes from cow-boy + life. There were new cupboards and shelves full of new books and an + asbestos gas fire. There were some jolly chairs and a small desk which + almost invited one to compose Iambics.</p> + + <p>“Can I really have chaps to tea every Saturday?” Michael asked, + stupefied with pleasure.</p> + + <p>“Whenever you like, dearest boy.”</p> + + <p> + “By Jove, how horribly decent,” said Michael. + <a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_IV_Boyhoods_Glory" id="Chapter_IV_Boyhoods_Glory"></a> + Chapter IV: + <i>Boyhood’s Glory</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">W</span> + HEN at the beginning of term a melancholy senior boy, meeting Michael + in one of the corridors during the actual excitement of the move, asked + him what form he was going into and heard he was on the road to + Caryll’s, this boy sighed, and exclaimed: + </p> + + <p>“Lucky young devil.”</p> + + <p>“Why?” asked Michael, pushing his way through the diversely flowing + streams of boys who carried household gods to new class-rooms.</p> + + <p>“Why, haven’t you ever heard old Caryll is the greatest topper that ever + walked?”</p> + + <p>“I’ve heard he’s rather a decent sort.”</p> + + <p>“Chaps have said to me—chaps who’ve left, I mean,” explained the + lantern-jawed adviser, “that the year with Caryll is the best year of + all your life.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked incredulous.</p> + + <p> + “You won’t think so,” prophesied Lantern-jaws gloomily. “Of course you + won’t.” Then with a sigh, that was audible above the shuffling feet + along the corridors, he turned to enter a mathematical class-room where + Michael caught a glimpse of trigonometrical mysteries upon a blackboard, + as he himself hurried by with his armful of books towards Caryll’s + class-room. He hoped Alan had bagged two desks next to each other in the + back row; but unfortunately this scheme was upset by Mr. Caryll’s + proposal that the Upper Fourth A should for the present sit in + alphabetical order. There was only one unit between Michael and Alan, a + persevering + <a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a> + and freckled Jew called Levy, whose life was made a burden + to him in consequence of his interposition. + </p> + + <p> + Mr. Caryll was an old clergyman reputed in school traditions to be + verging on ninety. Michael scarcely thought he could be so old, when he + saw him walking to school with rapid little steps and a back as straight + and soldierly as General Mace’s. Mr. Caryll had many idiosyncrasies, + amongst others a rasping cough which punctuated all his sentences and a + curious habit of combining three pairs of spectacles according to his + distance from the object in view. Nobody ever discovered the exact range + of these spectacles; but, to reckon broadly, three pairs at once were + necessary for an exercise on the desk before him and for the antics of + the back row of desks only one. Mr. Caryll was so deaf, that the loudest + turmoil in the back row reached him in the form of a whisper that made + him intensely suspicious of cribbing; but, as he could never remember + where any boy was sitting, by the time he had put on or taken off one of + his pairs of glasses, the noise had opportunity to subside and the + authors were able to compose their countenances for the sharp scrutiny + which followed. Mr. Caryll always expected every pupil to cheat and + invented various stratagems to prevent this vice. In a temper he was + apparently the most cynical of men, but as his temper never lasted long + enough for him to focus his vision upon the suspected person, he was in + practice the blandest and most amiable of old gentlemen. He could never + resist even the most obvious joke, and his form pandered shamelessly to + this fondness of his, so that, when he made a pun, they would rock with + laughter, stamp their feet on the floor and bang the lids of their desks + to express their appreciation. This hullabaloo, which reached Mr. Caryll + in the guise of a mild titter, affording him the utmost satisfaction, + could be heard even in distant class-rooms, and sometimes serious + mathematical masters in the + <a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a> + throes of algebra would send polite + messages to beg Mr. Caryll kindly to keep his class more quiet. + </p> + + <p> + Michael and Alan often enjoyed themselves boundlessly in Mr. Caryll’s + form. Sometimes they would deliberately misconstrue Cicero to beget a + joke, as when Michael translated ‘abjectique homines’ by ‘cast-off men’ + to afford Mr. Caryll the chance of saying, “Tut-tut. The great booby’s + thinking of his cast-off clothing.” Michael and Alan used to ask for + leave to light the gas on foggy afternoons, and with an imitation of Mr. + Caryll’s rasping cough they would manage to extinguish one by one a + whole box of matches to the immense entertainment of the Upper Fourth A. + They dug pens into the diligent Levy: they stuck the lid of his desk + with a row of thin gelatine lozenges in order that, when after a + struggle he managed to open it, the lid should fly up and hit him a blow + on the chin. They loosed blackbeetles in the middle of Greek Testament + and pretended to be very much afraid while Mr. Caryll stamped upon them + one by one, deriding their cowardice. They threw paper darts and paper + pellets with unerring aim: they put drawing-pins in the seat of a fat + and industrious German called Wertheim: they filled up all the ink-pots + in the form with blotting-paper and crossed every single nib. They + played xylophonic tunes with penholders on the desk’s edge and carved + their initials inside: they wrote their names in ink and made the + inscription permanent by rubbing it over with blotting-paper. They were + seized with sudden and unaccountable fits of bleeding from the nose to + gain a short exeat to stand in the fresh air by the Fives Courts. They + built up ramparts of dictionaries in the forefront of their desks to + play noughts and crosses without detection: they soaked with ink all the + chalk for the blackboard and divested Levy of his boots which they + passed round the form during ‘rep’: they made elaborate jointed rods + with foolscap + <a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a> + to prod otherwise unassailable boys at the other end of + the room and when, during the argument which followed the mutual + correction by desk-neighbours of Mr. Caryll’s weekly examination paper, + they observed an earnest group of questioners gathered round the + master’s dais, they would charge into them from behind so violently that + the front row, generally consisting of the more eager and laborious + boys, was precipitated against Mr. Caryll’s chair to the confusion of + labour and eagerness. Retribution followed very seldom in the shape of + impots; and even they were soon done by means of an elaborate + arrangement by which six pens lashed together did six times the work of + one. Sometimes Michael or Alan would be invited to move their desks out + close to Mr. Caryll’s dais of authority for a week’s disgrace; but even + this punishment included as compensation a position facing the class and + therefore the opportunity to play the buffoon for its benefit. Sometimes + Michael or Alan would be ejected with vituperation from the class-room + to spend an hour in the corridor without. Unfortunately they were never + ejected together, and anyway it was an uneasy experience on account of + Dr. Brownjohn’s habit of swinging round a corner and demanding a reason + for the discovery of a loiterer in the corridor. The first time he + appeared, it was always possible by assuming an air of intentness and by + walking towards him very quickly to convey the impression of one upon an + urgent errand; but when Dr. Brownjohn loomed on his return journey, it + was necessary to evade his savage glance by creeping round the great + cast of the Antinous that fronted the corridor. On one of these + occasions Michael in his nervousness shook the statue and an insecurely + dependent fig-leaf fell with a crash on to the floor. Michael nearly + flung himself over the well of the main staircase in horror, but deaf + Dr. Brownjohn swung past into a gloom beyond, and presently Michael was + relieved by the grinning face of a + <a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a> + compatriot beckoning permission to + re-enter the class-room. Safely inside, the fall of the fig-leaf was + made out by Michael to be an act of deliberate daring on his part, and + when at one o’clock the form rushed out to verify the boast, his + position was tremendously enhanced. The news flew round the school, and + several senior boys were observed in conversation with Michael, so that + he was able to swagger considerably. Also he turned up his trousers a + full two inches higher and parted his hair on the right-hand side, a + mode which had long attracted his ambition. + </p> + + <p> + Now, indeed, were Michael and Alan in the zenith of boyhood’s glory. No + longer did they creep diffidently down the corridors; no longer did they + dread to run the gauntlet of a Modern class lined up on either side to + await the form-master’s appearance. If some louts in the Modern Fourth + dared to push them from side to side, as they went by, Michael and Alan + would begin to fight and would shout, ‘You stinking Modern beasts! + Classics to the rescue!’ To their rescue would pour the heroes of the + Upper Fourth A. Down went the Modern textbooks of Chemistry and Physics, + and ignominiously were they hacked along the corridor. Doubled up by a + swinging blow from a bag stood the leader of the Moderns, grunting and + gasping in his windless agony. Back to the serenity of Virgilian airs + went the Upper Fourth A, with Michael and Alan arm in arm amid their + escort, and most dejectedly did the Modern cads gather up their + scientific textbooks; but during the ‘quarter’ great was the battle + waged on the ‘gravel’—that haunt of thumb-biting, acrimonious and + uneasy factions. Michael and Alan were not yet troubled with the fevers + of adolescence. They were cool and clear and joyous as the mountain + torrent: for them life was a crystal of laughter, many-faceted to + adventure. Theirs was now that sexless interlude before the Eton collar + gave way to the ‘stick up’ and before the Eton jacket, trim and jaunty, + <a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a> + + was discarded for an ill-fitting suit that imitated the dull garb of a + man. No longer were Michael and Alan grubby and inky: no longer did they + fill their pockets with an agglomeration of messes: no longer did their + hair sprout in bistre sparseness, for now Michael and Alan were vain of + the golden lights and chestnut shadows, not because girls mattered, but + because like Narcissus they perceived themselves in the mirror of + popular admiration. Now they affected very light trousers and very broad + collars and shoes and unwrinkling socks and cuffs that gleamed very + white. They looked back with detestation upon the excesses of costume + induced by the quadruple intrigue, and they congratulated themselves + that no one of importance had beheld their lapse. + </p> + + <p> + Michael and Alan were lords of Little Side football and in their + treatment of the underlings stretched the prerogatives of greatness to + the limit. They swaggered on to the field of play, where in combination + on the left wing they brought off feats of astonishing swiftness and + agility. Michael used to watch Alan seeming very fair in his black vest + and poised eagerly for the ball to swing out from the half-back. Alan + would take the spinning pass and bound forward into the stink-stained + Modern juniors or embryo subalterns of Army C. The clumsiest of them + would receive Alan’s delicate hand full in his face and, as with + revengeful mutterings the enemy bore down upon him, Alan would pass the + ball to Michael, who with all his speed would gallop along the + touch-line and score a try in the corner. Members of Big Side marked + Michael and Alan as the two most promising three-quarters for Middle + Side next year, and when the bell sounded at twenty minutes to three, + the members of Big Side would walk with Michael and Alan towards the + changing room and encourage them by flattery and genial ragging. In the + lavatory, Michael and Alan would souse with water all the kids in reach, + and + <a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a> + the kids would be duly grateful for so much acknowledgment of their + existence from these stripling gods. In the changing room they would + pleasantly fling the disordered clothes of trespassers near their sacred + places on to the floor or kick the caps of Second-Form boys to the dusty + tops of lockers, and then just as the clock was hard on three, they + would saunter up the School steps and along the corridor to their + class-room, where they would yawn their way through Cicero’s prosy + defence of Milo or his fourth denunciation of Catiline. + </p> + + <p> + At home Michael much enjoyed his mother’s company, although he was now + in the cold dawn of affection for anything save Alan. He no longer was + shocked by his mother’s solicitude or demonstrativeness, fearful of + offending against the rigid standards of the private school or the + uncertain position of a new boy at a public school. He yielded + gracefully to his mother’s pleasure in his company out of a mixture of + politeness and condescension; but he always felt that when he gave up + for an hour the joys of the world for the cloister of domesticity, he + was conferring a favour. At this period nothing troubled him at all save + his position in the School and the necessity to spend every available + minute with Alan. The uncertainty of his father’s position which had + from time to time troubled him was allayed by the zest of existence, and + he never bothered to question his mother at all pertinaciously. In every + way he was making a pleasant pause in his life to enjoy the new emotion + of self-confidence, his distinction in football, his popularity with + contemporaries and seniors and his passion for the absolute + identification of Alan’s behaviour with his and his own with Alan’s. At + home every circumstance fostered this attitude. Alone with his mother, + Michael was singularly free to do as he liked, and he could always + produce from the past precedents which she was unable to controvert for + any whim he wished to establish as a custom. In any case, + <a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a> + Mrs. Fane + seemed to enjoy spoiling him, and Michael was no longer averse from her + praise of his good looks and from the pleasure she expressed in the + company of Alan and himself at a concert or matinée. Another reason for + Michael’s nonchalant happiness was his normality. Nowadays he looked at + himself in the old wardrobe that once had power to terrify him with + nocturnal creakings, and no longer did he deplore his thin arms and + legs, no longer did he mark the diffidence of the sensitive small boy. + Now he could at last congratulate himself upon his ability to hold his + own with any of his equals whether with tongue or fist. Now, too, when + he went to bed, he went to bed as serenely as a kitten, curling himself + up to dream of sport with mice. Sometimes Alan on Friday night would + accompany him to spend the week-end at Carlington Road, and when he did + so, the neighbourhood was not allowed to be oblivious of the event. In + the autumnal dusk Michael and he would practise drop-kicks and high + punts in the middle of the street, until the ball had landed twice in + two minutes on the same balcony to the great annoyance of the ‘skivvy,’ + who was with debonair assurance invited to bung it down for a mere + lordly ‘thank you’ from the offenders. Sometimes the ball would early in + the afternoon strike a sun-flamed window, and with exquisite laughter + Michael and Alan would retreat to Number 64, until the alarmed lady of + the house was quietly within her own doors again. Another pleasant + diversion with a football was to take drop-kicks from close quarters at + the backs of errand-boys, especially on wet days when the ball left a + spheroid of mud where it struck the body. + </p> + + <p>“Yah, you think yourselves—funny,” the errand-boy would growl.</p> + + <p> + “We do. Oh, rather,” Michael and Alan would reply and with smiling + indifference defeat their target still more unutterably. + <a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a> + </p> + + <p>When dusk turned to night, Michael and Alan would wonder what to do and, + after making themselves unbearable in the kitchen, they would sally out + into the back-garden and execute some devilry at the expense of + neighbours. They would walk along the boundary walks of the succeedant + oblongs of garden that ran the whole length of the road; and it was a + poor evening’s sport which produced no fun anywhere. Sometimes they + would detect, white in the darkness, a fox-terrier, whereat they would + miaow and rustle the poplar trees and reduce the dog to a state of + hysterical yapping which would be echoed in various keys by every dog + within earshot. Sometimes they would observe a lighted kitchen with an + unsuspicious cook hard at work upon the dinner, meditating perhaps upon + a jelly or flavouring anxiously the soup. Then if the window were open + Michael and Alan would take pot-shots at the dish with blobs of mould or + creep down into the basement, if the window were shut, and groan and + howl to the cook’s pallid dismay and to the great detriment of her + family’s dinner. In other gardens they would fling explosive + ‘slap-bangs’ against the wall of the house or fire a gunpowder train or + throw gravel up to a lighted bath-room window. There was always some + amusement to be gained at a neighbour’s expense between six and seven + o’clock, at which latter hour they would creep demurely home and dress + for dinner, the only stipulation Mrs. Fane made with Michael in exchange + for leave to ask Alan to stay with him.</p> + + <p> + At dinner in the orange glow of the dining-room, Michael and Alan would + be completely charming and very conversational, as they told Mrs. Fane + how they rotted old Caryll or ragged young Levy or scored two tries that + afternoon. Mrs. Fane would seem to be much interested and make the most + amusing mistakes and keep her son and her guest in an ecstatic + risibility. After dinner they would sit for a while in the perfumed + drawing-room, making themselves agreeable + <a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> + and useful by fetching Mrs. + Fane’s novel or blotting-pad or correspondence, or by pulling up an + arm-chair or by extricating a footstool and drawing close the curtains. + Then Michael and Alan would be inclined to fidget, until Michael + announced it was time to go and swat. Mrs. Fane would smile exquisitely + and say how glad she was they did not avoid their home work and remind + them to come and say good night at ten o’clock sharp. Encouraged by Mrs. + Fane’s gracious dismissal, Michael and Alan would plunge into the + basement and gain the sanctity of Michael’s own room. They would + elaborately lay the table for work, spreading out foolscap and notebooks + and Cicero Pro Milone and Cicero In Catilinam and Thucydides IV and the + green-backed Ion of Euripides. They would make exhaustive researches + into the amount of work set to be shown up on Monday morning, and with a + sigh they would seat themselves to begin. First of all the Greek + Testament would be postponed until Sunday as a more appropriate day, and + then Michael would feel an overpowering desire to smoke one cigarette + before they began. This cigarette had to be smoked close to the open + window, so that the smoke could be puffed outside into the raw autumnal + air, while Alan kept ‘cavé,’ rushing to the door to listen at the + slightest rumour of disturbance. When the cigarette was finished they + would contemplate for a long time the work in front of them, and then + Michael would say he thought it rather stupid to swat on Friday night + with all Saturday and Sunday before them, and who did Alan think was the + better Half-back—Rawson or Wilding? This question led to a long + argument before Rawson was adjudged to be the better of the two. Then + Alan would bet Michael he could not write down from memory the + Nottinghamshire cricket team, and Michael would express his firm + conviction that Alan could not possibly name the winners of the Oxford + and Cambridge quarter-mile for the last three years. Finally + <a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> + they would + both recur to the problem ever present, the best way to obtain two + bicycles and, what was more important, the firm they would ultimately + honour with their patronage. The respective merits of the Humber, the + Rover, the Premier, the Quadrant, the Swift and the Sunbeam created a + battleground for various opinions, and as for the tyres, it seemed + impossible to decide between Palmers, Clinchers and Dunlops. In the + middle of the discussion the clock in the passage would strike ten, at + which Michael and Alan would yawn and dawdle their way upstairs. Perhaps + the bicycle problem had a wearing effect, for Mrs. Fane would remark on + their jaded appearance and hope they were not working too hard. Michael + and Alan would look particularly conscious of their virtue and admit + they had had a very tiring week, what with football and Cicero and + Quadratic Equations; and so after affectionate good nights they would + saunter up to bed. Upstairs, they would lean out of the bedroom window + and watch the golden trains go by, and ponder the changing emeralds and + rubies of the signal-box farther along the line: then after trying to + soak a shadowy tomcat down below with water from the toilet-jug Michael + and Alan would undress. + </p> + + <p> + In the darkness Michael and Alan would lie side by side secure in a + companionship of dreams. They murmured now their truly intimate + thoughts: they spoke of their hopes and ambitions, of the Army with its + glories of rank and adventure, of the Woods and Forests of India, of + treasure on coral islands and fortunes in the cañons of the West. They + spoke of the School Fifteen and of Alan’s probable captaincy of it one + day: they discussed the Upper Sixth with its legend of profound + erudition: they wondered if it would be worth while for Michael to swat + and be Captain of the School. They talked again of bicycles and decided + to make an united effort to secure them this ensuing Christmas + <a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> + by + compounding for one great gift any claims they possessed on birthday + presents later in the year. They talked of love, and of the fools they + had been to waste their enthusiasm on Dora and Winnie. They made up + their minds to forswear the love of women with all its humiliations and + disappointments and futilities. Through life each would be to the other + enough. Girls would be for ever an intrusion between such deathless and + endeared friends as they were. Michael pointed out how awkward it would + be if he and Alan both loved the same girl and showed how it would ruin + their twin lives and wreck their joint endeavour; while Alan agreed it + would be mad to risk a separation for such froth of feminine + attractiveness. The two of them vowed in the darkness to stick always + together, so that whatever fate life held for either it should hold for + both. They swore fidelity to their friendship in the silence and + intimacy of the night; and when, rosy in the morning, they stood up + straightly in the pale London sunlight, they did not regret the vows of + the night, nor did they blush for their devotion, since the world + conjured a long vista of them both arm in arm eternally, and in the + immediate present all the adventurous charm of a Saturday’s whole + holiday. + </p> + + <p> + If there was a First Fifteen match on the School ground, Michael and + Alan honoured it with their attendance and liked nothing so well as to + elbow their way through a mob of juniors in order to nod familiarly to a + few members of the Fifteen. The School team that year was not so + successful as its two predecessors, and Michael and Alan were often + compelled to voice their disdain to the intense disgust of the juniors + huddled about them. Sometimes they would hear an irreverent murmur of + ‘Hark at sidey Fane and sidey Merivale,’ which would necessitate the + punching of a number of heads to restore the disciplinary respect they + demanded. On days when the School team was absent + <a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a> + at Dulford or Tonbury + or Haileybridge, Michael and Alan would scornfully glance at the Second + Fifteen’s desolate encounter with some other Second Fifteen, and vote + that such second-rate football was bally rot. On such occasions the + School ground used to seem too large and empty for cheerfulness, and the + two friends would saunter round West Kensington on the chance of an + adventure, ending up the afternoon by laying out money on sweets or on + the fireworks now displayed in anticipation of the Fifth of November. + Saturday evening would be spent in annoying the neighbours with squibs + and Chinese crackers and jumping crackers and tourbillons and maroons + and Roman candles and Bengal lights, while after dinner the elaborate + preparations for home work would again be made with the same inadequate + result. + </p> + + <p> + On Sunday Michael and Alan used to brush their top-hats and button their + gloves and tie their ties very carefully and, armed with sticks of + sobriety and distinction, swagger to whatever church was fashionable + among their friends. During the service they would wink to acquaintances + and nudge each other and sing very loudly and clearly their favourite + hymns, while through the dull hymns they would criticize their friends’ + female relations. So the week would fulfil its pleasant course until + nine o’clock on Monday morning, when Michael and Alan would run all the + way to school and in a fever of industry get through their home work + with the united assistance of the rest of the Upper Fourth A, as one by + one the diligent members arrived in Hall for a few minutes’ gossip + before Prayers. During Prayers, Michael and Alan would try to forecast + by marking off the full stops what paragraph of Cicero they would each + be called upon to construe; finally, when old Caryll named Merivale to + take up the oration’s thread, Michael would hold the crib on his knees + and over Levy’s laborious back whisper in the voice of a ghoul the + meaning. + <a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> + </p> + + <p>At Christmas, after interminable discussion and innumerable catalogues, + the bicycles were bought, and in the Lent term with its lengthening + twilights Michael and Alan devoted all their attention to bicycling, + except in wet weather, when they played Fives, bagging the covered + courts from small boys who had waited days for the chance of playing in + them. Michael, during the Lent term, often rode back with Alan after + School to spend the week-end at Richmond, and few delights were so rare + as that of scorching over Barnes Common and down the Mortlake Road with + its gardens all a-blow with spring flowers and, on the other bank of the + river over Kew, the great spring skies keeping pace with their whirring + wheels.</p> + + <p>Yet best of all was the summer term, that glorious azure summer term of + fourteen and a half, which fled by in a radiancy. Michael and Alan were + still in the Upper Fourth A under Mr. Caryll: they still fooled away the + hours of school, relying upon the charm of their joint personality to + allay the extreme penalty of being sent up to the Headmaster for + incorrigible knavery. They were Captain and Vice-Captain of the + Classical Upper Fourth Second Eleven, preferring the glory of leadership + to an ambiguous position in the tail of the First Eleven. Michael and + Alan were in their element during that sunburnt hour of cricket before + afternoon school. They wore white felt hats, and Michael in one of his + now rare flights of imagination thought that Alan in his looked like + Perseus in a Flaxman drawing. Many turned to look at the two friends, as + enlaced they wandered across the ‘gravel’ on their way to change out of + flannels, Michael nut-brown and Alan rose-bloomed like a peach.</p> + + <p> + At five o’clock they would eat a rowdy tea in the School Tuckshop to the + accompaniment of flying pellets of bun, after which they would change + again for amber hours of cricket, until the sun made the shadow of the + stumps as + <a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a> + long as telegraph poles, and the great golden clock face in + the School buildings gleamed a late hour. They would part from each + other with regret to ride off in opposite directions. Michael would + linger on his journey home through the mellow streets of Kensington, + writing with his bicycle wheels lazy parabolas and curves in the dust of + each quiet road. Twilight was not far off, the murmurous twilight of a + London evening with its trancéd lovers and winking stars and + street-lamps and window-panes. More and more slowly Michael would glide + along, loath to desert the dreaming populations of dusk. He would turn + down unfrequented corners and sail by unfamiliar terraces, aware of + nothing but the languors of effortless motion. Time, passing by in a + sensuous oblivion, made Michael as much a part of the nightfall as the + midges that spun incessantly about his progress. Then round a corner + some night-breeze would blow freshly in his face: he would suddenly + realize it was growing late and, pressing hard the pedals of his + bicycle, he would dart home, swift as a bird that crosses against the + dying glow of the sunset. + </p> + + <p> + Michael’s mother was always glad to see him and always glad when he sat + with her on the balcony outside the drawing-room. If he had wanted to + cross-examine her he would have found an easy witness, so tranquil and + so benignant that year was every night of June in London. But Michael + had for the time put aside all speculation and drugged his imagination + with animal exercise, allowing himself no time to think of anything but + the present. He was dimly aware of trouble close at hand, when the + terminal examinations should betray his idleness; but it was impossible + to worry over what was now sheerly inevitable. This summer term was + perfect, and why should one consider ultimate time? Even Stella’s + holiday from Germany had been postponed, as if there were a veritable + conspiracy by circumstance to wave away the least element of + disturbance. + <a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> + Next Saturday he and Alan were going to spend the day in + Richmond Park; and when it came in its course what a day it was. The + boys set out directly after breakfast and walked through the pungent + bracken, chasing the deer and the dragonflies as if there were nothing + to distinguish them. Down streamed the sun from the blue July heavens: + but Michael and Alan clad in white went careless of the heat. They + walked over the grass uphill and ran down through the cool dells of oak + trees, down towards the glassy ponds to play ‘ducks and drakes’ in the + flickering weather. They stood by the intersecting carriage-roads and + mocked the perspiring travellers in their black garments. They cared for + nothing but being alive in Richmond Park on a summer Saturday of London. + At last, near a shadowy woodland where the grasses grew very tall, + Michael and Alan, smothering the air with pollen, flung themselves down + into the fragrancy and, while the bees droned about them, slept in the + sun. Later in the afternoon the two friends sat on the Terrace among the + old ladies and the old gentlemen, and the nurserymaids and the + children’s hoops. Down below, the Thames sparkled in a deep green + prospect of England. An hour went by; the old ladies and the old + gentlemen and the nurserymaids and the hoops faded away one by one under + the darkling trees. Down below, the Thames threaded with shining curves + a vast and elusive valley of azure. The Thames died away to a sheen of + dusky silver: the azure deepened almost to indigo: lights flitted into + ken one by one: there travelled up from the river a sound of singing, + and somewhere in the houses behind a piano began to tinkle. Michael + suddenly became aware that the end of the summer term was in sight. He + shivered in the dewfall and put his arm round Alan’s neck affectionately + and intimately: only profound convention kept him from kissing his + friend and by not doing so he felt vaguely that something was absent + from this perfection of dusk. Something in + <a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> + Michael at that moment + demanded emotional expression, and from afternoon school of yesterday + recurred to his mind a note to some lines in the Sixth Æneid of Virgil. + He remembered the lines, having by some accident learned his repetition + for that day: + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Huc omnis turba ad ripas effusa ruebat,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Matres atque viri defunctaque corpora vita</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Magnanimum heroum, pueri innuptœque puellœ,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Impositique rogis juvenes ante ora parentum;</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Quam multa in silvis auctumni frigore primo</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Lapsa cadunt folia, aut ad terram gurgite ab alto</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Quam multœ glomerantur aves ubi frigidus annus</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Trans pontum fugat et terris immittit apricis.</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>Compare, said the commentator, Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I.</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>In Vallombrosa.</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>As Michael mentally repeated the thunderous English line, a surge of + melancholy caught him up to overwhelm his thoughts. In some way those + words expressed what he was feeling at this moment, so that he could + gain relief from the poignancy of his joy here in the darkness close to + Alan with the unfathomable valley of the Thames beneath, by saying over + and over again:</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>In Vallombrosa.</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p>“Damn, damn, damn, damn,” cried Alan suddenly. “Exams on Monday! Damn, + damn, damn, damn.”</p> + + <p>“I must go home and swat to-night,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“So must I,” sighed Alan.</p> + + <p>“Walk with me to the station,” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“Oh, rather,” replied Alan.</p> + + <p> + Soon Michael was jolting back to Kensington in a stuffy carriage of hot + Richmond merrymakers, while + <a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a> + all the time he sat in the corner, saying + over and over again: + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>In Vallombrosa.</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>All Saturday night and all Sunday Michael worked breathlessly for those + accursed examinations: but at the end of them he and Alan were bracketed + equal, very near the tail of the Upper Fourth A. Dr. Brownjohn sent for + each of them in turn, and each of them found the interview very trying.</p> + + <p>“What do you mean by it?” roared the Headmaster to Michael. “What do you + mean by it, you young blackguard? Um? Look at this list. Um? It’s a + contemptible position for a Scholar. Down here with a lump of rabbit’s + brains, you abominable little loafer. Um? If you aren’t in the first + five boys of the Lower Fifth next term, I’ll kick you off the + Foundation. What good are you to the School? Um? None at all.”</p> + + <p>As Dr. Brownjohn bellowed forth this statement, his mouth opened so wide + that Michael instinctively shrank back as if from a crater in eruption.</p> + + <p>“You don’t come here to swagger about,” growled the Headmaster. “You + come here to be a credit to your school. You pestilent young jackanapes, + do you suppose I haven’t noticed your idleness? Um? I notice everything. + Get out of my sight and take your hands out of your pockets, you + insolent little lubber. Um?”</p> + + <p>Michael left the Headmaster’s room with an expression of tragic injury: + in the corridor was a group of juniors.</p> + + <p>“What the devil are you kids hanging about here for?” Michael demanded.</p> + + <p> + “All right, sidey Fane,” they burbled. Michael dashed into the group and + grabbed a handful of caps which he tossed into the dusty complications + of the Laocoön. To their lamentations he responded by thrusting his + hands deep down into his pockets and whistling ‘Little Dolly + <a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a> + Daydreams, + pride of Idaho.’ The summer term would be over in a few days, and + Michael was sorry to say good-bye to Alan, who was going to Norway with + his father and mother and would therefore not be available for the whole + of the holidays. Indeed, he was leaving two days before School actually + broke up. Michael was wretched without Alan and brooded over the + miseries of life that so soon transcended the joys. On the last day of + term, he was seized with an impulse to say good-bye to Mr. Caryll, an + impulse which he could not understand and was inclined to deplore. + However, it was too strong for his conventions, and he loitered behind + in the confusion of merry departures. + </p> + + <p>“Good-bye, sir,” he said shyly.</p> + + <p>Mr. Caryll took off two pairs of spectacles and examined Michael through + the remaining pair, rasping out the familiar cough as he did so.</p> + + <p>“Now, you great booby, what do you want?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Good-bye, sir,” Michael said, more loudly.</p> + + <p>“Oh, good-bye,” said Mr. Caryll. “You’ve been a very idle + boy”—cough—cough—“and I”—cough—cough—“I don’t think I ever knew + such an idle boy before.”</p> + + <p>“I’ve had a ripping time in your class, sir,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“What do you mean?”—cough—cough—“are you trying to be impudent?” + exclaimed Mr. Caryll, hastily putting on a second pair of spectacles to + cope with the situation.</p> + + <p>“No, sir. I’ve enjoyed being in your class. I’m sorry I was so low down + in the list. Good-bye, sir.”</p> + + <p>Mr. Caryll seemed to realize at last that Michael was being sincerely + complimentary, so he took off all the pairs of spectacles and beamed at + him with an expression of the most profound benignity.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, well”—cough—cough—“we can’t all be top”—cough—cough—“but it’s + a pity you should be so very low down”—cough—cough—“you’re a Scholar + too, which makes it much worse. Never mind. Good boy at + heart”—cough— + <a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a> + cough—“better luck in your next form”—cough—cough. + “Hope you’ll enjoy yourself on your holidays.” + </p> + + <p>“Good-bye, sir. Thanks awfully,” said Michael. He turned away from the + well-loved class-room of old Caryll that still echoed with the laughter + of the Upper Fourth A.</p> + + <p>“And don’t work too hard”—cough—cough, was Mr. Caryll’s last joke.</p> + + <p>In the corridor Michael caught up the lantern-jawed boy who had + prophesied this year’s pleasure at the beginning of last autumn.</p> + + <p>“Just been saying good-bye to old Christmas,” Michael volunteered.</p> + + <p>“He’s a topper,” said Lantern-jaws. “The best old boy that ever lived. I + wish I was going to be in his form again next term.”</p> + + <p>“So do I,” said Michael. “We had a clinking good time. So long. Hope + you’ll have decent holidays.”</p> + + <p>“So long,” said the lantern-jawed boy lugubriously, dropping most of his + mathematical books. “Same to you.”</p> + + <p> + When Michael was at home, he took a new volume of Henty into the garden + and began to read. Suddenly he found he was bored by Henty. This + knowledge shocked him for the moment. Then he went indoors and put For + Name and Fame, or Through Afghan Passes back on the shelf. He surveyed + the row of Henty’s books gleaming with olivine edges, and presently he + procured brown paper and with Cook’s assistance wrapped up the dozen odd + volumes. At the top he placed a slip of paper on which was written + ‘Presented to the Boys’ Library by C. M. S. Fane.’ Michael was now in a + perplexity for literary recreation, until he remembered Don Quixote. + Soon he was deep in that huge volume, out of the dull world of London + among the gorges and chasms and waterfalls of Castile. Boyhood’s zenith + had been attained: Michael’s imagination was primed for strange + emotions. + <a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_V_Incense" id="Chapter_V_Incense"></a> + Chapter V: + <i>Incense</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">S</span> + TELLA came back from Germany less foreign-looking than Michael + expected, and he could take a certain amount of pleasure in her company + at Bournemouth, For a time they were well matched, as they walked with + their mother under the pines. Once, as they passed a bunch of old ladies + on a seat, Stella said to Michael: + </p> + + <p>“Did you hear what those people said?”</p> + + <p>Michael had not heard, so Stella whispered:</p> + + <p>“They said ‘What good-looking children!’ Shall we turn back and walk by + them again?”</p> + + <p>“Whatever for?” Michael demanded.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stella, flapping the big violet bows in her + chestnut hair. “Only I like to hear people talking about me. I think + it’s interesting. I always try to hear what they say when I’m playing.”</p> + + <p>“Mother,” Michael appealed, “don’t you think Stella ought not to be so + horribly conceited? I do.”</p> + + <p>“Darling Stella,” said Mrs. Fane, “I’m afraid people spoil her. It isn’t + her fault.”</p> + + <p>“It must be her fault,” argued Michael.</p> + + <p> + Michael remembered Miss Carthew’s admonition not to snub Stella, but he + could not help feeling that Miss Carthew herself would have disapproved + of this open vanity. He wished that Miss Carthew were not now Mrs. Ross + and far away in Edinburgh. He felt almost a responsibility with regard + to Stella, a highly moral sensation of knowing better the world and its + pitfalls than she could. He feared for the effect of its lure upon + Stella and her vanity, and + <a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a> + was very anxious his sister should always + comport herself with credit to her only brother. In his mother’s + attitude Michael seemed to discern a dangerous inclination not to + trouble about Stella’s habit of thought. He resolved, when he and Stella + were alone together, to address his young sister seriously. Stella’s + nonchalance alarmed him more and more deeply as he began to look back at + his own life and to survey his wasted years. Michael felt he must + convince Stella that earnestness was her only chance. + </p> + + <p>“You’re growing very fast, Michael,” said his mother one morning. + “Really I think you’re getting too big for Etons.”</p> + + <p>Michael critically examined himself in his mother’s toilet-glass and had + to admit that his sleeves looked short and that his braces showed too + easily under his waistcoat. The fact that he could no longer survey his + reflection calmly and that he dreaded to see Stella admire herself + showed him something was wrong.</p> + + <p>“Perhaps I’d better get a new suit,” he suggested.</p> + + <p>In his blue serge suit, wearing what the shops called a Polo or + Shakespeare collar, Michael felt more at ease, although the sleeves were + now as much too long as lately his old sleeves were too short. The + gravity of this new suit confirmed his impression that age was stealing + upon him and made him the more inclined to lecture Stella. This desire + of his seemed to irritate his mother, who would protest:</p> + + <p>“Michael, do leave poor Stella alone. I can’t think why you’ve suddenly + altered. One would think you’d got the weight of the world on your + shoulders.”</p> + + <p>“Like Atlas,” commented Michael gloomily.</p> + + <p>“I don’t know who it’s like,” said Mrs. Fane. “But it’s very + disagreeable for everybody round you.”</p> + + <p> + “Michael always thinks he knows about everything,” Stella put in + spitefully. + <a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Oh, shut up!” growled Michael.</p> + + <p> + He was beginning to feel that his mother admired Stella more than + himself, and the old jealousy of her returned. He was often reproved for + being untidy and, although he was no longer inky and grubby, he did + actually find that his hair refused to grow neatly and that he was + growing clumsy both in manners and appearance. Stella always remained + cool and exasperatingly debonair under his rebukes, whereas he felt + himself growing hot and awkward. The old self-consciousness had returned + and with it two warts on his finger and an intermittent spot on his + chin. Also a down was visible on his face that somehow blunted his + profile and made him more prone than ever to deprecate the habit of + admiring oneself in a looking-glass. He felt impelled to untie Stella’s + violet bows whenever he caught her posing before the mirror, and as the + holidays advanced he and she grew less and less well matched. The old + worrying speculation about his father returned together with a wish that + his mother would not dress in such gay colours. Michael admired her + slimness and tallness, but he wished that men would not turn round and + stare at her as she passed them. He used to stare back at the men with a + set frowning face and try to impress them with his distaste for their + manners; but day by day he grew more miserable about his mother, and + would often seek to dissuade her from what he considered a too + conspicuous hat or vivid ribbon. She used to laugh and tell him that he + was a regular old ‘provincial.’ The opportunity for perfect confidence + between Michael and his mother seemed to have slipped by, and he found + it impossible now to make her talk about his father. To be sure, she no + longer tried to wave aside his enquiries; but she did worse by answering + ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to his questions according to her mood, never seeming to + care whether she contradicted a previous statement or not. + <a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a> + </p> + + <p>Once, Michael asked straight out whether his father was in prison and he + was relieved when his mother rippled with laughter and told him he was a + stupid boy. At the same time, since he had been positively assured his + father was dead, Michael felt that laughter, however convincing it were, + scarcely became a widow.</p> + + <p>“I cannot think what has happened to you, Michael. You were perfectly + charming all last term and never seemed to have a moment on your hands. + Now you hang about the house on these lovely fine days and mope and + grumble. I do wish you could enjoy yourself as you used to.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I’ve got no friends down here,” Michael declared. “What is there + to do? I’m sick of the band, and the niggers are rotten, and Stella + always wants to hang about on the pier so that people can stare at her. + I wish she’d go back to her glorious Germany where everything is so + wonderful.”</p> + + <p>“Why don’t you read? You used to love reading,” suggested Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Oh, read!” exclaimed Michael. “There’s nothing to read. I hate Henty. + Always the same!”</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t know anything about Henty, but there’s Scott and Dickens + and——”</p> + + <p>“I’ve read all them, mother,” Michael interrupted petulantly.</p> + + <p>“Well, why don’t you ask Mrs. Rewins if you can borrow a book from her, + or I’ll ask her, as you don’t like going downstairs.”</p> + + <p> + Mrs. Rewins brought up an armful of books which Michael examined + dismally one by one. However, after several gilded volumes of sermons + and sentimental Sunday-school prizes, he came across a tattered Newgate + Calendar and Roderick Random, both of which satisfied somewhat his new + craving for excitement. When he had finished these books, Mrs. Rewins + invited him to explore the cupboard + <a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a> + in her warm kitchen, and here + Michael found Peregrine Pickle, Tom Jones, a volume of Bentley’s + Miscellany containing the serial of Jack Sheppard by Harrison Ainsworth, + and What Every Woman of Forty-five ought to Know. The last work upset + him very much because he found it unintelligible in parts, and where it + was intelligible extremely alarming. An instinct of shamefulness made + him conceal this book in a drawer, but he became very anxious to find + out exactly how old his mother was. She, however, was more elusive on + this point than he had ever known her, and each elaborate trap failed, + even the innocent production of the table for ascertaining anybody’s age + in a blue sixpenny Encyclopædia: still, the Encyclopædia was not without + its entertainment, and the table of diseases at the end was very + instructive. Among the books which Michael had mined down in Mrs. + Rewins’ kitchen was The Ingoldsby Legends illustrated by Cruikshank. + These he found very enthralling, for though he was already acquainted + with The Jackdaw of Rheims, he now discovered many other poems still + more amusing, in many of which he came across with pleasure quotations + that he remembered to have heard used with much effect by Mr. Neech in + the Shell. The macabre and ghostly lays did not affect him so much as + the legends of the saints. These he read earnestly as he read Don + Quixote, discerning less of laughter than of Gothic adventure in their + fantastic pages, while his brain was fired by the heraldic pomps and + ecclesiastical glories. + </p> + + <p> + About this time he happened to pay a visit to Christchurch Priory and by + the vaulted airs of that sanctuary he was greatly thrilled. The + gargoyles and brasses and effigies of dead knights called to him + mysteriously, but the inappropriate juxtaposition of an early Victorian + tomb shocked him with a sense of sacrilege. He could not bear to + contemplate the nautical trousers of the boy commemorated. Yet, + simultaneously with his outraged decorum, + <a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a> + he was attracted to this + tomb, as if he detected in that ingenuous boy posited among sad cherubs + some kinship with himself. + </p> + + <p> + In bed that night Michael read The Ingoldsby Legends in a fever of + enjoyment, while the shadows waved about the ceiling and walls of the + seaside room in the vexed candlelight. As yet the details of the poems + did not gain their full effect, because many of the words and references + were not understood. He felt that knowledge was necessary before he + could properly enjoy the colour of these tales. Michael had always been + inclined to crystallize in one strong figure of imagination his vague + impressions. Two years ago he had identified Mr. Neech with old prints, + with Tom Brown’s Schooldays and with shelves of calf-bound books. Now in + retrospect he, without being able to explain his reason to himself, + identified Mr. Neech with that statue of the trousered boy in + Christchurch Priory, and not merely Mr. Neech but even The Ingoldsby + Legends as well. He felt that they were both all wrong in the sanctified + glooms of the Middle Ages, and yet he rejoiced to behold them there, as + if somehow they were a pledge of historic continuity. Without the + existence of the trousered boy Michael would scarcely have believed in + the reality of those stone ladies and carved knights. The candlelight + fluttered and jigged in the seaside room, while Mr. Neech, The Ingoldsby + Legends and the oratories of Christchurch became more and more + hopelessly confused. Michael’s excited brain was formulating visions of + immense cathedrals beneath whose arches pattered continually the + populations of old prints: the tower of St. Mary’s College, Oxford, + rose, slim and lovely, against the storm-wrack of a Doré sky: Don + Quixote tilted with knights-at-arms risen from the dead. Michael himself + was swept along in cavalcades towards the clouds with Ivanhoe, Richard + Cœur de Lion, Roderick Random and half a dozen woodcut murderers + <a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a> + + from the Newgate Calendar. Then, just as the candlelight was gasping and + shimmering blue in the bowl of the candlestick, he fell asleep. + </p> + + <p>In the sunshine of the next day Michael almost wondered whether like + someone in The Ingoldsby Legends he had ridden with witches on a + broomstick. All the cool security of boyhood had left him; he was in a + turmoil of desire for an astounding experience. He almost asked himself + what he wanted so dearly; and, as he pondered, out of the past in a + vision came the picture of himself staring at the boy who walked beside + the incense with a silver boat. What did the Lay of St. Alois say?</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>This with his chasuble, this with his rosary,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>This with his incense-pot holding his nose awry.</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>Michael felt a craving to go somewhere and smell that powerful odour + again. He remembered how the boy had put out his tongue and he envied + him such familiarity with pomps and glories.</p> + + <p>“Are there any High Churches in Bournemouth?” he asked Mrs. Rewins. + “Very high. Incense and all that, you know.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Rewins informed him there was one church so high that some said it + was practically ‘Roming Catholic.’</p> + + <p> + “Where is it?” asked Michael, choking with excitement. Yet he had never + before wanted to go to church. In the days of Nurse he had hated it. In + the days of Miss Carthew he had only found it endurable if his friends + were present. He had loathed the rustle of many women dressed in their + best clothes. He had hated the throaty voices of smooth-faced clergymen. + He had despised the sleek choir-boys smelling of yellow soap. Religion + had been compounded of Collects, Greek Testament, Offertory Bags, + varnish, qualms for the safety of one’s top-hat, the pleasure of an + extra large hassock, ambition to be grown up and bend over instead of + kneeling down, the podgy feel of a Prayer Book, + <a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a> + and a profound + disapproval that only Eton and Winchester among public schools were + mentioned in its diaphanous fumbling pages. Now religion should be an + adventure. The feeling that he was embarking upon the unknown made + Michael particularly reticent, and he was afraid to tell his mother that + on Sunday morning he proposed to attend the service at St. + Bartholomew’s, lest she might suggest coming also. He did not want to be + irritated by Stella’s affectations and conceit, nor did he wish to + notice various women turning round to study his mother’s hat. In the end + Michael did not go on Sunday to the church of his intention, because at + the last moment he could not brace himself to mumble an excuse. + </p> + + <p> + Late on the afternoon of the following day Michael walked through the + gustiness of a swift-closing summer toward St. Bartholomew’s, where it + stood facing a stretch of sandy heather and twisted pine trees on the + outskirts of Bournemouth. The sky was stained infrequently with the red + of a lifeless sunset and, as Michael watched the desolation of summer’s + retreat, he listened sadly to the sibilant heather lisping against the + flutes of the pines, while from time to time the wind drummed against + the buttresses and boomed against the bulk of the church. Michael drew + near the west door whose hinges and nails stood out unnaturally distinct + in the last light of the sun. Abruptly on the blowy eve the church-bell + began to ring, and from various roads Michael saw people approaching, + their heads bent against the gale. At length he made up his mind to + follow one of the groups through the churchyard and presently, while the + gate rattled behind him in the wind, he reached the warm glooms within. + As he took his seat and perceived the altar loaded with flowers, + dazzling with lighted candles, he wondered why this should be so on a + Monday night in August. The air was pungent with the smell of wax and + the stale perfume of incense on stone. The congregation was + <a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> + scattered + about in small groups and units, and the vaulted silence was continually + broken by coughs and sighs and hollow footsteps. From the tower the bell + rang in slow monotone, while the wind whistled and moaned and flapped + and boomed as if, thought Michael, all the devils in hell were trying to + break into the holy building. The windows were now scarcely luminous + with the wan shadow of daylight and would indeed have been opaque as + coal had the inside of the church been better lighted. But the few + wavering gas-jets in the nave made all seem dark save where the chancel, + empty and candle-lit, shone and sparkled in a radiancy. Something in + Michael’s attitude must have made a young man sitting behind lean over + and ask if he wanted a Prayer Book. Michael turned quickly to see a lean + and eager face. + </p> + + <p>“Yes, please. I left mine at home,” he answered.</p> + + <p>“Well, come and sit by me,” said the young man.</p> + + <p>Michael changed his place and the young man talked in a low whisper, + while the bell rang its monotone upon the gusts which swept howling + round the church.</p> + + <p>“Solemn Evensong isn’t until seven o’clock. It’s our patronal festival, + St. Bartholomew’s Day—you know. We had a good Mass this morning. Every + year we get more people. Do you live in Bournemouth?”</p> + + <p>“No,” whispered Michael. “I’m just here for the holidays.”</p> + + <p> + “What a pity,” said the stranger. “We do so want servers—you + know—decent-looking servers. Our boys are so clumsy. It’s not + altogether their fault—the cassocks—you know—they’re only in two + sizes. They trip up. I’m the Ceremonarius, and I can tell you I have my + work cut out. Of course I ought to have been helping to-night. But I + wasn’t sure I could get away from the Bank in time. I hope + Wilson—that’s our second thurifer—won’t go wrong in the Magnificat. He + usually does.” + <a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a> + </p> + + <p>The bell stopped: there was a momentary hush for the battling wind to + moan louder than ever: then the organ began to play and from the + sacristy came the sound of a chanted Amen. Choristers appeared followed + by two or three of the clergy, and when these had taken their places a + second procession appeared, with boys in scarlet and lace and a tinkling + censer and a priest in a robe of blood-red velvet patterned with dull + gold.</p> + + <p>“That’s the new cope,” whispered the stranger. “Fine work, isn’t it?”</p> + + <p>“Awfully decent,” Michael whispered back.</p> + + <p>“All I hope is the acolytes will remember to put out the candles + immediately after the Third Collect. It’s so important,” said the + stranger.</p> + + <p>“I expect they will,” whispered Michael encouragingly.</p> + + <p>Then the Office began, and Michael, waiting for a spiritual experience, + communed that night with the saints of God, as during the Magnificat his + soul rose to divine glories on the fumes of the aspiring incense. There + was a quality in the voices of the boys which expressed for him more + beautifully than the full Sunday choir could have done, the pathos of + human praise and the purity of his own surrender to Almighty God. The + splendours of the Magnificat died away to a silence and one of the + clergy stepped from his place to read the Second Lesson. As he came down + the chancel steps Michael’s new friend whispered:</p> + + <p>“The censing of the altar was all right. It’s really a good thing + sometimes to be a spectator—you know—one sees more.”</p> + + <p>Michael nodded a vague assent. Already the voice of the lector was + vibrating through the church.</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + <i>In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn towards the first + day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the + sepulchre.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>Michael thought to himself how he had come to St. Bartholomew’s when + Sunday was over. That was strange.</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + <i>His countenance was like lightning and his raiment white as snow: + and for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>“I wish that boy Wiggins wouldn’t fidget with his zuchetto,” Michael’s + friend observed.</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + <i>And behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see + him: lo, I have told you.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>Michael felt an impulse to sob, as he mentally offered the best of + himself to the worship of Christ, for the words of the lesson were + striking on his soul like bells.</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + <i>And when they saw him, they worshipped him: but some doubted.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p> + “Now you see the other boy has started fidgeting with + <i>his</i> + ,” complained + the young man. + </p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + <i>And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.</i> + <i>Amen.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>As the lector’s retreating footsteps died away into the choir the words + were burned on Michael’s heart, and for the first time he sang the Nunc + Dimittis with a sense of the privilege of personally addressing Almighty + God. When the Creed was chanted Michael uttered his belief passionately, + and while the Third Collect was being read between the exalted candles + of the acolytes he wondered why never before had the words struck him + with all their power against the fears and fevers of the night.</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + <i>Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great + mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night, for the + love of thy only Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ.</i> + <i>Amen.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p> + The acolytes lowered their candles to extinguish them: + <a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a> + then they + darkened the altar while the hymn was being sung, and Michael’s friend + gave a sigh of relief. + </p> + + <p>“Perfectly all right,” he whispered.</p> + + <p>Michael himself was sorry to see the gradual extinction of the + altar-lights; he had concentrated upon that radiance his new desire of + adoration and a momentary chill fell upon him, as if the fiends without + were gaining strength and fury. All dread and doubt was allayed when, + after the murmured Grace of Our Lord, the congregation and the choir and + the officiant knelt in a silent prayer. The wind still shrieked and + thundered: the gas-jets waved uneasily above the huddled forms of the + worshippers: but over all that incense-clouded gloom lay a spirit of + tranquillity. Michael said the Our Father to himself and allowed his + whole being to expand in a warmth of surrender. The purification of + sincere prayer, voiced more by his attitude of mind than by any spoken + word, made him infinitely at peace with life.</p> + + <p>When the choir and clergy had filed out and the sacristan like an old + rook came limping down the aisle to usher the congregation forth into + the dark wind of Bartlemy-tide, Michael’s friend said:</p> + + <p>“Wait just a minute. I want to speak to Father Moneypenny for a moment, + and then we can walk back together.”</p> + + <p>Michael nodded, and presently his friend came back from the sacristy + with Father Moneypenny in cassock and biretta, looking like the + photographs of clergymen that Michael remembered in Nurse’s album long + ago.</p> + + <p>“So you enjoyed the Evensong?” enquired the priest. “Capital! You must + come to Mass next Sunday. There will be a procession. By the way, Prout, + perhaps your young friend would help us. We shall want extra + torch-boys.”</p> + + <p> + Mr. Prout agreed, and Michael, although he wondered what his mother + would say, was greatly excited by the idea. They were standing now by + the door of the church and as + <a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a> + it opened a gust of wind burst in and + whistled round the interior. Father Moneypenny shivered. + </p> + + <p>“What a night. The end of summer, I’m afraid.”</p> + + <p>He closed the door, and Michael and Mr. Prout forced their way through + the gale over the wet gravel of the churchyard. The pine trees and the + heather made a melancholy concert, and they were glad to reach the blown + lamplight of the streets.</p> + + <p>“Will you come round to my place?” Mr. Prout asked.</p> + + <p>“Well, I ought to go back. My mater will be anxious,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>Mr. Prout thereupon invited him to come round to-morrow afternoon.</p> + + <p>“I shall be back from the Bank about five. Good night. You’ve got my + card? Bernard Prout, Esdraelon, Saxton Road. Good night. Pleased to have + met you.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane was surprized to hear of Michael’s visit to St. Bartholomew’s.</p> + + <p>“You’re getting so secretive, dearest boy. I’d no idea you were becoming + interested in religion.”</p> + + <p>“Well, it is interesting,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Of course. I know it must be. So many people think of nothing else. And + do you really want to march in the procession?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, but don’t you and Stella come,” Michael said.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I must, Michael. I’d love to see you in all those pretty clothes.”</p> + + <p> + “Well, I + <i>can</i> + go round and see this chap Prout, can’t I?” Michael + asked. + </p> + + <p>“I suppose so,” Mrs. Fane replied. “Of course, I don’t know anything + about him. Is he a gentleman?”</p> + + <p>“Of course he’s a gentleman,” affirmed Michael warmly. “Besides I don’t + see it matters a bit whether he’s a gentleman or not.”</p> + + <p> + “No, of course it doesn’t really, as it all has to do with + <a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a> + religion,” + Mrs. Fane agreed. “Nothing is so mixed as religious society.” + </p> + + <p>Saxton Road possessed no characteristic to distinguish it from many + similar roads in Bournemouth. A few hydrangeas debated in sheltered + corners whether they should be pink or blue, and the number of each + house was subordinate to its title. The gate of Esdraelon clicked behind + Michael’s entrance just as the gate of Homeview or Ardagh or Glenside + would have clicked. By the bay-window of the ground floor was planted a + young passion-flower whose nursery label lisped against the brick-work, + and whose tendrils were flattened beneath wads of nail-pierced flannel. + Michael was directed upstairs to Mr. Prout’s sitting-room on the first + floor, where the owner was arranging the tea-cups.</p> + + <p>“I’m so glad you were able to come,” he said.</p> + + <p>Michael looked round the room with interest, and while the tea-cake + slowly cooled Mr. Prout discussed with enthusiasm his possessions.</p> + + <p> + “That’s St. Bernardine of Sienna,” he explained, pointing to a coloured + statuette. “My patron, you know. Curious I should have been born on his + day and be christened Bernard. I thought of changing my name to + Bernardine, but it’s so difficult at a Bank. Of course, I have a cult + for St. Bernard too, but I never really can forgive him for opposing the + Immaculate Conception. Father Moneypenny and I have great arguments on + that point. I’m afraid he’s a + <i>little</i> + bit wobbly. But absolutely sound + on the Assumption. Oh, absolutely, I’m glad to say. In fact, I don’t + mind telling you that next year we intend to keep it as a Double of the + First Class with Octave + <i>which</i> + , of course, it + <i>is</i> + . This rosary is made + of olive-wood from the Garden of Gethsemane and I’m very anxious to get + it blessed by the Pope. Some friends of mine are going to Rome next + Easter with a Polytechnic tour, so I + <i>may</i> + be able to manage it. But + it’s difficult. The Cardinals—you know,” said Mr. + <a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a> + Prout vaguely. + “They’re inclined to be bitter against English Catholics. Of course, + Vaughan made the mistake of his life in getting the Pope to pronounce + against English Orders. I know a Roman priest told me he considered it a + fatal move. However—you’re waiting for your tea?” + </p> + + <p>Michael ate Mr. Prout’s bread-and-butter and drank his tea, while the + host hopped from trinket to trinket.</p> + + <p> + “This is a sacred amulet which belonged to one of the Macdonalds who + fought at Prestonpans. I suppose you’re a Jacobite? Of course, I belong + to all the Legitimist Societies—the White Rose, the White Cockade, the + White Carnation. Everyone. I wish I were a Scotchman, although my + grandmother was a Miss Macmillan, so I’ve got Scotch blood. You + <i>are</i> + a + Jacobite, aren’t you?” + </p> + + <p>“Rather,” said Michael as enthusiastically as his full mouth would allow + him to declare.</p> + + <p> + “Of course, it’s the only logical political attitude for an English + Catholic to adopt,” said Mr. Prout. “All this Erastianism—you know. + Terrible. What’s the Privy Council got to do with Vestments? Still the + Episcopal appointments haven’t been so bad lately. That’s Lord + Salisbury. Of course, we’ve had trouble with our Bishop. Oh, yes. He + simply declines to listen to reason on the subject of Reservation for + the Sick. Personally I advised Father Moneypenny not to pay any + attention to him. I said the Guild of St. Wilfrid—that’s our servers’ + guild, you know—was absolutely in favour of defiance, open defiance. + But one of the churchwardens got round him. There’s your Established + Church. Money’s what churchwardens think of—simply money. And has + religion got anything to do with money? Nothing. ‘Blessed are the poor.’ + You can’t go against that, as I told Major Wilton—that’s our people’s + warden—in the sacristy. He’s a client of ours at the Bank, or I should + have said a jolly sight more. I should have told him that in my opinion + his attitude was + <a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a> + simony—rank simony, and let it go at that. But I + couldn’t very well, and, of course, it doesn’t look well for the + Ceremonarius and the churchwarden to be bickering after Mass. By the + way, will you help us next Sunday?” + </p> + + <p>“I’d like to,” said Michael, “but I don’t know anything about it.”</p> + + <p> + “There’ll be a rehearsal,” said Mr. Prout. “And it’s perfectly simple. + You elevate your torch first of all at the Sanctus and then at the + Consecration. And now, if you’ve finished your tea, I’ll show you my + oratory. Of course, you’ll understand that I’m only in rooms here, but + the landlady is a very pleasant woman. She let me plant that + passion-flower in the garden. Perhaps you noticed it? The same with this + oratory. It + <i>was</i> + a housemaid’s cupboard, but it was very + inconvenient—and there isn’t a housemaid as a matter of fact—so I + secured it. Come along.” + </p> + + <p>Mr. Prout led the way on to the landing, at the end of which were two + doors.</p> + + <p> + “We can’t both kneel down, unless the door’s open,” said Mr. Prout. “But + when I’m alone, I can + <i>just</i> + shut myself in.” + </p> + + <p>He opened the oratory door as he spoke, and Michael was impressed by the + appearance of it. The small window had been covered with a rice-paper + design of Jesse’s Rod.</p> + + <p>“It’s a bit ‘Protty,’” whispered Mr. Prout. “But I thought it was better + than plain squares of blue and red.”</p> + + <p>“Much better,” Michael agreed.</p> + + <p> + A ledge nailed beneath the window supported two brass candlesticks and a + crucifix. The reredos was an Arundel print of the Last Supper and on + corner brackets on either side were statues of the Immaculate Conception + and Our Lady of Victories. A miniature thurible hung on a nail and on + another nail was a holy-water stoup which Michael at first thought was + intended for soap. In front of the altar was a prie-dieu stacked with + books of devotion. + <a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a> + There were also blessed palms, very dusty, and a + small sanctuary lamp suspended from the ceiling. Referring to this, Mr. + Prout explained that really it came from the Turkish Exhibition at + Earl’s Court, but that he thought it would do as he had carefully + exorcized it according to the use of Sarum. + </p> + + <p> + “Shall we say Vespers?” suggested Mr. Prout. “You know—the Small Office + of the Blessed Virgin. It won’t take long. We can say Compline + <i>too</i> + , if + you like.” + </p> + + <p>“Just as you like,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“You’re sure you don’t mind the door being left open? Because, you see, + we can’t both get in otherwise. In fact, I have to kneel sideways when + I’m alone.”</p> + + <p>“Won’t your landlady think it rather rum?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“Good gracious, no. Why, when we have Vespers of St. Charles the Martyr, + I have fellows kneeling all the way down the stairs, you know—members + of the White Rose League. Bournemouth and South of England Branch.”</p> + + <p> + Michael was handed a thin sky-blue book labelled + <i>Office of the B.V.M.</i> + </p> + + <p>“Latin or English?” queried Mr. Prout.</p> + + <p>“Whichever you like,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Well, Latin, if you don’t mind. I’m anxious to learn Latin, and I find + this is good practice.”</p> + + <p>“It doesn’t look very good Latin,” said Michael doubtfully.</p> + + <p>“Doesn’t it?” said Mr. Prout. “It ought to. It’s the right version.”</p> + + <p>“I expect this is Hellenistic—I mean Romanistic—Latin,” said Michael, + who was proud of his momentary superiority in knowledge. “Greek Test is + Hellenistic Greek.”</p> + + <p>“Do you know Greek?” asked Mr. Prout.</p> + + <p>“A little.”</p> + + <p> + Mr. Prout sighed. + <a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a> + </p> + + <p>When the Office was concluded, Michael promised he would attend a + rehearsal of next Sunday’s ceremony and, if he felt at ease, the Solemn + High Mass itself. Mr. Prout, before Michael went away, lent him a book + called Ritual Reason Why, and advised him to buy The Catholic Religion + at One Shilling, and meanwhile to practise direct Invocation of the + Saints.</p> + + <p> + At home Michael applied himself with ardour to the mastery of his + religion. He wrestled with the liturgical colours; he tried to grasp the + difference between Transubstantiation, Consubstantiation and the Real + Presence; and he congratulated himself upon being under the immediate + patronage of an Archangel. Also with Charles as his first name he felt + he could fairly claim the protection of St. Charles the Martyr, though + later on Mr. Prout suggested St. Charles Borromeo as a less ordinary + patron. However, there was more than ritualism in Michael’s new + attitude, more than the passion to collect new rites and liturgies and + ornaments as once he had collected the portraits of famous cricketers or + silkworms or silver-paper. To be sure, it soon came to seem to him a + terribly important matter whether according to the Roman sequence red + were worn at Whitsuntide or whether according to Old English use white + were the liturgical colour. Soon he would experience a shock of dismay + on hearing that some reputed Catholic had taken the Ablutions at the + wrong moment, just as once he had been irritated by ignorant people + confusing Mr. W. W. Read of Surrey with Read (M.) of the same county. + Beyond all this Michael sincerely tried to correct his morals and + manners in the light of aspiration and faith. He experienced a revolt + against impurity of any kind and was simultaneously seized with a + determination to suffer Stella’s conceit gladly. He really felt a + deep-seated avarice for being good. He may not have distinguished + between morality due to emotion and morality wrung out of intellectual + <a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a> + + assent: but he did know that the Magnificat’s incense took him to a + higher elation than Dora’s curly head upon his shoulder, or even than + Alan’s bewitching company. Under the influence of faith, Michael found + himself bursting with an affection for his mother such as he had not + felt for a long time. Indeed Michael was in a state of love. He loved + the candles on the altar, he loved his mother’s beauty, he loved Stella, + he loved the people on the beach and the August mornings and the zest + for acquiring and devouring information upon every detail connected with + the Catholic religion; and out of his love he gratified Mr. Prout by + consenting to bear a torch at the Solemn High Mass on the Sunday within + the octave of St. Bartholomew, Apostle and Martyr and Patron of St. + Bartholomew’s Church, Bournemouth. + </p> + + <p>Michael’s first High Mass was an emotional experience deeper even than + that windy Evensong. The church was full of people. The altar was + brilliant with flowers and lights. The sacristy was crowded with boys in + scarlet cassocks and slippers and zuchettos, quarrelling about their + cottas and arguing about their heights. Everybody had a favourite banner + which he wanted to escort and, to complicate matters still further, + everybody had a favourite companion by whose side he wished to walk.</p> + + <p> + The procession was marshalled before the altar: the organ boomed through + the church: the first thurifer started off, swinging his censer towards + the clouded roof. After him went the cross of ebony and silver, while + one by one at regular intervals between detachments of the choir the + banners of the saints floated into action. Michael escorted the blue + velvet banner of Our Lady, triumphant, crowned, a crescent moon beneath + her feet and round about her stars and Cherubim. The procession was long + enough to fill two aisles at once, and as Michael turned up the south + aisle on the return to the chancel, he saw the pomp of the + <a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a> + procession’s + rear—the second thurifer, Mr. Prout in a cotta bordered by lace two + feet deep, the golden crucifix aloft, the acolytes with their golden + candlesticks, the blood-red dalmatic and tunicle of the deacon and + sub-deacon, and solemnly last of all the blood-red cope of the + celebrant. Michael took no pleasure in being observed by the + congregation; he was simply elated by the privilege of being able to + express his desire to serve God, and during the Mass, when the Sanctus + bell chimed forth, he raised his torch naturally to the pæan of the + salutation. The service was long: the music was elaborate: it was + back-breaking work to kneel on the chancel steps without support; but + Michael welcomed the pain with pleasure. During the Elevation of the + Host, as he bowed his head before the wonder of bread and wine made God, + his brain reeled in an ecstasy of sublime worship. There was a silence + save for the censer tinkling steadily and the low whispered words of the + priest and the click of the broken wafer. The candles burned with a + supernatural intensity: the boys who lately quarrelled over precedence + were hushed as angels: the stillness became fearful; the cold steps + burned into Michael’s knees and the incense choked him. At last after an + age of adoration, the plangent appeal of the Agnus Dei came with a + melody that seemed the music of the sobbing world from which all tears + had departed in a clarity of harmonious sound. + </p> + + <p> + Before Michael left Bournemouth, Mr. Prout promised to come and see him + in London, and Mr. Moneypenny said he would write to a priest who would + be glad to prepare him for Confirmation. When Michael reached school + again, he felt shy at meeting Alan who would talk about nothing but + football and was dismayed to find Michael indifferent to the delights of + playing three-quarter on Middle Side. Michael deplored Alan’s failure to + advance intellectually beyond mere football and the two of them + temporarily lost touch with each other’s ambitions. Michael + <a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a> + now read + nothing but ecclesiastical books and was greatly insulted by Mr. Viner’s + elementary questions. Mr. Viner was the priest to whom Mr. Moneypenny + had written about Michael. He had invited him to tea and together they + had settled that Michael should be confirmed early in the spring. + Michael borrowed half a dozen books from Mr. Viner and returned home to + make an attempt to convert the cook and the housemaid to the Catholic + faith as a preliminary to converting his mother and Alan. In the end he + did actually convert a boy in the Lower Fifth who for his strange + beliefs suffered severely at the hands of his father, a Plymouth + Brother. Michael wished that Stella had not gone back to Germany, for he + felt that in her he would have had a splendid object on whom to practise + his power of controversy. At Mr. Viner’s house Michael met another + Jacobean called Chator in whom he found a fellow-enthusiast. Chator knew + of two other Jacobeans interested in Church matters, Martindale and + Rigg, and the four of them founded a society called De Rebus + Ecclesiasticis which met every Friday evening in Michael’s room to + discuss the Catholic Church in all her aspects. The discussions were + often heated because Michael had violently Ultra-montane leanings, + Chator was narrowly Sarum, Martindale tried to preserve a happy mean and + Rigg always agreed with the last speaker. The Society De Rebus + Ecclesiasticis was splendidly quixotic and gloriously unrelated to the + dead present. To the quartette of members Archbishop Laud was a far more + more vital proposition than Archbishop Temple, the society of cavaliers + was more vividly realized than the Fabian Society. As was to be expected + from Michael’s preoccupation with the past, he became very anxious again + about his parentage. He longed to hear that in some way he was connected + with Jacobite heroes and the romantic Stuarts. Mrs. Fane was no longer + able to put him off with contradictions and vagueness: Michael + <a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a> + demanded + his family tree. The hymn ‘Faith of our Fathers’ ringing through a + Notting Dale mission-hall moved him to demand his birthright of family + history. + </p> + + <p>“Well, I’ll tell you, Michael,” said his mother at last. “Your father + ought to have been the Earl of Saxby—only—something went wrong—some + certificate or something.”</p> + + <p>“An Earl?” cried Michael, staggered by the splendid news. “But—but, + mother, we met Lord Saxby. Who was that?”</p> + + <p>“He’s a relation. Only, please don’t tell people about this, because + they wouldn’t understand. It’s all very muddled and difficult.”</p> + + <p>“My father ought to have been Lord Saxby? Why wasn’t he? Mother, was he + illegitimate?”</p> + + <p>“Michael, how can you talk like that? Of course not.”</p> + + <p>Michael blushed because his mother blushed.</p> + + <p>“I’m sorry, mother, I thought he might have been. People are. You read + about them often enough.”</p> + + <p> + Michael decided that as he must not tell Chator, Martindale and Rigg the + truth, he would, at any rate, join himself on to the House of Saxby + collaterally. To his disappointment, he discovered that the only + reference in history to an Earl of Saxby made out that particular one to + be a most pestilent Roundhead. So Michael gave up being the Legitimist + Earl of Saxby, and settled instead to be descended through the + indiscretion of an early king from the Stuarts. Michael grew more and + more ecclesiastical as time went on. He joined several Jacobite + societies, and accompanied Mr. Prout on the latter’s London visit to a + reception at Clifford’s Inn Hall in honour of the Legitimist Emperor of + Byzantium. Michael was very much impressed by kissing the hand of an + Emperor, and even more deeply impressed by the Scottish piper who + marched up and down during the light refreshment at one shilling a head + afterwards. Mr. Prout, accompanied by Michael, Chator, Martindale + <a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a> + and + Rigg, spent the Sunday of his stay in town by attending early Mass in + Kensington, High Mass in Holborn, Benediction in Shoreditch and Evensong + in Paddington. He also joined several more guilds, confraternities and + societies and presented Michael with one hair from the five hairs he + possessed of a lock of Prince Charlie’s hair (authentic) before he + returned to Bournemouth. This single hair was a great responsibility to + Michael, until he placed it in a silver locket to wear round his neck. + During that year occurred what the papers called a Crisis in the Church, + and Michael and his three friends took in every week The Church Times, + The Church Review, The English Churchman, Church Bells, The Record and + The Rock in order to play their part in the crisis. They attended + Protestant meetings to boo and hiss from the gallery or to applaud + violently gentlemen on their side who rose to ask the lecturer what they + supposed to be irrefutable questions. In the spring Michael made his + first Confession and was confirmed. The first Confession had more effect + on his imagination than the Confirmation, which in retrospect seemed + chiefly a sensation of disappointment that the Bishop in view of the + crisis in the Church refused to wear the mitre temptingly laid out for + him by Mr. Viner. The Confession, however, was a true test of Michael’s + depth. Mr. Viner was by no means a priest who only thought of candles + and lace. He was a gaunt and humorous man, ready to drag out from his + penitents their very souls. + </p> + + <p> + Michael found that first Confession an immense strain upon his + truthfulness and pluck, and he made up his mind never to commit another + mortal sin, so deeply did he blush in the agony of revelation. Venial + faults viewed in the aggregate became appalling, and the real sins, as + one by one Michael compelled himself to admit them, stabbed his + self-consciousness with daggers of shame. Michael had a sense of + completeness which + <a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a> + prevented him from making a bad Confession, from + gliding over his sins and telling half-truths, and having embarked upon + the duties of his religion he was not going to avoid them. The + Confession seemed to last for ever. Beforehand, Michael had supposed + there would be only one commandment whose detailed sins would make his + heart beat with the difficulty of confessing them; but when he knelt in + the empty church before the severe priest, every breach of the other + commandments assumed a demoniac importance. Michael thought that never + before could Father Viner have listened to such a narration of human + depravity from a boy of fifteen, or even from a man full grown. He half + expected to see the priest rise in the middle and leave his chair in + disgust. Michael felt beads of sweat trickling from his forehead: the + strain grew more terrible: the crucifix before him gave him no help: the + book he held fell from his fingers. Then he heard the words of + absolution, tranquil as evening bells. The inessentials of his + passionate religion faded away in the strength and beauty of God’s + acceptation of his penitence. Outside in the April sunlight Michael + could have danced his exultation, before he ran home winged with the + ecstasy of a light heart. + <a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_VI_Pax" id="Chapter_VI_Pax"></a> + Chapter VI: + <i>Pax</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HE Lower Fifth only knew Michael during the Autumn term. After + Christmas he moved up to the Middle Fifth, and, leaving behind him many + friends, including Alan, he found himself in an industrious society + concentrated upon obtaining the Oxford and Cambridge Higher Certificate + for proficiency in Greek, Latin, Mathematics and either Divinity, French + or History. Removed from the temptations of a merry company, Michael + worked very hard indeed and kept his brain fit by argument instead of + football. The prevailing attitude of himself and his contemporaries + towards the present was one of profound pessimism. The scholarship of + St. James’ was deteriorating; there was a dearth of great English poets; + novelists were not so good as once they were in the days of Dickens; the + new boys were obviously inferior to their prototypes in the past; the + weather was growing worse year by year; the country was plunging into an + abyss. In school Michael prophesied more loudly than any of his fellow + Jeremiahs, and less and less did it seem worth while in these + Certificate-stifled days to seek for romance or poetry or heroism or + adventure. Yet as soon as the precincts of discipline and study were + left behind, Michael could extract from life full draughts of all these + virtues. + </p> + + <p> + Without neglecting the Oxford and Cambridge Higher Certificate he + devoured voraciously every scrap of information about Catholicism which + it was possible to acquire. Books were bought in tawdry + repositories—Catholic + <a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a> + Belief, The Credentials of the Catholic Church, + The Garden of the Soul, The Glories of Mary by S. Alphonso Liguori, + Alban Butler’s Lives of the Saints, The Clifton Tracts, and on his own + side of the eternal controversy, Lee’s Validity of English Orders, The + Alcuin Club Transactions with many other volumes. Most of all he liked + to pore upon the Tourist’s Church Guide, which showed with asterisks and + paragraph marks and sections and daggers what churches throughout the + United Kingdom possessed the five points of Incense, Lights, Vestments, + Mixed Chalice and Eastward Position. He found it absorbing to compare + the progress of ritual through the years. + </p> + + <p> + Michael, as once he had known the ranks of the British Army from + Lance-corporal to Field Marshal, could tell the hierarchy from Sexton to + Pope. He knew too, as once he knew the history and uniform of Dragoons, + Hussars and Lancers, the history and uniform of the religious + orders—Benedictines, Cistercians, Franciscans, Dominicans (how he loved + the last in their black and white habit, + <i>Domini canes</i> + , watchdogs of + the Lord), Carmelites, Præmonstratensians, Augustinians, Servites, + Gilbertines, Carthusians, Redemptorists, Capuchins, Passionists, + Jesuits, Oblates of St. Charles Borromeo and the Congregation of St. + Philip Neri. Michael outvied Mr. Prout in ecclesiastical possessions, + and his bedroom was nearly as full as the repository from which it was + stocked. There were images of St. Michael (his own patron), St. Hugh of + Lincoln (patron of schoolboys) and St. James of Compostella (patron of + the school), together with Our Lady of Seven Dolours, Our Lady Star of + the Sea and Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, Our Lady + of Victories; there were eikons, scapulars, crucifixes, candlesticks, + the Holy Child of Prague, rosaries, and indeed every variety of sacred + bric-à-brac. Michael slept in an oriental atmosphere, because he had + formed the habit of burning during his prayers cone- + <a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a> + shaped pastilles in + a saucer. The tenuous spiral of perfumed smoke carried up his emotional + apostrophes through the prosaic ceiling of the old night-nursery past + the stars, beyond the Thrones and Dominations and Seraphim to God. + Michael’s contest with the sins of youth had become much more thrilling + since he had accepted the existence of a personal fiend, and in an + ecstasy of temptation he would lie in bed and defy the Devil, calling + upon his patron the Archangel to descend from heaven and battle with the + powers of evil in that airy arena above the coal-wharf beyond the + railway lines. But the Father of Lies had many tricks with which to + circumvent Michael; he would conjure up sensuous images before his + antagonist; succubi materialized as pretty housemaids, feminine devils + put on tights and openwork stockings to encounter him from the pages of + pink weekly papers, and sometimes Satan himself would sit at the foot of + his bed in the darkness and tell him tales of how other boys enjoyed + themselves, arguing that it was a pity to waste his opportunities and + filling his thoughts with dissolute memories. Michael would leap from + his bed and pray before his crucifix, and through the darkness angels + and saints would rally to his aid, until Satan slunk off with his tail + between his legs, personally humiliated. + </p> + + <p> + At school the fever of the examination made Michael desperate with the + best intentions. He almost learned the translations of Thucydides and + Sophocles, of Horace and Cicero. He knew by heart a meanly written Roman + History, and no passage in Corneille could hold an invincible word. + Cricket was never played that summer by the Middle Fifth; it was more + useful to wander in corners of the field, murmuring continually the + tables of the Kings of Judah from Maclear’s sad-hued abstract of Holy + Scripture. In the end Michael passed in Greek and Latin, in French and + Divinity and Roman History, even in Algebra and + <a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a> + Euclid, but the + arithmetical problems of a Stockbroker, a Paper-hanger and a Housewife + made all the rest of his knowledge of no account, and Michael failed to + see beside his name in the school list that printed bubble which would + refer him to the tribe of those who had satisfied the examiners for the + Oxford and Cambridge Higher Certificate. This failure depressed Michael, + not because he felt implicated in any disgrace, but because he wished + very earnestly that he had not wasted so many hours of fine weather in + work. He made up his mind that the mistake should never be repeated, and + for the rest of his time at St. James’ he resisted all set books. If + Demosthenes was held necessary, Michael would read Plato, and when + Cicero was set, Michael would feel bound to read Livy. + </p> + + <p>Michael looked back on the year with dissatisfaction, and wondered if + school was going to become more and more boring each new term for nine + more terms. The prospect was unendurably grey, and Michael felt that + life was not worth living. He talked over with Mr. Viner the flatness of + existence on the evening after the result of the examination was known.</p> + + <p>“I swotted like anything,” said Michael gloomily. “And what’s the good? + I’m sick of everything.”</p> + + <p>The priest’s eyes twinkled, as he plunged deeper into his wicker + arm-chair and puffed clouds of smoke towards the comfortable shelves of + books.</p> + + <p>“You want a holiday,” he remarked.</p> + + <p>“A holiday?” echoed Michael fretfully. “What’s the good of a holiday + with my mater at some beastly seaside place?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, come,” said the priest, smiling. “You’ll be able to probe the + orthodoxy of the neighbouring clergy.”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, no really, it’s nothing to laugh at, Mr. Viner. You’ve no idea how + beastly it is to dawdle about in a crowd + <a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a> + of people, and then at the end + go back to another term of school. I’m sick of everything. Will you lend + me Lee’s Dictionary of Ecclesiastical Terms?” added Michael in a voice + that contained no accent of hope. + </p> + + <p>“I’ll lend you anything you like, my dear boy,” said the priest, “on one + condition.”</p> + + <p>“What’s that?”</p> + + <p>“Why, that you’ll admit life holds a few grains of consolation.”</p> + + <p>“But it doesn’t,” Michael declared.</p> + + <p>“Wait a bit, I haven’t finished. I was going to say—when I tell you + that we are going to keep the Assumption this August.”</p> + + <p>Michael’s eyes glittered for a moment with triumph.</p> + + <p>“By Jove, how decent.” Then they grew dull again. “And I shan’t be here. + The rotten thing is, too, that my mater wants to go abroad. Only she + says she couldn’t leave me alone. But of course she could really.”</p> + + <p>“Why not stay with a friend—the voluble Chator, for instance, or + Martindale, that Solomon of schoolboys, or Rigg who in Medicean days + would have been already a cardinal, so admirably does he incline to all + parties?”</p> + + <p>“I can’t ask myself,” said Michael. “Their people would think it rum. + Besides, Chator’s governor has gout, and I wouldn’t care to be six weeks + with the other two. Oh, I do hate not being grown up.”</p> + + <p>“What about your friend Alan Merivale? I thought him a very charming + youth and refreshingly unpietistic.”</p> + + <p>“He doesn’t know the difference between a chasuble and a black gown,” + said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Which seems to me not to matter very much ultimately,” put in Mr. + Viner.</p> + + <p> + “No, of course it doesn’t. But if one is keen on something and somebody + else isn’t, it isn’t much fun,” Michael explained. “Besides, he can’t + make me out nowadays.” + <a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Surely the incomprehensible is one of the chief charms of faith and + friendship.”</p> + + <p>“And anyway he’s going abroad to Switzerland—and I couldn’t possibly + fish for an invitation. It is rotten. Everything’s always the same.”</p> + + <p>“Except in the Church of England. There you have an almost blatant + variety,” suggested the priest.</p> + + <p>“You never will be serious when I want you to be,” grumbled Michael.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes I will, and to prove it,” said Mr. Viner, “I’m going to make a + suggestion of unparagoned earnestness.”</p> + + <p>“What?”</p> + + <p>“Now just let me diagnose your mental condition. You are sick of + everything—Thucydides, cabbage, cricket, school, schoolfellows, + certificates and life.”</p> + + <p>“Well, you needn’t rag me about it,” Michael interrupted.</p> + + <p>“In the Middle Ages gentlemen in your psychical perplexity betook + themselves either to the Crusades or entered a monastery. Now, why + shouldn’t you for these summer holidays betake yourself to a monastery? + I will write to the Lord Abbot, to your lady mother, and if you consent, + to the voluble Chator’s lady mother, humbly pointing out and ever + praying, etc., etc.”</p> + + <p>“You’re not ragging?” asked Michael suspiciously. “Besides, what sort of + a monastery?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, an Anglican monastery; but at the same time Benedictines of the + most unimpeachable severity. In short, why shouldn’t you and Mark Chator + go to Clere Abbas on the Berkshire Downs?”</p> + + <p>“Are they strict?” enquired Michael. “You know, saying the proper + offices and all that, not the Day Hours of the English Church—that + rotten Anglican thing.”</p> + + <p> + “Strict!” cried Mr. Viner. “Why, they’re so strict that St. Benedict + himself, were he to abide again on earth, would seriously consider a + revision of his rules as interpreted by + <a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a> + Dom Cuthbert Manners, O.S.B., + the Lord Abbot of Clere.” + </p> + + <p>“It would be awfully ripping to go there,” said Michael + enthusiastically.</p> + + <p>“Well then,” said Mr. Viner, “it shall be arranged. Meanwhile confer + with the voluble and sacerdotal Chator on the subject.”</p> + + <p>The disappointment of the ungranted certificate, the ineffable tedium of + endless school, seaside lodgings and all the weighty ills of Michael’s + oppressed soul vanished on that wine-gold July noon when Michael and + Chator stood untrammelled by anything more than bicycles and luggage + upon the platform of the little station that dreamed its trains away at + the foot of the Downs.</p> + + <p>“By Jove, we’re just like pilgrims,” said Michael, as his gaze followed + the aspiring white road which rippled upward to green summits quivering + in the haze of summer. The two boys left their luggage to be fetched + later by the Abbey marketing-cart, mounted their bicycles, waved a + good-bye to the friendly porter beaming among the red roses of the + little station and pressed energetically their obstinate pedals. After + about half a mile’s ascent they jumped from their machines and walked + slowly upwards until the station and clustering hamlet lay breathless + below them like a vision drowned deep in a crystal lake. As they went + higher a breeze sighed in the sun-parched grasses, and the lines and + curves of the road intoxicated them with naked beauty.</p> + + <p>“I like harebells almost best of any flowers,” said Michael. “Do you?”</p> + + <p>“They’re awfully like bells,” observed Chator.</p> + + <p>“I wouldn’t care if they weren’t,” said Michael. “It’s only in London I + want things to be like other things.”</p> + + <p>Chator looked puzzled.</p> + + <p> + “I can’t exactly explain what I mean,” Michael went on. + <a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a> + “But they make me want to cry just because they aren’t like anything. + You won’t understand what I mean if I explain ever so much. Nobody + could. But when I see flowers on a lovely road like this, I get sort of + frightened whether God won’t grow tired of bothering about human beings. + Because really, you know, Chator, there doesn’t seem much good in our + being on the earth at all.”</p> + + <p>“I think that’s a heresy,” pronounced Chator. “I don’t know which one, + but I’ll ask Dom Cuthbert.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t care if it is heresy. I believe it. Besides, religion must be + finding out things for yourself that have been found out already.”</p> + + <p>“Finding out for yourself,” echoed Chator with a look of alarm. “I say, + you’re an absolute Protestant.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no I’m not,” contradicted Michael. “I’m a Catholic.”</p> + + <p>“But you set yourself up above the Church.”</p> + + <p>“When did I?” demanded Michael.</p> + + <p>“Just now.”</p> + + <p>“Because I said that harebells were ripping flowers?”</p> + + <p>“You said a lot more than that,” objected Chator.</p> + + <p>“What did I say?” Michael parried.</p> + + <p>“Well, I can’t exactly remember what you said.”</p> + + <p>“Then what’s the use of saying I’m a Protestant?” cried Michael in + triumph. “I think I’ll play footer again next term,” he added + inconsequently.</p> + + <p>“I jolly well would,” Chator agreed. “You ought to have played last + football term.”</p> + + <p>“Except that I like thinking,” said Michael. “Which is rotten in the + middle of a game. It’s jolly decent going to the monastery, isn’t it? I + could keep walking on this road for ever without getting tired.”</p> + + <p>“We can ride again now,” said Chator.</p> + + <p> + “Well, don’t scorch, because we’ll miss all the decent flowers if you + do,” said Michael. + <a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a> + </p> + + <p>Then silently for awhile they breasted the slighter incline of the + summit.</p> + + <p>“Only six weeks of these ripping holidays,” Michael sighed. “And then + damned old school again.”</p> + + <p>“Hark!” shouted Chator suddenly. “I hear the Angelus.”</p> + + <p>Both boys dismounted and listened. Somewhere, indeed, a bell was + chiming, but a bell of such quality that the sound of it through the + summer was like a cuckoo’s song in its unrelation to place. Michael and + Chator murmured their salute of the Incarnation, and perhaps for the + first time Michael half realized the mysterious condescension of God. + Here, high up on these downs, the Word became imaginable, a silence of + wind and sunlight.</p> + + <p>“I say, Chator,” Michael began.</p> + + <p>“What?”</p> + + <p>“Would you mind helping me mark this place where we are?”</p> + + <p>“Why?”</p> + + <p>“Look here, you won’t think I’m pretending? but I believe I was + converted at that moment.”</p> + + <p>Chator’s well-known look of alarm that always followed one of Michael’s + doctrinal or liturgical announcements was more profound than it had ever + been before.</p> + + <p>“Converted?” he gasped. “What to?”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, not + <i>to</i> + anything,” said Michael. “Only different from what I was + just now, and I want to mark the place.” + </p> + + <p>“Do you mean—put up a cross or something?”</p> + + <p> + “No, not a cross. Because, when I was converted, I felt a sudden feeling + of being frightfully alive. I’d rather put a stone and plant harebells + round it. We can dig with our spanners. I like stones. They’re so + frightfully old, and I’d like to think, if I was ever a long way from + here, of my stone and the harebells looking at it—every year new + harebells and the same old stone.” + <a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Do you know what I think you are?” enquired Chator solemnly. “I think + you’re a mystic.”</p> + + <p>“I never can understand what a mystic was,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Nobody can,” said Chator encouragingly. “But lots of them were made + saints all the same. I don’t think you ever will be, because you do put + forward the most awfully dangerous doctrines. I do think you ought to be + careful about that. I do really.”</p> + + <p>Chator was spluttering under the embarrassment of his own eloquence, and + Michael, delicately amused, looked at him with a quizzical smile. Chator + was older than Michael, and by reason of the apoplectic earnestness of + his appearance and manner, and the natural goodness of him so sincerely, + if awkwardly expressed, he had a certain influence which Michael + admitted to himself, however much in the public eye he might affect to + patronize Chator from his own intellectual eminence. Along the road of + speculation, however, Michael would not allow Chator’s right to curb + him, and he took a wilful pleasure in galloping ahead over the wildest, + loftiest paths. To shock old Chator was Michael’s delight; and he never + failed to do so.</p> + + <p>“You see,” Chator spluttered, “it’s not so much what you say now; nobody + would pay any attention to you, and I know you don’t mean half what you + say; but later on you’ll begin to believe in all these heretical ideas + of your own. You’ll end up by being an Agnostic. Oh, yes you will,” he + raged with torrential prophecies, as Michael leaned over the seat of his + bicycle laughing consumedly. “You’ll go on and on wondering this and + that and improving the doctrines of the Church until you improve them + right away.”</p> + + <p> + “You are a funny old ass. You really are,” gurgled Michael. “And what’s + so funny to me is that just when I had a moment of really believing you + dash in with your + <a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a> + warnings and nearly spoil it all. By Jove, did you + see that Pale Clouded Yellow?” he shouted suddenly. “By Jove, I haven’t + seen one in England for an awful long time. I think I’ll begin + collecting butterflies again.” + </p> + + <p>Disputes of doctrine were flung to the wind that sang in their ears as + they mounted their bicycles and coasted swiftly from the bare green + summits of the downs into a deep lane overshadowed by oak-trees. Soon + they came to the Abbey gates, or rather to the place where the Abbey + gates would one day rise in Gothic commemoration of the slow + subscriptions of the faithful. At present the entrance was only marked + by a stony road disappearing abruptly at the behest of a painted + finger-post into verdurous solitudes. After wheeling their bicycles for + about a quarter of a winding mile, the two boys came to a large open + space in the wood and beheld Clere Abbey, a long low wooden building set + as piously near to the overgrown foundations of old Clere Abbey as was + possible.</p> + + <p>“What a rotten shame,” cried Michael, “that they can’t build a decent + Abbey. Never mind, I think it’s going to be rather good sport here.”</p> + + <p>They walked up to the door that seemed too massive for the flimsy pile + to which it gave entrance, and pealed the large bell that hung by the + side. Michael was pleased to observe a grille through which peered the + eyes of the monastic porter, inquisitive of the wayfarers. Then a bolt + shot back, the door opened, and Michael and Chator entered the religious + house.</p> + + <p>“I’m Brother Ambrose,” said the porter, a stubby man with a flat + pock-marked face whose ugliness was redeemed by an expression of + wonderful innocence. “Dom Cuthbert is expecting you in the Abbot’s + Parlour.”</p> + + <p> + Michael and Chator followed Brother Ambrose through a pleasant + book-lined hall into the paternal haunt where the Lord Abbot of Clere + sat writing at a roll-top desk. + <a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a> + He rose to greet the boys, who with + reverence perceived him to be a tall dark angular man with glowing eyes + that seemed very deeply set on either side of his great hooked nose. He + could scarcely have been over thirty-five years of age, but he moved + with a languid awkwardness that made him seem older. His voice was very + remote and melodious as he welcomed them. Michael looked anxiously at + Chator to see if he followed any precise ritual of salutation, but Dom + Cuthbert solved the problem by shaking hands at once and motioning them + to wicker chairs beside the empty hearth. + </p> + + <p>“Pleasant ride?” enquired Dom Cuthbert.</p> + + <p>“Awfully decent,” said Michael. “We heard the Angelus a long way off.”</p> + + <p>“A lovely bell,” murmured Dom Cuthbert. “Tubular. It was given to us by + the Duke of Birmingham. Come along, I’ll show you the Abbey, if you’re + not too tired.”</p> + + <p>“Rather not,” Michael and Chator declared.</p> + + <p>The Abbot led the way into the book-lined hall.</p> + + <p>“This is the library. You can read here as much as you like. The + brethren sit here at recreation-time. This is the refectory,” he went + on, with distant chimings in his tone.</p> + + <p>The two boys gazed respectfully at the bare trestle table and the raised + reading-desk and the picture of St. Benedict.</p> + + <p>“Of course we haven’t much room yet,” Dom Cuthbert continued. “In fact + we have very little. People are very suspicious of monkery.”</p> + + <p>He smiled tolerantly, and his voice faded almost out of the refectory, + as if it would soothe the harsh criticism of the world, hence infinitely + remote.</p> + + <p>“But one day”—from worldly adventure his voice came back renewed with + hope—“one day, when we have some money, we shall build a real Abbey.”</p> + + <p> + “This is awfully ripping though, isn’t it?” observed Michael with + sympathetic encouragement. + <a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I dare say the founder of the Order was never so well housed,” agreed + the Abbot.</p> + + <p>Dom Cuthbert led them to the guest-chamber, from which opened three + diminutive bedrooms.</p> + + <p>“Your cells,” the monk said. “But of course you’ll feed in here,” he + added, indicating the small bare room in which they stood with so wide a + sweep of his ample sleeve that the matchboarded ceiling soared into vast + Gothic twilights and the walls were of stone. Michael was vaguely + reminded of Mr. Prout and his inadequate oratory.</p> + + <p>“The guest-brother is Dom Gilbert,” continued the Abbot. “Come and see + the cloisters.”</p> + + <p>They passed from the guest-room behind the main building and saw that + another building formed there the second side of a quadrangle. The other + two sides were still open to the hazel coppice that here encroached upon + the Abbey. However, there was traceable the foundations of new buildings + to complete the quadrangle, and a mass of crimson hollyhocks were + shining with rubied chalices in the quiet sunlight. For all its + incompleteness, this was a strangely beautiful corner of the green + world.</p> + + <p>“Are these the cloisters?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“One day, one day,” replied Dom Cuthbert. “A little rough at present, + but before I die I’m sure there will be a mighty edifice in this wood to + the glory of God and His saints.”</p> + + <p>“I’d like it best that way,” said Michael. “Not all at once.”</p> + + <p>He felt an imaginative companionship with the aspirations of the Abbot.</p> + + <p> + “Now we’ll visit the Chapel,” said Dom Cuthbert. “We built the Chapel + with our own hands of mud and stone and laths. You’ll like the Chapel. + Sometimes I feel quite sorry to think of leaving it for the great Abbey + Church we shall one day build with the hands of workmen.” + <a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a> + </p> + + <p>The Chapel was reached by a short cloister of primitive construction, + and it was the simplest purest place of worship that Michael had ever + seen. It seemed to have gathered beneath its small roof the whole of + peace. On one side the hazel bushes grew so close that the windows + opened on to the mysterious green heart of life. Two curtains worked + with golden blazonries divided the quire from the congregation.</p> + + <p>“This is where you’ll sit,” said Dom Cuthbert, pointing to two + kneeling-chairs on either side of the opening into the quire. “Perhaps + you’ll say a prayer now for the Order. The prayers of children travel + very swiftly to God.”</p> + + <p>Dom Cuthbert passed to the Abbot’s stall to kneel, while Michael and + Chator knelt on the chairs. When they had prayed for awhile, the Abbot + took them into the sacristy and showed them the vestments and the sacred + vessels of the altar, and from the sacristy door they passed into a + straight woodland way.</p> + + <p>“The Abbot’s walk,” said Dom Cuthbert, with a beautiful smile. “The + brethren cut this wonderful path during their hours of recreation. I + cannot envy any cloisters with this to walk in. How soft is the moss + beneath our feet, and in Spring how loudly the birds sing here. The + leaves come very early, too, and linger very late. It is a wonderful + path. Now I must go and work. I have a lot of letters to write. Explore + the woods and the downs and enjoy yourselves. You’ll find the rules that + the guests must observe pinned to the wall of the guest-room. Enjoy + yourselves and be content.”</p> + + <p>The tall figure of the monk with its languid awkwardness of gait + disappeared from the Abbot’s walk, and the two boys, arm-in-arm, + wandered off in the opposite direction.</p> + + <p> + “Everything was absolutely correct,” burbled Chator. “Oh, yes, + absolutely. Not at all Anglican. Perfectly correct. I’m glad. I’m really + very glad. I was a bit afraid + <a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a> + at first it might be Anglican. But it’s + not—oh, no, not at all.” + </p> + + <p>In the guest-chamber they read the rules for guests, and discovered to + their mortification that they were not expected to be present at Matins + and Lauds.</p> + + <p>“I was looking forward to getting up at two o’clock,” said Michael. + “Perhaps Dom Cuthbert will let us sometimes. It’s really much easier to + get up at two o’clock than five. Mass is at half-past five, and we must + go to that.”</p> + + <p>Dom Gilbert, the guest-brother, came in with plates of bread and cheese + while the boys were reading the rules, and they questioned him about + going to Matins. He laughed and said they would have as much church as + they wished without being quite such strict Benedictines as that. + Michael was not sure whether he liked Dom Gilbert—he was such a very + practical monk.</p> + + <p>“If you go to Mass and Vespers and Compline every day,” said Dom + Gilbert, “you’ll do very well. And please be punctual for your meals.”</p> + + <p>Michael and Chator looked injured.</p> + + <p>“Breakfast after Mass. Bread and cheese at twelve. Cup of tea at five, + if you’re in. Supper at eight.”</p> + + <p>Dom Gilbert left them abruptly to eat their bread and cheese alone.</p> + + <p>“He’s rather a surly chap,” grumbled Michael. “He doesn’t seem to me the + right one to have chosen for guest-brother at all. I had a lot I wanted + to ask him. For one thing I don’t know where the lav. is. I think he’s a + rotten guest-brother.”</p> + + <p> + The afternoon passed in a walk along the wide ridge of the downs through + the amber of this fine summer day. Several hares were seen and a + kestrel, while Chator disposed very volubly of the claims of several + Anglican clergymen to Catholicism. After tea in the hour of recreation + they met the other monks, Dom Gregory the organist, Brother + <a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a> + George and + Brother William. It was not a very large monastery. + </p> + + <p> + Chator found the Vespers somewhat trying to his curiosity, because owing + to the interposition of the curtain he was unable to criticize the + behaviour of the monks in quire. This made him very fidgety, and rather + destroyed Michael’s sense of peace. However, Chator restrained his + ritualistic ardour very well at Compline, which in the dimness of the + starlit night was a magical experience, as one by one with raised cowls + the monks entered in black procession and silence absolute. Michael, + where he knelt in the ante-chapel, was profoundly moved by the intimate + responses and the severe Compline hymn. He liked, too, the swift + departure to bed without chattering good-nights to spoil the solemnity + of the last Office. Even Chator kept all conversation for the morning, + and Michael felt he had never lain down upon a couch so truly + sanctified, nor ever risen from one so pure as when Dom Gilbert knocked + with a hammer on the door and, standing dark against the milk-white + dawn, murmured ‘Pax vobiscum.’ + <a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_VII_Cloven_Hoofmarks" id="Chapter_VII_Cloven_Hoofmarks"></a> + Chapter VII: + <i>Cloven Hoofmarks</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + N the first fortnight of their stay at Clere Abbas Michael and Chator + lived like vagabond hermits rejoicing in the freedom of fine weather. + Mostly they went for long walks over the downs and through the woodlands + of the southern slope. To the monks at recreation time they would + recount their adventures with gamekeepers and contumacious farmers, + their discoveries of flowers and birds and butterflies, their + entertainment at remote cottage homes and the hospitalities of gipsy + camps. To be sure they would often indulge in theological discussions, + and sometimes, when caught by the azure-footed dusk in unfamiliar lanes, + they would chant plainsong to the confusion of whatever ghostly + pursuers, whether Dryads or mediæval fiends or early Victorian + murderers, that seemed to dog their footsteps. So much nowadays did the + unseen world mingle with the ordinary delights of youth. + </p> + + <p>“Funny thing,” said Michael to Chator. “When I was a kid I used to be + frightened at night—always. Then for a long time I wasn’t frightened at + all, and now again I have a queer feeling just after sunset, a sort of + curious dampness inside me. Do you ever have it?”</p> + + <p>“I only have it when you start me off,” said Chator. “But it goes when + we sing ‘Te lucis ante terminum’ or chant the Nicene Creed or anything + holy.”</p> + + <p> + “Yes, it goes with me,” Michael agreed dubiously. “But if I drive it + away it comes back in the middle of the night. I have all sorts of queer + feelings. Sometimes I feel + <a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a> + as if there wasn’t any me at all, and I’m + surprized to see a letter come addressed to me. But when I see a letter + I’ve written, I’m still more surprized. Do you have that feeling? Then + often I feel as if all we were doing or saying at a certain moment had + been done or said before. Then at other times I have to hold on to a + tree or hurt myself with something just to prove I’m there. And then + sometimes I think nothing is impossible for me. I feel absolutely great, + as if I were Shakespeare. Do you ever have that feeling?” + </p> + + <p>But Chator was either not sufficiently introspective so to resolve his + moods, or else he was too simply set on his own naive religion for his + personality to plunge haphazard into such spiritual currents uncharted.</p> + + <p>The pleasantest time of the monastic week was Sunday afternoon, when Dom + Cuthbert, very lank and pontifical, would lean back in the deepest + wicker chair of the library to listen to various Thoughts culled by the + brethren from their week’s reading. The Thought he adjudged best was + with a diamond pencil immortalized upon a window-pane, and the lucky + discoverer derived as much satisfaction from the verdict as was + compatible with Benedictine humility. Dom Cuthbert allowed Michael and + Chator to share in these occasions, and he evidently enjoyed the variety + of choice which displayed so nicely the characters of his flock.</p> + + <p>One afternoon Michael chose for his excerpt Don Quixote’s exclamation, + “How these enchanters hate me, Sancho,” with Sancho’s reply, “O dismal + and ill-minded enchanters.”</p> + + <p> + The brethren laughed very loudly at this, for though they were English + monks, and might have been considered eccentric by the Saxon world, + their minds really ran on lines of sophisticated piety over + platitudinous sleepers of thought. Michael blushed defiantly, and looked + at Dom Cuthbert for comprehension. + <a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Hark at the idealist’s complaint of disillusionment by the Prince of + Darkness,” said Dom Cuthbert, smiling.</p> + + <p>“It’s not a complaint,” Michael contradicted. “It’s just a remark. + That’s why I chose it. Besides, it gives me a satisfied feeling. Words + often make me feel hungry.”</p> + + <p>The monks interrupted him with more laughter, and Michael, furiously + self-conscious, left the library and went to sit alone in the stillest + part of the hazel coppice.</p> + + <p> + But when he came back in the silent minutes before Vespers he read his + sentence on the window-pane, and blinked half tearfully at the westering + sun. He never had another Thought enshrined, because he was for ever + after this trying to find sentences that would annoy Dom Gilbert, whom + he suspected of leading the laughter. Visitors began to come to the + Abbey now—and the two boys were much interested in the people who + flitted past almost from day to day. Among them was Mr. Prout who kept + up a duet of volubility with Chator from morning to night for nearly a + week, at the end of which he returned to his Bournemouth bank. These + discussions amused Michael most when he was able to break the rhythm of + the battledores by knocking down whatever liturgical or theological + shuttlecock was being used. He would put forward the most outrageous + heresy as his own firm conviction, and scandalize and even alarm poor + Mr. Prout, who did not at all relish dogmatic follow-my-leader and + prayed for Michael’s reckless soul almost as fervidly as for the + confusion of the timid and malignant who annually objected to the + forthcoming feast of the Assumption at St. Bartholomew’s. Mr. Prout, + however, was only one of a series of ritualistic young men who prattled + continually of vestments and ceremonies and ornaments, until Michael + began to resent their gossip and withdraw from their society into the + woods, there to dream, staring up at the green and blue arch above him, + of the past here in wind-stirred solitude + <a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a> + so much the more real. + Michael was a Catholic because Catholicism assured him of continuity and + shrouded him with a sensuous austerity, but in these hours of revolt he + found himself wishing for the old days with Alan. He was fond enough of + Chator, but to Chator everything was so easy, and when one day a letter + arrived to call him back to his family earlier than he expected, Michael + was glad. The waning summer was stimulating his imagination with warm + noons and gusty twilights; Chator’s gossip broke the spell. + </p> + + <p> + Michael went for solitary walks on the downs, where he loved to lie in + hollows and watch the grasses fantastically large against the sky, and + the bulky clouds with their slow bewitching motion. He never went to + visit sentimentally the spot where stone and harebell commemorated his + brief experience of faith’s profundity, for he dreaded lest indifference + should rob him of a perfect conception. He knew very well even already + the dangerous chill familiarity of repetition. Those cloud-enchanted + days of late summer made him listlessly aware of fleeting impulses, and + simultaneously dignified with incommunicable richness the passivity and + even emptiness of his condition. On the wide spaces of the downs he + wandered luxuriously irresolute; his mind, when for a moment it goaded + itself into an effort of concentration, faltered immediately, so that + dead chivalries, gleaming down below in the rainy dusk of the valleys, + suffered in the very instant of perception a transmutation into lamplit + streets; and the wind’s dull August booming made embattled drums and + fanfares romantic no more than music heard in London on the way home + from school. Everything came to seem impossible and intangible; Michael + could not conceive that he ever was or ever would be in a class-room + again, and almost immediately afterwards he would wonder whether he ever + had been or ever would be anywhere else. He began to imagine himself + grown up, + <a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a> + but this was a nightmare thought, because he would either + realize himself decrepit with his own young mind or outwardly the same + as he was now with a mind hideously distorted by knowledge and sin. He + could never achieve a consistent realization that would give him + definite ambitions. He longed to make up his mind to aim at some + profession, and the more he longed the more hopeless did it seem to try + to fit any existing profession with the depressing idea of himself grown + up. Then he would relax his whole being and let himself be once more + bewitched into passivity by clouds and waving grasses. + </p> + + <p> + Upon this mental state of Michael intruded one day a visitor to the + Abbey. A young man with spectacles and a pear-shaped face, who wore grey + flannel shirts that depressed Michael unendurably, made a determined + effort to gain his confidence. The more shy that Michael became, the + more earnestly did this young man press him with intimate questions + about his physical well-being. For Michael it was a strange and odiously + embarrassing experience. The young man, whose name was Garrod, spoke of + his home in Hornsey and invited Michael to stay with him. Michael + shuddered at the idea of staying in a strange suburb: strange suburbs + had always seemed to him desolate, abominable and insecure. He always + visualized a draughty and ill-lighted railway platform, a rickety and + gloomy omnibus, countless Nonconformist chapels and infrequent + policemen. Garrod spoke of his work on Sundays at a church that was + daily gaining adherents, of a dissolute elder brother and an Agnostic + father. Michael could have cried aloud his unwillingness to visit + Garrod. But the young man was persistent; the young man was sure that + Michael, from ignorance, was leading an unhealthy life. Garrod spoke of + ignorance with ferocity: he trampled on it with polytechnical knowledge, + and pelted it with all sorts of little books that afflicted Michael with + nausea. + <a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a> + Michael loathed Garrod, and resented his persistent + instructions, his offers to solve lingering physical perplexities. For + Michael Garrod defiled the country by his cockney complacency, his + attacks upon public schools, his unpleasant interrogations. Michael + longed for Alan that together they might rag this worm who wriggled so + obscenely into the secret places of a boy’s mind. + </p> + + <p>“Science is all the go nowadays,” said Garrod. “And Science is what we + want. Science and Religion. Some think they don’t go together. Don’t + they? I think they do then.”</p> + + <p>“I hate science,” said Michael. “Except for doctors, of course—I + suppose they’ve got to have it,” he added grudgingly. “At St. James’ the + Modern fellows are nearly always bounders.”</p> + + <p>“But don’t you want to know what your body’s made of?” demanded Garrod.</p> + + <p>“I don’t want to be told. I know quite enough for myself.”</p> + + <p>“Well, would you like to read——”</p> + + <p>“No, I don’t want to read anything,” interrupted Michael.</p> + + <p>“But have you read——”</p> + + <p>“The only books I like,” expostulated Michael, “are the books I find for + myself.”</p> + + <p>“But you aren’t properly educated.”</p> + + <p>“I’m at a public school,” said Michael proudly.</p> + + <p>“Yes, and public schools have got to go very soon.”</p> + + <p>“Who says so?” demanded Michael fiercely.</p> + + <p>“We say so. The people.”</p> + + <p>“The people?” echoed Michael. “What people? Why, if public schools were + done away with we shouldn’t have any gentlemen.”</p> + + <p> + “You’re getting off of the point,” said Garrod. “You don’t understand + what I’m driving at. You’re a fellow I took a fancy to right off, as you + might say. I don’t want + <a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a> + to see you ruin your health, for the want of + the right word at the right moment. Oh, yes, I know.” + </p> + + <p>“Look here,” said Michael bluntly, “I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t + want to talk about this any more. It makes me feel beastly.”</p> + + <p>“False modesty is the worst thing we’ve got to fight against,” declared + Garrod.</p> + + <p>So the argument continued, while all the time the zealous young man + would fling darts of information that however much Michael was unwilling + to receive them generally stuck fast. Michael was relieved when Garrod + passed on his way, and he vowed to himself never to run the risk of + meeting him again.</p> + + <p> + The visit of Garrod opened for Michael a door to uneasy speculation. At + his private school he had known the hostility of ‘cads,’ and later on he + had been aware of the existence of ‘bounders’; the cads were always + easily defeated by force of arms, but this sudden attack upon his + intimacy by a bounder was disquieting and difficult to deal with. He + resented Garrod’s iconoclasm, resented it furiously in retrospect, + wishing that he had parried more icily his impudent thrusts; and he + could almost have rejoiced in Garrod’s reappearance that with disdain he + might have wounded the fellow incurably. Yet he had a feeling that + Garrod might have turned out proof against the worst weapons he knew how + to use, and the memory of the ‘blighter’s’ self-confidence was + demoralizing to Michael’s conception of superiority. The vision of a + world populated by hostile Garrods rose up, and some of the simplicity + of life vanished irredeemably, so that Michael took refuge in dreams of + his own fashioning, where in a feudal world the dreamer rode at the head + of mankind. Lying awake in the intense blackness of his cell, Michael + troubled himself once more with his identity, wishing that he knew more + about himself and his father, wishing + <a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> + that his mother were not growing + more remote every day, wondering whether Stella over in Germany was + encountering Garrods and praying hard with a sense of impotency in the + darkness. He tried to make up his mind to consult Dom Cuthbert, but the + lank, awkward monk, fond though he was of him, seemed unapproachable by + daylight, and the idea of consulting him, still more of confessing to + him, never crystallized. + </p> + + <p>These were still days bedewed with the approach of Autumn; milkwhite at + morn and at noon breathless with a silver intensity that yearned upwards + against an azure too ethereal, they floated sadly into night with humid, + intangible draperies of mist. These were days that forbade Michael to + walk afield, and that with haunting, autumnal birdsong held him in a + trance. He would find himself at the day’s end conscious of nothing but + a remembrance of new stubble trodden mechanically with languors + attendant, and it was only by a great effort that he brought himself to + converse with the monks working among the harvest or for the Nativity of + the Blessed Virgin to pick heavy white chrysanthemums from the stony + garden of the Abbey.</p> + + <p>Michael was the only guest staying in the Abbey on the vigil, and he sat + almost in the entrance of the quire between the drawn curtains, not very + much unlike the devout figure of some youthful donor in an old Italian + picture, sombre against the blazing Vespers beyond. Michael was always + hoping for a direct manifestation from above to reward the effort of + faith, although he continually reproved himself for this desire and + flouted his weakness. He used to gaze into the candles until they + actually did seem to burn with angelic eyes that made his heart leap in + expectation of the sign awaited; but soon fancy would betray him, and + they would become candles again merely flickering.</p> + + <p> + On this September dusk there were crimson shadows of sunset deepening to + purple in the corners of the chapel; + <a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a> + the candles were very bright; the + brethren in the stalls sang with austere fervour; the figure of Dom + Cuthbert veiled from awkwardness by the heavy white cope moved before + the altar during the censing of the Magnificat with a majesty that + filled the small quire; the thurible tinkled its perfumed harmonies; and + above the contentment of the ensuing hush blackbirds were heard in the + garden or seen slipping to and fro like shadows across the windows. + </p> + + <p>Michael at this moment realized that there was a seventh monk in the + quire, and wondered vaguely how he had failed to notice this new-comer + before. Immediately after being made aware of his presence he caught the + stranger’s eye, and blushed so deeply that to cover his confusion he + turned over the pages of a psalter. Curiosity made him look up again, + but the new monk was devoutly wrapped in contemplation, nor did Michael + catch his eye again during the Office. At supper he enquired about the + new-comer of Dom Gilbert, who reproved him for inquisitiveness, but told + him he was called Brother Aloysius. Again at Compline Michael caught his + glance, and for a long time that night in the darkness he saw the eyes + of Brother Aloysius gleaming very blue.</p> + + <p>On the next day Michael, wandering by the edge of the hazel coppice, + came upon Brother Aloysius with deep-stained mouth and hands gathering + blackberries.</p> + + <p>“Who are you?” asked the monk. “You gave me a very funny look at + Vespers.”</p> + + <p>Michael thought this was an extremely unusual way for a monk, even a new + monk, to speak, and hesitated a moment before he explained who he was.</p> + + <p>“I suppose you can help me pick blackberries. I suppose that isn’t + against the rules.”</p> + + <p> + “I often help the brothers,” said Michael simply. “But I don’t much care + for picking blackberries. Still, I don’t mind helping you.” + <a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael had an impulse to leave Brother Aloysius, but his + self-consciousness prevented him from acting on it, and he kept the + picker company in silence while the blackberries dropped lusciously into + the basket.</p> + + <p>“Feel my hand,” said Brother Aloysius suddenly. “It’s as hot as hell.”</p> + + <p>This time Michael stared in frank astonishment.</p> + + <p>“Well, you needn’t look so frightened,” said the monk. “You don’t look + so very good yourself.”</p> + + <p>“Well, of course I’m not good,” said Michael. “Only I think it’s funny + for a monk to swear. You don’t mind my saying so, do you?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t mind. I don’t mind anything,” said Brother Aloysius.</p> + + <p>Tension succeeded this statement, a tension that Michael longed to + break; but he could do no more than continue to pick the blackberries.</p> + + <p>“I suppose you wonder why I’m a monk?” demanded Brother Aloysius.</p> + + <p>Michael looked at his questioner’s pale face, at the uncomfortable eyes + gleaming blue, at the full stained mouth and the long feverish hands + dyed with purple juice.</p> + + <p>“Why are you?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Well, I thought I’d try if anything could make me feel good, and then + you looked at me in Chapel and set me off again.”</p> + + <p>“I set you off?” stammered Michael.</p> + + <p> + “Yes, you with your big girl’s eyes, just like a girl I used to live + with. Oh, you needn’t look so proper. I expect you’ve often thought + about girls. I did at your age. Three months with girls, three months + with priests. Girls and priests—that’s my life. When I was tired of + women, I became religious, and when I was tired of Church, I took to + women. It was a priest told me to come here to see if this would cure + me, and now, damn you, you come + <a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a> + into Chapel and stare and set me + thinking of the Seven Sisters Road on that wet night I saw her last. + That’s where she lives, and you look exactly like her. God! you’re the + image of her. You might almost be her ghost incarnate.” + </p> + + <p>Brother Aloysius caught hold of Michael’s arm and spoke through clenched + teeth. In Michael’s struggle to free himself the basket of blackberries + was upset, and they trod the spilt fruit into the grass. Michael broke + away finally and gasped angrily:</p> + + <p>“Look here, I’m not going to stay here. You’re mad.”</p> + + <p>He ran from the monk into the depths of the wood, not stopping until he + reached a silent glade. Here on the moss he sat panting, horrified. Yet + when he came to compose the sentences in which he should tell Dom + Cuthbert of his experience with the new monk, he found himself wishing + that he had stayed to hear more. He actually enjoyed in retrospect the + humiliation of the man, and his heart beat with the excitement of + hearing more. Slowly he turned to seek again Brother Aloysius.</p> + + <p>“You may as well tell me some more, now you’ve begun,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + For three or four days Michael was always in the company of Brother + Aloysius, plying him with questions that sounded abominable to himself, + when he remembered with what indignation he had rejected Garrod’s offer + of knowledge. Brother Aloysius spared no blushes, whether of fiery shame + or furtive desire, and piece by piece Michael learned the fabric of + vice. He was informed coldly of facts whose existence he had hitherto + put down to his own most solitary and most intimate imaginations. Every + vague evil that came wickedly before sleep was now made real with + concrete examples; the vilest ideas, that hitherto he had considered + peculiar to himself and perhaps a few more sadly tempted dreamers + tossing through the vulnerable hours of the night, were commonplace to + Brother Aloysius, whose soul was + <a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a> + twisted, whose mind was debased to + such an extent that he could boast of his delight in making the very + priest writhe and wince in the Confessional. + </p> + + <p>Conversations with Brother Aloysius were sufficiently thrilling + journeys, and Michael was always ready to follow his footsteps as one + might follow a noctambulatory cat. The Seven Sisters Road was the scene + of most of his adventures, if adventures they could be called, these + dissolute pilgrimages. Michael came to know this street as one comes to + know the street of a familiar dream. He walked along it in lavender + sunrises watching the crenellated horizon of housetops; he sauntered + through it slowly on dripping midnights, and on foggy November + afternoons he speculated upon the windows with their aqueous sheen of + incandescent gas. On summer dusks he pushed his way through the fetid + population that thronged it, smelling the odour of stale fruit exposed + for sale, and on sad grey Sabbaths he saw the ill-corseted servant girls + treading down the heels of their ugly boots, and plush-clad children who + continually dropped Sunday-school books in the mud.</p> + + <p>And not only was Michael cognizant of the sordid street’s exterior. He + heard the creak of bells by blistered doors, he tripped over mats in + narrow gloomy passages and felt his way up stale rickety stairs. Michael + knew many rooms in this street of dreams: but they were all much alike + with their muslin and patchouli, their aspidistras and yellowing + photographs. The ribbed pianos tintinnabulated harshly with songs cut + from the squalid sheets of Sunday papers: in unseen basements children + whined, while on the mantelpiece garish vases rattled to the vibration + of traffic.</p> + + <p> + Michael was also aware of the emotional crises that occur in the Seven + Sisters Road, from the muttered curses of the old street-walkers with + their crape bonnets cocked awry and their draggled musty skirts to + Brother Aloysius himself + <a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a> + shaken with excess of sin in colloquy with a + ghostly voice upon a late winter dawn. + </p> + + <p>“A ghost?” he echoed incredulously.</p> + + <p>“It’s true. I heard a voice telling me to go back. And when I went back, + there she was sitting in the arm-chair with the antimacassar round her + shoulders because it was cold, and the carving-knife across her knees, + waiting up to do for the fellow that was keeping her. I reckon it was + God sent me back to save her.”</p> + + <p>Even Michael in his vicious mood could not tolerate this hysterical + blasphemy, and he scoffed at the supernatural explanation. But Brother + Aloysius did not care whether he was believed or not. He himself was + sufficient audience to himself, ready to applaud and condemn with equal + exaggeration of feeling.</p> + + <p>After a week of self-revelation Brother Aloysius suddenly had spiritual + qualms about his behaviour, and announced to Michael that he must go to + Confession and free himself from the oppressive responsibility of his + sin. Michael did not like the thought of Dom Cuthbert being aware of the + way in which his last days at the monastery had been spent, and hoped + that Brother Aloysius would confess in as general a manner as possible. + Yet even so he feared that the perspicacious Abbot would guess the + partner of his penitent, and, notwithstanding the sacred impersonality + of the Confessional, regard Michael with an involuntary disgust. + However, the confession, with all its attendant pangs of self-reproach, + passed over, and Michael was unable to detect the slightest alteration + in Dom Cuthbert’s attitude towards him. But he avoided Brother Aloysius + so carefully during the remainder of his stay, that it was impossible to + test the Abbot’s knowledge as directly as he could have wished.</p> + + <p> + The night before Michael was to leave the monastery, a great gale blew + from the south-west and kept him wide + <a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> + awake hour after hour until the + bell for Matins. He felt that on this his last night it would be in + order for him to attend the Office. So he dressed quickly and hurried + through the wind-swept corridor into the Chapel. Here, in a severity of + long droning psalms, he tried to purge his mind of all it had acquired + from the shamelessness of Brother Aloysius. He was so far successful + that he could look Dom Cuthbert fearlessly in the face when he bade him + good-bye next day, and as he coasted over the downs through the calm + September sunlight, he to himself seemed like the country washed by the + serene radiance of the tempest’s aftermath. + <a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_VIII_Mirrors" id="Chapter_VIII_Mirrors"></a> + Chapter VIII: + <i>Mirrors</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ICHAEL somehow felt shy when he heard his mother’s voice telling him to + come into her room. He had run upstairs and knocked excitedly at her + door before the shyness overwhelmed him, but it was too late not to + enter, and he sat down to give her the account of his holidays. Rather + dull it seemed, and robbed of all vitality by the barrier which both his + mother and he hastened to erect between themselves. + </p> + + <p>“Well, dear, did you enjoy yourself at this Monastery?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, rather.”</p> + + <p>“Is the—what do you call him?—the head monk a nice man?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes, awfully decent.”</p> + + <p>“And your friend Chator, did he enjoy himself?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, rather. Only he had to go before me. Did you enjoy yourself abroad, + mother?”</p> + + <p>“Very much, dear, thank you. We had lovely weather all the time.”</p> + + <p>“We had awfully ripping weather too.”</p> + + <p>“Have you got everything ready for school in the morning?”</p> + + <p>“There’s nothing much to get. I suppose I’ll go into Cray’s—the Upper + Fifth. Do you want me now, mother?”</p> + + <p>“No, dear, I have one or two letters to write.”</p> + + <p>“I think I’ll go round and see if Chator’s home yet. You don’t mind?”</p> + + <p> + “Don’t be late for dinner.” + <a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Oh, no, rather not.”</p> + + <p>Going downstairs from his mother’s room, Michael had half an impulse to + turn back and confide in her the real account of his holidays. But on + reflection he protested to himself that his mother looked upon him as + immaculate, and he felt unwilling to disturb by such a revolutionary + step the approved tranquillities of maternal ignorance.</p> + + <p>Mr. Cray, his new form-master, was a man of distinct personality, and + possessed a considerable amount of educative ability; but unfortunately + for Michael the zest of classics had withered in his heart after his + disappointment over the Oxford and Cambridge Certificate. Therefore Mr. + Cray with his bright archæology and chatty scholarship bored Michael + more profoundly than any of his masters so far had bored him. Mr. Cray + resented this attitude very bitterly, being used to keenness in his + form, and Michael’s dreary indolence, which often came nearer to + insolence, irritated him. As for the plodding, inky sycophants who + fawned upon Mr. Cray’s informativeness, Michael regarded them with + horror and contempt. He sat surrounded by the butts and bugbears of his + school-life. All the boys whose existence he had deplored seemed to have + clambered arduously into the Upper Fifth just to enrage him with the + sight of their industrious propinquity. There they sat with their + scraggy wrists protruding from shrinking coat-sleeves, with ambitious + noses glued to their books, with pens and pencils neatly disposed for + demonstrative annotation, and nearly all of them conscious of having + figured in the school-list with the printed bubble of the Oxford and + Cambridge Higher Certificate beside their names. Contemplating them in + the mass, Michael scarcely knew how he would endure another dusty year + of school.</p> + + <p> + “And now we come to the question of the Homeric + <a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a> + gate—the Homeric gate, + Fane, when you can condescend to our level,” said Mr. Cray severely. + </p> + + <p>“I’m listening, sir,” said Michael wearily.</p> + + <p>“Of course the earliest type of gate was without hinges—without hinges, + Fane! Very much like your attention, Fane!”</p> + + <p>Several sycophants giggled at this, and Michael, gazing very earnestly + at Mr. Cray’s benign but somewhat dirty bald head, took a bloody revenge + upon those in reach of his javelin of quadruple penholders.</p> + + <p>“For Monday,” said Mr. Cray, when he had done with listening to the + intelligent advice of his favourite pupils on the subject of gates + ancient and modern, “for Monday the essay will be on Patriotism.”</p> + + <p>Michael groaned audibly.</p> + + <p>“Isn’t there an alternative subject, sir?” he gloomily enquired.</p> + + <p>“Does Fane dislike abstractions?” said Mr. Cray. “Curious! Well, if Fane + wishes for an alternative subject, of course Fane must be obeyed. The + alternative subject will be An Examination into the Fundamental + Doctrines of Hegelian Idealism. Does that suit Fane?”</p> + + <p>“Very well indeed,” said Michael, who had never heard of Hegel until + that moment, but vowed to himself that somehow between this muggy Friday + afternoon and next Monday morning he would conquer the fellow’s + opinions. As a matter of fact, the essay proved perfectly easy with the + assistance of The Popular Encyclopedia, though Mr. Cray called it a + piece of impudence and looked almost baleful when Michael showed it up.</p> + + <p> + From this atmosphere of complacent effort Michael withdrew one afternoon + to consult Father Viner about his future. Underneath the desire for + practical advice was a desire to talk about himself, and Michael was + disappointed on arriving at Father Viner’s rooms to hear that + <a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> + he was + out. However, learning that there was a prospect of his speedy return, + he came in at the landlady’s suggestion to amuse himself with a book + while he waited. + </p> + + <p>Wandering round the big bay-windowed room with its odour of tobacco and + books, and casting a careless glance at Father Viner’s desk, Michael + caught sight of his own name in the middle of a neatly written letter on + the top of a pile of others. He could not resist taking a longer glance + to see the address and verify the allusion to himself, and with this + longer glance curiosity conquered so completely the prejudice against + prying into other people’s correspondence that Michael, breathing + nervously under the dread of interruption, took up the letter and read + it right through. It was in his present mood of anxiety about himself + very absorbing.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + <span class="smcap">Clere Abbey, </span> + <br/> + <i>Michael Mass.</i> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + PAX + <span title="maltese cross" style="font-size:large;">✠</span> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Dear Brother,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>I have been intending to write to you about young Michael Fane + ever since he left us, and your letter of enquiry has had the + effect of bringing me up to the point.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>I hardly know what to tell you.</i> + <i>He’s a curious youth, very + lovable, and with enough brains to make one wish that he might have + a vocation for the priesthood.</i> + <i>At the same time I noticed while + he was with us, especially after the admirable Chator departed, an + overwhelming languor which I very much deplored.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i> + He spent much of his time with a very bad hat indeed, whom I have + just sent away from Clere. If you ever come across Mr. Henry Meats, + be careful of him. Arbuthnot of St. Aidan’s, Holloway, sent him to + me. You know Arbuthnot’s expansive (and for his friends expensive) + Christianity. This last effort of his was a snorter, a soft, nasty, + hysterical, + <a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a> + little blob of vice. I ought to have seen through the + fellow before I did. Heaven knows I get enough of the tag-rag of + the Movement trying to be taken on at Clere. I suppose the monastic + life will always make an imperishable appeal to the worst, and, + thank God, some of the best. I mention this fellow to you because + I’m afraid he and Michael may meet again, and I don’t at all like + the idea of their acquaintanceship progressing, especially as it + was unluckily begun beneath a religious roof. So keep an eye on Mr. + Henry Meats. He’s really bad. + </i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Another fellow I don’t recommend for Michael is Percy Garrod. Not + that I think there is much danger in that direction, for I fancy + Michael was very cold with him. Percy is a decent, honest, + hard-working, common ass, with a deep respect for the Pope and the + Polytechnic. He’s a trifle zealous, however, with bastard + information about physical science, and not at all the person I + should choose to lecture Michael on the complications of + adolescence.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>We are getting on fairly well at Clere, but it’s hard work trying + to make this country believe there is the slightest necessity for + the contemplative life. I hope all goes well with you and your + work.</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Yours affectionately in Xt.,</i> + + <br/> + <i>Cuthbert Manners, O.S.B.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Poor Michael. His will be a difficult position one day. I feel on + re-reading this letter that I’ve told you nothing you don’t already + know. But he’s one of those elusive boys who have lived within + themselves too much and too long.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p> + Michael put this letter back where he had found it, and wondered how + much of the contents would be discussed by Father Viner. He was glad + that Brother Aloysius had vanished, because Brother Aloysius had become + like a bad dream with which he was unwilling in the future to renew + acquaintance. On his own character Dom Cuthbert + <a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a> + had not succeeded in + throwing very much light—at any rate not in this letter. Father Viner + came in to interrupt Michael’s meditations, and began at once to discuss + the letter. + </p> + + <p>“The Lord Abbot of Clere thinks you’re a dreamer,” he began abruptly.</p> + + <p>“Does he, Mr. Viner?” echoed Michael, who somehow could never bring + himself to the point of addressing the priest as ‘Father.’ Shyness + always overcame his will.</p> + + <p>“What do you dream about, young Joseph?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I only think about a good many things, and wonder what I’m going to + be and all that,” Michael replied. “I don’t want to go into the Indian + Civil Service or anything with exams. I’m sick of exams. What I most + want to do is to get away from school. I’m sick of school, and the + fellows in the Upper Fifth are a greasy crowd of swats always sucking up + to Cray.”</p> + + <p>“And who is the gentleman with the crustacean name that attracts these + barnacles?”</p> + + <p>“Cray? Oh, he’s my form-master, and tries to be funny.”</p> + + <p>“So do I, Michael,” confessed Mr. Viner.</p> + + <p>“Oh, well, that’s different. I’m not bound to listen to you, if I don’t + want to. But I have to listen to Cray for eighteen hours every week, and + he hates me because I won’t take notes for his beastly essays. I think + I’ll ask my mater if I can’t leave school after this term.”</p> + + <p>“And then what would you do?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I don’t know. I could settle when I’d left.”</p> + + <p>“What about Oxford?”</p> + + <p>“Well, I could go to Oxford later on.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t think you could quite so easily as you think. Anyway, you’d + much better go to Oxford straight from school.”</p> + + <p> + “Eight more terms before I leave. Phew!” Michael + <a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a> + groaned. “It’s such a + terrible waste of time, and I know Oxford’s ripping.” + </p> + + <p>“Perhaps something will come along to interest you. And always, dear + boy, don’t forget you have your religion.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, I know,” said Michael. “But at the Abbey I met some people who + were supposed to be religious, and they were pretty good rotters.”</p> + + <p>The priest looked at him and seemed inclined to let Michael elaborate + this topic, but almost immediately he dismissed it with a commonplace.</p> + + <p>“Oh, well,” Michael sighed, “I suppose something will happen soon to + buck me up. I hope so. Perhaps the Kensitites will start making rows in + churches again,” he went on hopefully. “Will you lend me the Apocryphal + Gospels? We’re going to have a discussion about them at the De Rebus + Ecclesiasticis.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, the society hasn’t broken up?” enquired Mr. Viner.</p> + + <p>“Rather not. Only everybody’s changed rather. Chator’s become + frightfully Roman. He was Sarum last term, and he thinks I’m frightfully + heretical, only of course I say a lot I don’t mean just to rag him. I + say, by the way, who wrote ‘In a Garden’?”</p> + + <p>“It sounds a very general title,” commented Mr. Viner, with a smile.</p> + + <p>“Well, it’s some poem or other.”</p> + + <p>“Swinburne wrote a poem in the Second Series of Poems and Ballads called + ‘A Forsaken Garden.’ Is that what you mean?”</p> + + <p>“Perhaps. Is it a famous poem?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, I should say it was distinctly.”</p> + + <p> + “Well, that must be it. Cray tried to be funny about it to-day in form, + and said to me, ‘Good heavens, haven’t you read “In a Garden”?’ And I + said I’d never heard of it. And then he said in his funny way to the + class, + <a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a> + ‘I suppose you’ve all read it.’ And none of them had, which made + him look rather an ass. So he said we’d better read it by next week.” + </p> + + <p>“I can lend you my Swinburne. Only take care of it,” said Mr. Viner. + “It’s a wonderful poem.”</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>At the sea-down’s edge between windward and lee,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Walled round with rocks as an inland island,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>“I say,” exclaimed Michael eagerly, “I never knew Swinburne was a really + great poet. And fancy, he’s alive now.”</p> + + <p>“Alive, and living at Putney,” said Mr. Viner.</p> + + <p>“And yet he wrote what you’ve just said!”</p> + + <p>“He wrote that, and many other things too. He wrote:</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Before the beginning of years</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>There came to the making of man</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Time, with a gift of tears;</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>Grief, with a glass that ran;</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Pleasure, with pain for leaven,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>Summer, with flowers that fell;</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Remembrance fallen from heaven,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>And madness risen from hell.”</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>“Good Lord!” sighed Michael. “And he’s in Putney at this very moment.”</p> + + <p> + Michael went home clasping close the black volume, and in his room that + night, while the gas jet flamed excitably in defiance of rule, he read + almost right through the Second Series of Poems and Ballads. It was + midnight when he turned down the gas and sank feverishly into bed. For a + long while he was saying to himself isolated lines: + <i>‘The wet skies + harden, the gates are barred on the summer side.’ ‘The rose-red acacia + that mocks the rose.’ ‘Sleep, and if life was bitter to thee, brother.’ + ‘For whom all winds are quiet as the sun, all waters as the shore.’</i> + <a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a> + </p> + + <p>In school on Monday morning Mr. Cray, to Michael’s regret, did not + allude to the command that his class should read ‘In a Garden.’ Michael + was desperately anxious at once to tell him how much he had loved the + poem and to remind him of the real title, ‘A Forsaken Garden.’ At last + he could bear it no longer and went up flushed with enthusiasm to Mr. + Cray’s desk, nominally to enquire into an alleged mistake in his Latin + Prose, but actually to inform Mr. Cray of his delight in Swinburne. When + the grammatical blunder had been discussed, Michael said with as much + nonchalance as he could assume:</p> + + <p>“I read that poem, sir. I think it’s ripping.”</p> + + <p>“What poem?” repeated Mr. Cray vaguely. “Oh, yes, ‘Enoch Arden.’”</p> + + <p>“‘Enoch Arden,’” stammered Michael. “I thought you said ‘In a Garden.’ I + read ‘A Forsaken Garden’ by Swinburne.”</p> + + <p>Mr. Cray put on his most patronizing manner.</p> + + <p>“My poor Fane, have you never heard of Enoch Arden? Perhaps you’ve never + even heard of Tennyson?”</p> + + <p>“But Swinburne’s good, isn’t he, sir?”</p> + + <p>“Swinburne is very well,” said Mr. Cray. “Oh, yes, Swinburne will do, if + you like rose-jam. But I don’t recommend Swinburne for you, Fane.”</p> + + <p>Then Mr. Cray addressed his class:</p> + + <p>“Did you all read ‘Enoch Arden’?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, sir,” twittered the Upper Fifth.</p> + + <p>“Fane, however, with that independence of judgment which distinguishes + his Latin Prose from, let us say, the prose of Cicero, preferred to read + ‘A Forsaken Garden’ by one Swinburne.”</p> + + <p>The Upper Fifth giggled dutifully.</p> + + <p> + “Perhaps Fane will recite to us his discovery,” said Mr. Cray, + scratching his scurfy head with the gnawed end of a penholder. + <a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael blushed resentfully, and walked back to his desk.</p> + + <p>“No?” said Mr. Cray with an affectation of great surprise.</p> + + <p>Then he and the Upper Fifth, contented with their superiority, began to + chew and rend some tough Greek particles which ultimately became + digestible enough to be assimilated by the Upper Fifth; while Mr. Cray + himself purred over his cubs, looking not very unlike a mangy old + lioness.</p> + + <p>“Eight more terms,” groaned Michael to himself.</p> + + <p> + Mr. Cray was not so blind to his pupils’ need for mild intellectual + excitement, however much he might scorn the easy emotions of Swinburne. + He really grew lyrical over Homeric difficulties, and even spoke + enthusiastically of Mr. Mackail’s translation of the Georgics; but + always he managed to conceal the nobility of his theme beneath a mass of + what he called ‘minor points.’ He would create his own rubbish heap and + invite the Upper Fifth to scratch in it for pearls. One day a question + arose as to the exact meaning of + <span title="oulochutai">οὑλοχὑται</span> + in Homer. + Michael would have been perfectly content to believe that it meant + ‘whole barleycorns,’ until Mr. Cray suggested that it might be + equivalent to the Latin ‘mola,’ meaning ‘grain coarsely ground.’ An + exhausting discussion followed, illustrated by examples from every sort + of writer, all of which had to be taken down in notes in anticipation of + a still more exhausting essay on the subject. + </p> + + <p>“The meal may be trite,” said Mr. Cray, “but not the subject,” he added, + chuckling. “However, I have only touched the fringe of it: you will find + the arguments fully set forth in Buttmann’s Lexilogus. Who possesses + that invaluable work?”</p> + + <p> + Nobody in the Upper Fifth possessed it, but all anxiously made a note of + it, in order to acquire it over the counter of the Book Room + downstairs. + <a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a> + </p> + + <p>“No use,” said Mr. Cray. “Buttmann’s Lexilogus is now out of print.”</p> + + <p>Michael pricked up at this. The phrase leant a curious flavour of + Romance to the dull book.</p> + + <p>“No doubt, however, you will be able to obtain it second-hand,” added + Mr. Cray.</p> + + <p>The notion of tracking down Buttmann’s Lexilogus possessed the Upper + Fifth. Eagerly after school the diligent ones discussed ways and means. + Parties were formed, almost one might say expeditions, to rescue the + valuable work from oblivion. Michael stood contemptuously aside from the + buzz of self-conscious effort round him, although he had made up his own + mind to be one of the first to obtain the book. Levy, however, secured + the first copy for fourpence in Farringdon Street, earning for his + sharpness much praise. Another boy bought one for three shillings and + sixpence in Paddington, the price one would expect to pay, if not a + Levy; and there were rumours of a copy in Kensington High Street. To + Michael the mart of London from earliest youth had been Hammersmith + Broadway, and thither he hurried, hopeful of discovering Buttmann’s + dingy Lexilogus, for the purchase of which he had thoughtfully begged a + sovereign from his mother. Michael did not greatly covet Buttmann, but + he was sure that the surplus from three shillings and sixpence, possibly + even from fourpence, would be very welcome.</p> + + <p> + He found at last in a turning off Hammersmith Broadway a wonderful + bookshop, whose rooms upon rooms leading into one another were all lined + and loaded with every kind of book. The proprietor soon found a copy of + Buttmann, which he sold to Michael for half a crown, leaving him with + fifteen shillings for himself, since he decided that it would be as well + to return his mother at least half a crown from her sovereign. The + purchase completed, Michael began to wander round the shop, taking down + a book here, + <a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a> + a book there, dipping into them from the top of a ladder, + sniffing them, clapping their covers together to drive away the dust, + and altogether thoroughly enjoying himself, while the daylight slowly + faded and street-lamps came winking into ken outside. At last, just as + the shop-boy was putting up the shutters, Michael discovered a volume + bound in half-morocco of a crude gay blue, that proved on inspection to + contain the complete poetical works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, for + the sum of seventeen shillings and sixpence. + </p> + + <p>What was now left of his golden sovereign that should have bought so + much beside Buttmann’s brown and musty Lexilogus?</p> + + <p>Michael approached the proprietor with the volume in his hand.</p> + + <p>“How much?” he asked, with a queer choking sensation, a throbbing + excitement, for he had never before even imagined the expenditure of + seventeen shillings and sixpence on one book.</p> + + <p>“What’s this?” said the proprietor, putting on his spectacles. “Oh, yes, + Swinburne—pirated American edition. Seventeen shillings and sixpence.”</p> + + <p>“Couldn’t you take less?” asked Michael, with a vague hope that he might + rescue a shilling for his mother, if not for cigarettes.</p> + + <p> + “Take less?” repeated the bookseller. “Good gracious, young man, do you + know what you’d have to pay for Swinburne’s stuff separate? Something + like seven or eight pounds, and then they’d be all in different volumes. + Whereas here you’ve got—lemme see—Atalanta in Calydon, Chastelard, + Poems and Ballads, Songs before Sunrise, Bothwell, Tristram of Lyonesse, + Songs of Two Nations, and heaven knows what not. I call seventeen + shillings and sixpence very cheap for what you might almost call a man’s + life-work. Shall I wrap it up?” + <a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Yes, please,” said Michael, gasping with the effect of the plunge.</p> + + <p>But when that night he read</p> + + <p class="c"> + <i>Swallow, my sister, O fair swift swallow,</i> + </p> + + <p class="nind">he forgot all about the cost.</p> + + <p>The more of Swinburne that Michael read, the more impatient he grew of + school. The boredom of Mr. Cray’s class became stupendous; and Michael, + searching for some way to avoid it, decided to give up Classics and + apply for admission to the History Sixth, which was a small association + of boys who had drifted into this appendix for the purpose of defeating + the ordinary rules of promotion. For instance, when the Captain of the + School Eleven had not attained the privileged Sixth, he was often + allowed to enter the History Sixth, in order that he might achieve the + intellectual dignity which consorted with his athletic prowess.</p> + + <p>Michael had for some time envied the leisure of the History Sixth, with + its general air of slackness and its form-master, Mr. Kirkham, who, on + account of holding many administrative positions important to the + athletic life of the school, was so often absent from his class-room. He + now racked his brains for an excuse to achieve the idle bliss of these + charmed few. Finally he persuaded his mother to write to the Headmaster + and apply for his admission, on the grounds of the greater utility of + History in his future profession.</p> + + <p>“But what are you going to be, Michael?” asked his mother.</p> + + <p>“I don’t know, but you can say I’m going to be a barrister or + something.”</p> + + <p>“Is History better for a barrister?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t know, but you can easily say you think it is.”</p> + + <p> + In the end his mother wrote to Dr. Brownjohn, and + <a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a> + one grey November + afternoon the Headmaster sailed into the class-room of the Upper Fifth, + extricated Michael with a roar, and marched with him up and down the + dusky corridor in a ferocious discussion of the proposal. + </p> + + <p>“Why do you want to give up your Classics?” bellowed Dr. Brownjohn.</p> + + <p>In the echoing corridor Michael’s voice sounded painfully weak against + his monitor’s.</p> + + <p>“I don’t want to give them up, sir. Only I would like to learn History + as well,” he explained.</p> + + <p>“What’s the good of History?” roared the Doctor.</p> + + <p>“I thought I’d like to learn it,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“You shouldn’t think, you infamous young sluggard.”</p> + + <p>“And I could go on reading Classics, sir, I could really.”</p> + + <p>“Bah!” shouted Dr. Brownjohn. “Impudent nonsense, you young sloth. Why + didn’t you get your Certificate?”</p> + + <p>“I failed in Arithmetic, sir.”</p> + + <p>“You’ll fail in your whole life, boy,” prophesied Dr. Brownjohn in + bull-deep accents of reproach. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”</p> + + <p>“No, sir,” said Michael. “I don’t think I am, because I worked jolly + hard.”</p> + + <p>“Worked, you abominable little loafer? You’ve never worked in your life. + You could be the finest scholar in the school, and you’re merely a + coruscation of slatternly, slipshod paste. Bah! What do you expect to do + when you leave school? Um?”</p> + + <p>“I want to go to Oxford.”</p> + + <p>“Then get the Balliol Scholarship.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t want to be at Balliol,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Then get the major scholarship at Trinity, Cambridge.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t intend to go to Cambridge,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + “Good heavens, boy,” roared Dr. Brownjohn, “are you trying to arrange + your own career?” + <a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a> + </p> + + <p>“No, sir,” said Michael. “But I want to go to St. Mary’s, Oxford.”</p> + + <p>“Then get a scholarship at St. Mary’s.”</p> + + <p>“But I don’t want to be a Scholar of any college. I want to go up as a + Commoner.”</p> + + <p>The veins on Dr. Brownjohn’s forehead swelled with wrath, astonishment + and dismay.</p> + + <p>“Get out of my sight,” he thundered. “Get back into your class-room. + I’ve done with you; I take no more interest in you. You’re here to earn + glory for your school, you’re here to gain a scholarship, not to air + your own opinions. Get out of my sight, you young scoundrel. How dare + you argue with me? You shan’t go into the History Sixth! You shall stew + in your own obstinate juice in the Upper Fifth until I choose to move + you out of it. Do you hear? Go back into your class-room. I’ll write to + your mother. She’s an idiotic woman, and you’re a slovenly, idle, + good-for-nothing cub.”</p> + + <p>Overwhelmed with failure and very sensitive to the inquisitive glances + of his classmates, Michael sat down in his own desk again as + unobtrusively as he could.</p> + + <p>Michael’s peace of mind was not increased by the consciousness of Mr. + Cray’s knowledge of his appeal to withdraw from the Upper Fifth, and he + became exposed to a large amount of sarcasm in allusion to his expressed + inclination towards history. He was continually referred to as an + authority on Constitutions; he was invited to bring forward comparisons + from more modern times to help the elucidation of the Syracusan + expedition or the Delian Confederacy.</p> + + <p>All that Michael gained from Mr. Cray was a passion for second-hand + books—the latest and most fervid of all his collecting hobbies.</p> + + <p> + One wintry evening in Elson’s Bookshop at Hammersmith he was enjoying + himself on the top of a ladder, + <a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a> + when he became aware of an interested + gaze directed at himself over the dull-gilt edges of a large and + expensive work on Greek sculpture. The face that so regarded him was at + once fascinating and repulsive. The glittering blue eyes full of + laughter were immediately attractive, but something in the pointed ears + and curled-back lips, something in the peculiarly white fingers faintly + pencilled about the knuckles with fine black hairs, and after a moment + something cruel in the bright blue eyes themselves restrained him from + an answering smile. + </p> + + <p>“What is the book, Hyacinthus?” asked the stranger, and his voice was so + winning and so melodious in the shadowy bookshop that Michael + immediately fell into the easiest of conversations.</p> + + <p>“Fond of books?” asked the stranger. “Oh, by the way, my name is Wilmot, + Arthur Wilmot.”</p> + + <p>Something in Wilmot’s manner made Michael suppose that he ought to be + familiar with the name, and he tried to recall it.</p> + + <p>“What’s your name?” the stranger went on.</p> + + <p>Michael told his name, and also his school, and before very long a good + deal about himself.</p> + + <p>“I live near you,” said Mr. Wilmot. “We’ll walk along presently. I’d + like you to dine with me one night soon. When?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, any time,” said Michael, trying to speak as if invitations to + dinner occurred to him three or four times a day.</p> + + <p>“Here’s my card,” said the stranger. “You’d better show it to your + mother—so that she’ll know it’s all right. I’m a writer, you know.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes,” Michael vaguely agreed.</p> + + <p> + “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any of my stuff. I don’t publish much. + Sometimes I read my poems to Interior people.” + <a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael looked puzzled.</p> + + <p>“Interior is my name for the people who understand. So few do. I should + say you’d be sympathetic. You look sympathetic. You remind me of those + exquisite boys who in scarlet hose run delicately with beakers of wine + or stand in groups about the corners of old Florentine pictures.”</p> + + <p>Michael tried to look severe, and yet, after the Upper Fifth, even so + direct and embarrassing a compliment was slightly pleasant.</p> + + <p>“Shall we go along? To-night the Hammersmith Road is full of mystery. + But, first, shall I not buy you a book—some exquisite book full of + strange perfumes and passionate courtly gestures? And so you are at + school? How wonderful to be at school! How Sicilian! Strange youth, you + should have been sung by Theocritus, or, better, been crowned with + myrtle by some wonderful unknown Greek, some perfect blossom of the + Anthology.”</p> + + <p>Michael laughed rather foolishly. There seemed nothing else to do.</p> + + <p>“Won’t you smoke? These Chian cigarettes in their diaphanous paper of + mildest mauve would suit your oddly remote, your curiously shy glance. + You had better not smoke so near to the savage confines of St. James’ + School? How ascetic! How stringent! What book shall I buy for you, O + greatly to be envied dreamer of Sicilian dreams? Shall I buy you + Mademoiselle de Maupin, so that all her rococo soul may dance with + gilded limbs across your vision? Or shall I buy you A Rebours, and teach + you to live? And yet I think neither would suit you perfectly. So here + is a volume of Pater—Imaginary Portraits. You will like to read of + Denys l’Auxerrois. One day I myself will write an imaginary portrait of + you, wherein your secret, sidelong smile will reveal to the world the + whole art of youth.”</p> + + <p> + “But really—thanks very much,” stammered Michael, + <a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a> + who was beginning to + suspect the stranger of madness—“it’s awfully kind of you, but, really, + I think I’d rather not.” + </p> + + <p>“Do not be proud,” said Mr. Wilmot. “Pride is for the pure in heart, and + you are surely not pure in heart. Or are you? Are you indeed like one of + those wonderful white statues of antiquity, unaware of the soul with all + its maladies?”</p> + + <p>In the end, so urgent was Mr. Wilmot, Michael accepted the volume of + Pater, and walked with the stranger through the foggy night. Somehow the + conversation was so destructive of all experience that, as Michael and + his new friend went by the school-gates and perceived beyond the vast + bulk of St. James’ looming, Michael felt himself a stranger to it all, + as if he never again would with a crowd of companions surge out from + afternoon school. The stranger came as far as the corner of Carlington + Road with Michael.</p> + + <p>“I will write to your mother and ask her to let you dine with me one + night next week. You interest me so much.”</p> + + <p>Mr. Wilmot waved a pontifical good-bye and vanished in the direction of + Kensington.</p> + + <p>At home Michael told his mother of the adventure. She looked a little + doubtful at his account of Mr. Wilmot.</p> + + <p>“Oh, he’s all right, really, Mother. Only, you know, a little peculiar. + But then he’s a poet.”</p> + + <p>Next day came a letter from Mr. Wilmot.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + <span class="smcap">205 Edwardes Square, W. </span> + <br/> + <i>November.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Dear Mrs. Fane,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i> + I must apologize for inviting your son to dinner so + unceremoniously. But he made a great appeal to me, sitting on the + top of a ladder in Elson’s Bookshop. I have a library, in which he + may enjoy himself whenever he likes. Meanwhile, + <a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a> + may he come to + dinner with me on Friday next? Mr. Johnstone, the Member for West + Kensington, is coming with his nephew who may be dull without + Michael. Michael tells me he thinks of becoming an ecclesiastical + lawyer. In that case Johnstone will be particularly useful, and can + give him some hints. He’s a personal friend of old Dr. Brownjohn. + With many apologies for my ‘impertinence,’ + </i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Yours very truly,</i> + + <br/> + <i>Arthur Wilmot.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>“This is a perfectly sensible letter,” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Perhaps I thought he was funnier than he really was. Does he say + anything else except about me sitting on the top of a ladder?”</p> + + <p> + Somehow Michael was disappointed to hear that this was all. + <a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_IX_The_Yellow_Age" id="Chapter_IX_The_Yellow_Age"></a> + Chapter IX: + <i>The Yellow Age</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">D</span> + INNER with Mr. Arthur Wilmot occupied most of Michael’s thoughts for a + week. He was mainly concerned about his costume, and he was strenuously + importunate for a tail-coat. Mrs. Fane, however, was sure that a + dinner-jacket would better become his youthfulness. Then arose the + question of stick-up collars. Michael pointed out that very soon he + would be sixteen, and that here was a fine opportunity to leave behind + the Polo or Shakespeare collar. + </p> + + <p>“You’re growing up so quickly, dearest boy,” sighed his mother.</p> + + <p>Michael was anxious to have one of the new double collars.</p> + + <p> + “But don’t they look rather + <i>outré</i> + ?” protested Mrs. Fane. + </p> + + <p>“Well, Abercrombie, the Secretary of the Fifteen, wears one,” observed + Michael.</p> + + <p>“Have your own way, dear,” said Mrs. Fane gently.</p> + + <p>Two or three days before the dinner-party Michael braved everything and + wore one of the new double collars to school. Its extravagant advent + among the discreet neckwear of the Upper Fifth caused a sensation. Mr. + Cray himself looked curiously once or twice at Michael, who assumed in + consequence a particularly nonchalant air, and lounged over his desk + even more than usual.</p> + + <p>“Are you going on the stage, Fane?” enquired Mr. Cray finally, + exasperated by Michael’s indolent construing.</p> + + <p>“Not that I know of,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + “I wasn’t sure whether that collar was part of your get-up as an + eccentric comedian.” + <a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a> + </p> + + <p>The Upper Fifth released its well-worn laugh, and Michael scowled at his + master.</p> + + <p>However, he endured the sarcasm of the first two days and still wore the + new collars, vowing to himself that presently he would make fresh + attacks upon the convention of school attire, since apparently he was + able thereby to irritate old Cray.</p> + + <p>After all, the dinner-party was not so exciting as he had hoped from the + sample of his new friend’s conversation. To be sure he was able to smoke + as much as he liked, and drink as much champagne as he knew how without + warning headshakes; but Mr. Johnstone, the Member for West Kensington, + was a moon-faced bore, and his nephew turned out to be a lank nonentity + on the despised Modern side. Mr. Johnstone talked a good deal about the + Catholic movement, which somehow during the last few weeks was ceasing + to interest Michael so much as formerly. Michael himself ascribed this + apostasy to his perusal, ladder-high, of Zola’s novel Lourdes with its + damaging assaults upon Christian credulity. The Member of Parliament + seemed to Michael, after his psychical adventures of the past few + months, curiously dull and antique, and he evidently considered Michael + affected. However, he encouraged the idea of ecclesiastical law, and + promised to talk to Dr. Brownjohn about Michael’s release from the + thraldom of Classics. As for the nephew, he seemed to be able to do + nothing but stretch the muscles of his chicken-like neck and ask + continually whether Michael was going to join the Field Club that some + obscure Modern Lower Master was in travail with at the moment. He also + invited Michael to join a bicycling club that apparently met at Surbiton + every other Saturday afternoon. Mr. Wilmot contented himself with + silence and the care of his guests’ entertainment.</p> + + <p> + Finally the Member for West Kensington with his + <a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a> + crudely jointed nephew + departed into the fog, and Mr. Wilmot, with an exaggerated sigh, shut + the front door. + </p> + + <p>“I must be going too,” said Michael grudgingly.</p> + + <p>“My dear boy, the evening has scarcely begun,” objected Mr. Wilmot. + “Come upstairs to my library, and tell me all about your opinions, and + whether you do not think that everything is an affectation.”</p> + + <p>They went up together.</p> + + <p>“Every year I redecorate this room,” Mr. Wilmot explained. “Last year it + was apple-green set out with cherry-red. Now I am become a mysterious + peacock-blue, for lately I have felt terribly old. How well this + uncertain tint suits your fresh languor.”</p> + + <p>Michael admired the dusky blue chamber with the plain mirrors of + tarnished gilt, the gleaming books and exotic engravings, and the + heterogeneous finery faintly effeminate. He buried himself in a deep + embroidered chair, with an ebony box of cigarettes at his feet, while + Mr. Wilmot, after a myriad mincing preliminaries, sought out various + highly coloured bottles of liqueurs.</p> + + <p>“This is a jolly ripping room,” sighed Michael.</p> + + <p>“It represents a year’s moods,” said Mr. Wilmot.</p> + + <p>“And then will you change it?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p>“Perhaps. The most subtly painted serpent casts ultimately its slough. + Crème-de-Menthe?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, please,” said Michael, who would have accepted anything in his + present receptive condition.</p> + + <p>“And what do you think of life?” enquired Mr. Wilmot, taking his place + on a divan opposite Michael. “Do you mind if I smoke my Jicky-scented + hookah?” he added.</p> + + <p>“Not at all,” said Michael. “These cigarettes are jolly ripping. I think + life at school is frightfully dull—except, of course, when one goes + out. Only I don’t often.”</p> + + <p> + “Dull?” repeated Mr. Wilmot. “Listen to the amazing + <a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a> + cruelty of youth, + that finds even his adventurous Sicilian existence dull.” + </p> + + <p>“Well, it is,” said Michael. “I think I used to like it, but nowadays + everything gets fearfully stale almost at once.”</p> + + <p>“Already your life has been lived?” queried Mr. Wilmot very anxiously.</p> + + <p>“Well, not exactly,” Michael replied, with a quick glance towards his + host to make sure he was not joking. “I expect that when I leave school + I shall get interested again. Only just lately I’ve given up everything. + First I was keen on Footer, and then I got keen on Ragging, and then I + got keen on Work even (this was confessed apologetically), and just + lately I’ve been keen on the Church—only now I find that’s pretty + stale.”</p> + + <p>“The Church!” echoed Mr. Wilmot. “How wonderful! The dim Gothic glooms, + the sombre hues of stained glass, the incense-wreathèd acolytes, the + muttering priests, the bedizened banners and altars and images. Ah, + elusive and particoloured vision that once was mine!”</p> + + <p>“Then I got keen on Swinburne,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“You advance along the well-worn path of the Interior and Elect,” said + Mr. Wilmot.</p> + + <p>“I’m still keen on Swinburne, but he makes me feel hopeless. Sad and + hopeless,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Under the weight of sin?” asked Mr. Wilmot.</p> + + <p>“Not exactly—because he seems to have done everything and——”</p> + + <p>“You’d like to?”</p> + + <p> + “Yes, I would,” said Michael. “Only one can’t live like a Roman Emperor + at a public school. What I hate is the way everybody thinks you ought to + be interested in things that aren’t really interesting at all. What + people can’t understand about me is that I + <i>could</i> + be keener than + anybody about things schoolmasters and that kind don’t + <a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a> + think right or + at any rate important. I don’t mean to say I want to be dissipated, + but——” + </p> + + <p>“Dissipated?” echoed Mr. Wilmot, raising his eyebrows.</p> + + <p>“Well, you know what I mean,” blushed Michael.</p> + + <p>“Dissipation is a condition of extreme old age. I might be dissipated, + not you,” said Mr. Wilmot. “Why not say wanton? How much more beautiful, + how much more intense a word.”</p> + + <p>“But wanton sounds so beastly affected,” said Michael. “As if it was + taken out of the Bible. And you aren’t so very old. Not more than + thirty.”</p> + + <p>“I think what you’re trying to say is that, under your present mode of + life, you find self-expression impossible. Let me diagnose your + symptoms.”</p> + + <p>Michael leaned forward eagerly at this proposal. Nothing was so + entertaining to his egoism just now as diagnosis. Moreover, Mr. Wilmot + seemed inclined to take him more seriously than Mr. Viner, or, indeed, + any of his spiritual directors so far. Mr. Wilmot prepared himself for + the lecture by lighting a very long cigarette wrapped in brittle + fawn-coloured paper, whose spirals of smoke Michael followed upward to + their ultimate evanescence, as if indeed they typified with their + tenuous plumes and convolutions the intricate discourse that begot them.</p> + + <p> + “In a sense, my dear boy, your charm has waned—the faerie charm, that + is, which wraps in heedless silver armour the perfect boyhood of man. + You are at present a queer sort of mythical animal whom we for want of a + better term call ‘adolescent.’ Intercourse with anything but your own + self shocks both you and the world with a sense of extravagance, as if a + centaur pursued a nymph or fought with a hero. The soul—or what we call + the soul—is struggling in the bondage of your unformed body. Lately you + had no soul, you were ethereal and cold, yet withal + <a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a> + in some remote way + passionate, like your own boy’s voice. Now the silly sun is melting the + snow, and what was a little while since crystalline clear virginity is + beginning to trickle down towards a headlong course, carrying with it + the soiled accumulation of the years to float insignificantly into the + wide river of manhood. But I am really being almost intolerably + allegorical—or is it metaphorical?” + </p> + + <p>“Still, I think I understand what you mean,” Michael said encouragingly.</p> + + <p> + “Thrown back upon your own resources, it is not surprizing that you + attempt to allay your own sense of your own incongruity by seeking for + its analogy in the decorative excitements of religion or poetry. Love + would supply the solution, but you are still too immature for love. And + if you do fall in love, you will sigh for some ample and unattainable + matron rather than the slim, shy girl that would better become your + pastoral graces. At present you lack all sense of proportion. You are + only aware of your awkwardness. Your corners have not yet been, as they + say, knocked off. You are still somewhat proud of their Gothic + angularity. You feel at home in the tropic dawns of Swinburne’s poetry, + in the ceremonious exaggerations of Mass, because neither of these + conditions of thought and behaviour allow you to become depressed over + your oddity, to see yourself crawling with bedraggled wings from the + cocoon of mechanical education. The licentious ingenuity of Martial, + Petronius and Apuleius with their nightmare comedies and obscene + phantasmagoria, Lucian, that + <i>boulevardier</i> + of Olympic glades, all these + could allow you to feel yourself more at home than does Virgil with his + peaceful hexameters or the cold relentless narrations of Thucydides.” + </p> + + <p> + “Yes, that’s all very well,” objected Michael. “But other chaps seem to + get on all right without being bored by ordinary things.” + <a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Already spurning the gifts of Apollo, contemptuous of Artemis, ignorant + of Bacchus and Aphrodite, you are bent low before Pallas Athene. Foolish + child, do not pray for wisdom in this overwise thin-faced time of ours. + Rather demand of the gods folly, and drive ever furiously your + temperament like a chariot before you.”</p> + + <p>“I met an odd sort of chap the other day,” Michael said thoughtfully. “A + monk he was, as a matter of fact—who told me a skit of things—you + know—about a bad life. It’s funny, though I hate ugly things and common + things, he gave me a feeling that I’d like to go right away from + everything and live in one of those horrible streets that you pass in an + omnibus when the main road is up. Perhaps you don’t understand what I + mean?”</p> + + <p>Mr. Wilmot’s eyes glittered through the haze of smoke.</p> + + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I understand? Squalor is the Parthenope of the true + Romantic. You’ll find it in all the poets you love best—if not in their + poetry, certainly in their lives. Even romantic critics are not without + temptation. One day you shall read of Hazlitt and Sainte-Beuve. And now, + dear boy, here is my library which holds as many secrets as the + Spintrian books of Elephantis, long ago lost and purified by the sea. I + am what the wise world would call about to corrupt your mind, and yet I + believe that for one who like you must some day make trial of the + uttermost corruption, I am prescribing more wisely than Chiron, that + pig-headed or rather horse-bodied old prototype of all schoolmasters, + who sent his hero pupils one after another into the world, proof against + nothing but a few spear-thrusts. I offer you better than fencing-bouts + and wrestling-matches. I offer you a good library. Read every day and + all night, and when you are a man full grown, you will smile at the + excesses of your contemporaries, at their divorces and disgraces. You + will stand aloof like a second Aurelius, coining austere aphorisms and + <a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a> + mocking the weakness of your unlearned fellows. Why are priests + generally so inept in the confessional? Because they learn their + knowledge of life from a frowsy volume of Moral Theology that in the + most utterly barbarous Latin emits an abstract of humanity’s + immeasurable vice. In the same way most young men encounter wickedness + in some sudden shock of depravity from which they retire blushing and + mumbling, ‘Who’d have thought it!’ ‘Who’d have thought it!’ they cry, + and are immediately empanelled on a jury. + </p> + + <p>“Not so you, O more subtle youth, with the large deep eyes and secret + sidelong smile.</p> + + <p>“There on my shelves are all the ages. I have spoken to you of + Petronius, of Lucian and Apuleius. There is Suetonius, with his + incredibly improper tales that show how beastliness takes root and + flowers from the deposited muck of a gossip’s mind. There is Tacitus, + ever willing to sacrifice decency to antithesis, and Ausonius, whose + ribald verses are like monkish recreation; yet he had withal a pretty + currency of honest silver Latin, Christian though he was. You must read + your Latin authors well, for, since you must be decadent, it is better + to decay from a good source. And neglect not the Middle Ages. You will + glide most easily into them from the witches and robbers of Apuleius. + You will read Boccaccio, whose tales are intaglios carved with + exquisitely licentious and Lilliputian scenes. Neither forget Villon, + whose light ladies seem ever to move elusively in close-cut gowns of + cloth-of-gold and incredibly tall steeple-hats. But even with Villon the + world becomes complicated, and you will soon reach the temperamental + entanglements of the nineteenth century, for you may avoid the coarse, + the beery and besotted obviousness of the Georgian age.</p> + + <p> + “But I like the eighteenth century almost best of all,” protested + Michael. + <a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Then cure yourself of that most lamentable and most démodé taste, or I + shall presently believe that you read a page or two of Boswell’s Life of + Johnson every morning, while the water is running into your bath. You + can never be a true decadent, treading delicately over the garnered + perfection of the world’s art, if you really admire and enjoy the + eighteenth century.”</p> + + <p>Michael, however, looked very doubtful over his demanded apostasy.</p> + + <p>“But, never mind,” Mr. Wilmot went on. “When you have read Barbey + d’Aurevilly and Baudelaire, Mallarmé, Verlaine, Catulle Mendès and + Verhaeren, when the Parnassians and Symbolists have illuminated you, and + you become an Interior person, when Aubrey Beardsley and Felicien Rops + have printed their fierce debauchery upon your imagination, then you + will be glad you have forsaken the eighteenth century. How crude is the + actual number eighteen, how far from the passionate mystery of seventeen + or the tired wisdom of nineteen! O wonderful nineteenth century, in + whose grey humid dusk you and I are lucky enough to live!”</p> + + <p>“But what about the twentieth century?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p>Mr. Wilmot started.</p> + + <p>“Listen, and I will tell you my intention. Two more years have yet to + run before that garish and hideous date, prophetic of all that is bright + and new and abominably raw. But I shall have fled, how I know not; haply + mandragora will lure my weary mind to rest. I think I should like to die + as La Gioconda was painted, listening to flute-players in a curtained + alcove; or you, Michael, shall read to me some diabolic and funereal + song of Baudelaire, so that I may fearfully pass away.”</p> + + <p> + Michael, sitting in the dim room of peacock-blue made tremendously + nocturnal by the heavy smoke of all the cigarettes, did not much care + for the turn the conversation + <a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a> + of Mr. Wilmot had taken. It had been + interesting enough, while the discussion applied directly to himself; + but all this vague effusion of learning meant very little to him. At the + same time, there was an undeniable eccentricity in a member of the Upper + Fifth sitting thus in fantastic communion with a figure completely + outside the imagination of Mr. Cray or any of his inky groundlings. + Michael began to feel a contemptuous pity for his fellows now buried in + bedclothes, hot and heavy with Ciceronian sentences and pious + preparation. He began to believe that if he wished to keep pace with + this new friendship, he must acquire something of Mr. Wilmot’s + heightened air. And however mad he might seem, there stood the books, + and there stood the cigarettes for Michael’s pleasure. It was all very + exciting, and it would not have been possible to say that before he met + Wilmot. + </p> + + <p>The friendship progressed through the rest of the autumn-term, and + Michael drifted farther away from the normal life of the school than + even his incursion into Catholicism had taken him. That phase of his + development had penetrated deeper than any other, and from time to time + Michael knew bitter repentances and made grim resolutions. From time to + time letters would arrive from Dom Cuthbert asking him down to Clere + Abbey; Mr. Viner, too, would question him narrowly about his new set of + friends, and Michael’s replies never seemed perfectly satisfactory to + the shrewd priest.</p> + + <p>It was by his costume more than by anything else that Michael expressed + at first his sense of emancipation. He took to coming to school in vivid + bow-ties that raised Mr. Cray’s most sarcastic comments.</p> + + <p> + “The sooner you go to the History Sixth, Fane, and take that loathsome + ribbon with you, the better for us all. Where did you get it? Out of the + housemaid’s trunk, one would say, by its appearance.” + <a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a> + </p> + + <p>“It happens to be a tie,” said Michael with insolence in his tone.</p> + + <p>“Oh, it happens to be a tie, does it? Well, it also happens to be an + excellent rule of St. James’ School that all boys, however clever, wear + dark suits and black ties. There also happens to be an excellent cure + for pretentious and flamboyant youths who disregard this rule. There + happens to be a play by one Euripides called the Alcestis. I suggest you + write me out the first two hundred lines of it.”</p> + + <p>Michael’s next encounter was with Mr. Viner, on the occasion of his + producing in the priest’s pipe-seasoned sitting-room a handkerchief + inordinately perfumed with an Eastern scent lately discovered by Wilmot.</p> + + <p>“Good heavens, Michael, what Piccadilly breezes are you wafting into my + respectable and sacerdotal apartment?”</p> + + <p>“I rather like scent,” explained Michael lamely.</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t, so, for goodness’ sake don’t bring any more of it in + here. Pah! Phew! It’s worse than a Lenten address at a fashionable + church. Really, you know, these people you’re in with now are not at all + good for you, Michael.”</p> + + <p>“They’re more interesting than any of the chaps at school.”</p> + + <p>“Are they? There used to be a saying in my undergraduate days, ‘Distrust + a freshman that’s always seen with third-year men.’ No doubt the + inference is often unjust, but still the proverb remains.”</p> + + <p>“Ah, but these people aren’t at school with me,” Michael observed.</p> + + <p>“No, I wish they were. They might be licked into better shape, if they + were,” retorted the priest.</p> + + <p> + “I think you’re awfully down on Wilmot just because I didn’t meet him in + some churchy set. If it comes to + <a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a> + that, I met some much bigger rotters + than him at Clere.” + </p> + + <p>“My dear Michael,” argued Father Viner, “the last place I should have + been surprized to see Master Wilmot would be in a churchy set. Don’t + forget that if religion is a saving grace, religiosity is a + constitutional weakness. Can’t you understand that a priest like myself + who has taken the average course, public-school, ‘varsity, and + theological college, meets a thundering lot of Wilmots by the way? My + dear fellow, many of my best friends, many of the priests you’ve met in + my rooms, were once upon a time every bit as decadent as the lilified + Wilmot. They took it like scarlet fever or chicken-pox, and feel all the + more secure now for having had it. Decadence, as our friend knows it, is + only a new-fangled name for green-sickness. It’s a healthy enough mental + condition for the young, but it’s confoundedly dangerous for the + grown-up. The first pretty girl that looks his way cures it in a boy, if + he’s a normal decent boy. I shouldn’t offer any objection to your + behaviour, if you were being decadent with Mark Chator or Martindale or + Rigg. Good heavens, the senior curate at the best East-end Mission, when + he was at Oxford, used to walk down the High leading a lobster on a + silver chain, and even that wasn’t original, for he stole the poor + little fantastic idea from some precious French poet. But that senior + curate is a very fine fellow to-day. No, no, this fellow Wilmot and all + his set are very bad company for you, and I do not like your being + decadent with these half-baked fancy-cakes.”</p> + + <p> + Michael, however, would not admit that Mr. Viner was right, and + frequented the dangerous peacock-blue room in Edwardes Square more than + ever. He took Chator there amongst others, and was immensely gratified + to be solemnly warned at the end of the visit that he was playing with + Hell-fire. This seemed to him an interesting and + <a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a> + original pastime, and + he hinted to solemn, simple, spluttering old Chator of more truly + Satanic mysteries. + </p> + + <p>After Christmas Michael had his way and was moved into the History + Sixth, mainly owing to the intervention of the Member for West + Kensington. The History Sixth was presided over by Mr. Kirkham, whose + nominal aim in life was the amelioration of Jacobean athletics. From the + fact that he wore an M.C.C. ribbon round his straw hat, and an Oxford + University Authentic tie, it is probable that the legend of his former + skill at cricket was justified. In reality he was much more interested + in Liberalism than anything else, and persistently read Blue Books, + under-lining the dramatic moments of Royal Commissions and chewing his + moustache through pages of dialogue hostile to his opinions. A rumour + sped round the school that he had been invited to stand for Parliament, + a rumour which Michael, on the strength of dining with the Member for + West Kensington, flatly contradicted.</p> + + <p>The History Sixth class-room was a pleasant place, the only class-room + in the school that ever saw the sun. Its windows looked out on the great + green expanse of the school ground, where during the deserted hours of + work the solitary roller moved sedately and ancient women weeded the + pitches.</p> + + <p> + There were only seven boys in the History Sixth. There was Strang, the + Captain of the Eleven, who lounged through the dull Lent term and + seemed, as he spread his bulk over the small desk, like a half-finished + statue to which still adhered a fragment of uncarved stone. There was + Terry, the Vice-Captain of the Fifteen and most dapper half-back that + ever cursed forwards. He spent his time trying to persuade Strang to + take an interest in Noughts and Crosses. There was beak-nosed Thomson + who had gained an Exhibition at Selwyn College, Cambridge, and dark-eyed + Mallock, whose father wrote columnar letters + <a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a> + to The Times. Burnaby, who + shocked Michael very much by prophesying that a certain H. G. Wells, now + writing about Martian invasions, was the coming man, and Railton, a + weedy and disconsolate recluse, made up with Michael himself the + class-list. + </p> + + <p> + There was an atmosphere of rest about the History Sixth, a leisured + dignity that contrasted very delightfully with the spectacled industry + of the Upper Fifth. To begin with, Mr. Kirkham was always ten minutes + after every other master in entering his class-room. This habit allowed + the members of his form to stroll gracefully along the corridors and + watch one by one the cavernous doors of other class-rooms absorb their + victims. Michael would often go out of his way to pass Mr. Cray’s room, + in order to see with a luxurious sense of relief the intellectual + convicts of the Upper Fifth hurrying to their prison. Many other + conventions of school-life were slackened in the History Sixth. A slight + eccentricity of attire was not considered unbecoming in what was, at any + rate in its own opinion, a faintly literary society. The room was always + open between morning and afternoon school, and it was not an uncommon + sight to see members of the form reading novels in tip-tilted chairs. + Most of the home work was set a week in advance, which did away with the + unpleasant necessity of speculating on the ‘construe’ or hurriedly + cribbing with a hastily peppered variety of mistakes the composition of + one’s neighbour. Much of the work was simple reading, and as for the + essays, by a legal fiction they were always written during the three + hours devoted to Mathematics. Tradition forbade any member of the + History Sixth to take Mathematics seriously, and Mr. Gaskell, the + overworked Mathematical master, was not inclined to break this + tradition. He used to write out a problem or two on the blackboard for + the sake of appearances, and then settle down to the correction of his + <a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a> + + more serious pupils’ work, while the History Sixth devoted themselves to + their more serious work. One of the great social earthquakes that + occasionally devastate all precedent occurred when Mr. Gaskell was away + with influenza, and his substitute, an earnest young novice, tried to + make Strang and Terry do a Quadratic Equation. + </p> + + <p>“But, sir, we never do Mathematics.”</p> + + <p> + “Well, what are you here for?” asked the novice. “What am + <i>I</i> + here for?” + </p> + + <p>“We don’t know,” replied the History Sixth in unison; and the vendetta + that followed the complaint of their behaviour to Mr. Kirkham made the + novice’s mastership a burden to him during Mr. Gaskell’s illness. + Enraged conservatism called for reprisals, until Mr. Kirkham pointed out + with a felicity acquired from long perusal of Parliamentary humour, “You + are Jacobeans, not Jacobins,” and with this mild joke quenched the feud.</p> + + <p>The effect of his transference to the History Sixth made Michael more + decadent than ever, for the atmosphere of his new class encouraged him + along the orchidaceous path pointed out by Arthur Wilmot. He was not now + decadent from any feeling of opposition to established things, but he + was decadent from conviction of the inherent rightness of such a state. + At first the phase had manifested itself in outward signs, a little + absurdly; now his actual point of view was veering into accord with the + externals.</p> + + <p> + Sunday was a day at Edwardes Square from which Michael returned almost + phosphorescent with decay. Sunday was the day on which Mr. Wilmot + gathered from all over London specimens of corruption that fascinated + Michael with their exotic and elaborate behaviour. Nothing seemed worth + while in such an assembly except a novel affectation. Everything was a + pose. It was a pose to be effeminate in speech and gesture; it was a + pose to + <a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a> + drink absinthe; it was a pose to worship the devil; it was a + pose to buy attenuated volumes of verse at an unnatural price, for the + sake of owning a sonnet that was left out in the ordinary edition; it + was a pose to admire pictures that to Michael at first were more like + wall-papers than pictures; it was really a pose to live at all. + Conversation at these delicate entertainments was like the conversations + overheard in the anterooms of private asylums. Everyone was very willowy + in his movements, whether he were smoking or drinking or looking for a + box of matches. Michael attempted to be willowy at school once, but gave + it up on being asked if he had fleas. + </p> + + <p>One of the main charms at first of these Sunday afternoon gatherings was + the way in which, one after another, every one of the guests would take + Michael aside and explain how different he (the guest) was from all the + rest of humanity. Michael was flattered, and used to become very intense + and look very soul-searching, and interject sympathetic exclamations + until he discovered that the confidant usually proceeded to another + corner of the room to entrust someone else with his innermost heart. He + became cynical after a while, especially when he found that the + principal points of difference from the rest of the world were identical + in every one of the numerous guests who sought his counsel and his + sympathy.</p> + + <p>However, he never became cynical enough to distrust the whole school of + thought and admit that Father Viner’s contempt was justifiable. If ever + he had any doubts, he was consoled by assuring himself that at any rate + these new friends were very artistic, and how important it was to be + artistic no one could realize who was not at school.</p> + + <p> + Under the pressure of his insistent temperament, Michael found his + collection of statuettes and ecclesiastical bric-à-brac very depressing. + As a youth of the Florentine Renaissance + <a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a> + he could not congratulate + himself upon his room, which was much too much unlike either a Carpaccio + interior or an Aubrey Beardsley bedroom. Between these two his ambition + wavered. + </p> + + <p> + One by one the statuettes were moved to the top of a wardrobe where for + a while they huddled, a dusty and devoted crowd, until one by one they + met martyrdom at the hands of the housemaid. In their place appeared + Della Robbia reliefs and terra-cotta statuettes of this or that famous + Greek youth. The muscular and tearful pictures of Guido Reni, the bland + insipidities of Bouguereau soon followed the statuettes, meeting a + comparable martyrdom by being hung in the servants’ bedroom. The walls + of Michael’s room were papered with a brown paper, which was intended to + be very artistic, but was really merely sad. It was lightened, however, + by various daring pictures in black and red that after only a very short + regard really did take shape as scenes of Montmartre. There were + landscapes of the Sussex downs, with a slight atmosphere of Japan and + landscapes of Japan that were not at all like Japan, but none the less + beautiful for that. The books of devotion were banished to the company + of superannuated Latin and Greek textbooks on the lower shelf of a + cupboard in the morning-room, whose upper shelf was stacked with tinned + fruits. Incense was still burnt, not as once to induce prayers to + ascend, but to stupefy Michael with scent and warmth into an imitation + of a drug-taker’s listless paradise. This condition was accentuated by + erecting over the head of his bed a canopy of faded green satin, which + gave him acute æsthetic pleasure, until one night it collapsed upon him + in the middle of the night. Every piece of upholstery in the room was + covered with art linens that with the marching years had ousted the art + muslins of Michael’s childhood. He also covered with squares of the same + material the gas brackets, pushing them + <a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a> + back against the wall and + relying for light upon candles only. Notwithstanding Wilmot’s talk about + literature, the influence of Wilmot’s friends was too strong, and + Michael could not resist the deckle-edges of negligible poets. As these + were expensive, Michael’s library lacked scope, and he himself, + reflecting his pastime, came to believe in the bitterness and sweetness + and bitter-sweetness of the plaintive sinners who printed so elegantly + on such permanent paper the versification of their irregularity. + </p> + + <p> + Irregularity was now being subjected to Michael’s process of idealistic + alchemy, and since his conception of irregularity was essentially + romantic, and since he shrank from sentiment, he was able to save + himself, when presently all this decoration fell to pieces, and revealed + naked unpleasantness. Nothing in his present phase had yet moved him so + actually as his brief encounter with Brother Aloysius. That glimpse of a + fearful and vital underworld had been to him romantic without trappings; + it was a glimpse into an underworld to which one day he might descend, + since it asked no sighing for the vanished joys of the past, for the + rose-gardens of Rome. He began to play with the idea of departing + suddenly from his present life and entering the spectral reality of the + Seven Sisters Road, treading whatever raffish raddled pavement knew the + hollow steps of a city’s prowlers. Going home on Sunday nights from the + perfumed house in Edwardes Square and passing quickly and apprehensively + figures that materialized in a circle of lamplight, he would contrast + their existence with what remained in his senses of stale + cigarette-smoke and self-conscious airs and attitudes. Yet the very + picture he conjured of the possibility that haunted him made him the + more anxious to substitute for the stark descent to hell the Sicilian or + Satanic affectations of the luxurious mimes who postured against a + background of art. Much of the talk at Edwardes Square + <a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a> + concerned itself + with the pastoral side of school-life, and Michael found himself being + cross-questioned by elderly faun-like men who had a conception of an + English public-school that was more Oriental than correct. Michael + vainly tried to dispel these illusions, which made him resentful and for + the moment crudely normal. He felt towards them much as he felt towards + Garrod’s attempt to cure his ignorance at Clere. These were excellent + fellows from whom to accept a cigarette or sometimes even an invitation + to lunch at a Soho restaurant, but when they presumed upon his + condescension and dared to include in their tainted outlook himself as a + personal factor, Michael shrivelled with a virginal disdain. + </p> + + <p>Unreasonably to the others, Michael did not object very much to Wilmot’s + oracular addresses on the delights of youth. He felt that so much of + Wilmot was in the mere word, and he admired so frankly his embroideries + of any subject, and above all he liked Wilmot so much personally, that + he listened to him, and was even so far influenced by him as to try to + read into the commonplace of a summer term all that Wilmot would + suggest.</p> + + <p>“O fortunate shepherd, to whom will you pipe to-morrow, or what slim and + agile companion will you crown for his prowess? O lucky youth, able to + drowse in the tempered sunlight that the elm-trees give, while your + friend splendidly cool in his white flannels bats and bowls for your + delight!”</p> + + <p>“But I haven’t got any particular friend that I can watch,” objected + Michael.</p> + + <p>“One day you will terribly regret the privileges of your pastoral life.”</p> + + <p>“Do you really think I am not getting all I can out of school?” demanded + Michael.</p> + + <p>“I’m sure you’re not,” said Wilmot.</p> + + <p> + Michael began to trouble himself over Wilmot’s warning, + <a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a> + and also he + began to look back with sentimental regret to what had really been his + happiest time, his friendship with Alan. Pride kept him from approaching + Alan with nothing to offer for nearly two years’ indifference. There had + been no quarrel. They had merely gradually drifted apart, yet it was + with a deep pang of remorse that one day he realized in passing the + dusty Upper Fifth that Alan was now wrestling with that imprisonment. + Michael racked his brains to think of some way by which he and Alan + might come together in their old amity, their perfect fellowship. He + sought some way that would make it natural and inevitable, but no way + presented itself. He could, so deep was his sudden regret, have stifled + his own pride and deliberately invited Alan to be friends; he would even + have risked a repulse; but with the renewal of his longing for the + friendship came a renewal of the old sympathy and utter comprehension of + Alan’s most secret moods, and Michael realized that his old friend would + be too shy to accept this strange, inexplicable revival, unless it were + renewed, as it was begun, by careless, artless intercourse. + </p> + + <p> + The immediate result of this looking back to an earlier period was to + arouse in Michael an interest in boys younger than himself, and through + his idealism to endow them with a conscious joy of life which he fell to + envying. He had a desire to warn them of the enchantment under whose + benign and dulcet influence they lived, to warn them that soon the + lovely spell would be broken, and bid them make the most of their + stripling time. Continually he was seeing boys in the lower forms whose + friendship blooming like two flowers on a spray shed a fragrance so + poignant that tears came springing to his eyes. He began to imagine + himself very old, to feel that by some unkind gift of temperament he had + nothing left to live for. It chanced that summer term the History Sixth + learned for repetition + <a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a> + the Odes of Keats, and in the Ode on a Grecian + Urn Michael found the expression of his mood: + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + + <i>For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!</i> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>These lines were learnt in June, and for Michael they enshrined + immortally his yearning. Never had the fugitive summer glided so fast, + since never before had he sat in contemplation of its flight. Until this + moment he had been one with the season’s joy like a bird or a sunbeam, + but now for the first time he had the opportunity of regarding the empty + field during the hours of school, and of populating it with the merry + ghosts of the year with Caryll. All through schooltime the + mowing-machine hummed its low harmony of perishable minutes and wasted + sunlight. The green field was scattered with the wickets of games in + progress that stood luminously in golden trios, so brightly did the + sunny weather enhance their wood. The scoring-board of the principal + match stared like a stopped clock with the record of the last breathless + run, and as if to mock the stillness from a distant corner came a sound + of batting, where at the nets the two professionals practised idly. A + bluebottle buzzed upon the window-pane; pigeons flapped from pinnacle to + pinnacle of the chapel; sparrows cheeped on a persistent note; pens + scratched paper; Mr. Kirkham turned a Blue Book’s page at regular + intervals.</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: 0em;"> + <i>Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed</i> + </span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"> + <i>Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;</i> + </span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: 0em;"> + <i>And, happy melodist, unwearied</i> + </span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"> + <i>For ever piping songs for ever new.</i> + </span> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p> + Thus for him would the trancèd scene for ever survive. + <a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a> + </p> + + <p>The History Sixth were for the purposes of cricket linked to the + Classical Lower Sixth, but Michael did not play that term. Instead, a + strayed reveller, he would move from game to game of the Junior School, + hearing the shrill encouragement and pondering the rose-red agility of a + Classical lower form, in triumph over minor Moderns. Michael was + continually trying to perceive successors to himself and Alan, and he + would often enter into shy colloquy with the juniors, who were awed by + his solemn smile, and shuffled uneasily from leg to leg.</p> + + <p>Two boys whom Michael finally determined should stand as types of Alan + and him gradually emerged from the white throng of Lower School cricket. + One of them was indeed very like Alan, and had the same freckled smile. + With this pair Michael became intimate, as one becomes intimate with two + puppies. He would pet and scold them, encourage them to be successful in + their sport, and rebuke them for failure. They perhaps found him + entertaining, and were certainly proud to be seen in conversation with + him, for though Michael himself was not an athletic hero, he was the + companion of heroes, and round him clung the shining mirage of their + immortality.</p> + + <p>Then one day, unknown to Michael, these two boys became involved in a + scandal; the inquisition of a great public school pinned them down + desperately struggling, miserably afraid; the rumour of their expulsion + went callously round the gossiping ranks of their fellows. Michael was + informed of their disgrace by dark-eyed Mallock whose father wrote + columnar letters to The Times. Michael said bitter things to the + complacent Mallock and offered with serious want of dignity for a member + of the leisurely and cultivated History Sixth, to punch Mallock’s damned + head.</p> + + <p> + Mallock said sneeringly that he supposed Michael sympathized with the + little beasts. Michael replied that he + <a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a> + merely sympathized with them + because he was profoundly sure that it was a pack of lies. + </p> + + <p>“You’d better go and tell the Old Man that, because they say he’s going + to expel them to-day.”</p> + + <p>Michael turned pale with fury.</p> + + <p>“I damned well will go, and when I come back I’ll ram you upside down in + the Tuck Shop butter-tub.”</p> + + <p>Mallock flushed under the ignominy of this threat, and muttered his + conviction that Michael was talking through his hat. Just then Mr. + Kirkham entered the class-room, and Michael immediately went up to him + and asked if he might go and speak to the Headmaster.</p> + + <p>Mr. Kirkham stared with amazement, and his voice, which always seemed to + hesitate whether it should come out through his mouth or his nose, on + this occasion never came out at all, but stayed in the roof of Mr. + Kirkham’s mouth.</p> + + <p>“Can I, sir?” Michael repeated.</p> + + <p>“I suppose you can,” said Mr. Kirkham.</p> + + <p>The class followed Michael’s exit with wide eyes; even the phlegmatic + Strang was so deeply moved that he sat upright in his chair and tapped + his head to indicate midsummer madness.</p> + + <p>Outside in the echoing corridor, where the plaster casts looked coldly + down, Michael wrestled with his leaping heart, forcing it into + tranquillity so that he could grapple with the situation he had created + for himself. By the Laocoön he paused. Immediately beyond was the sombre + doorway of the Head’s room. As he paused on the threshold two ridiculous + thoughts came to him—that Lessing’s Laocoön was one of the set books + for the English Literature prize, and that he would rather be struggling + in the coils of that huge stone snake than standing thus invertebrate + before this portentous door.</p> + + <p> + Then Michael tapped. There was no answer but a + <a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a> + dull buzz of voices. + Again Michael tapped and, beating down his heart, turned the handle that + seemed as he held it to swell to pumpkin size in his grasp. Slowly he + pushed the door before him, expecting to hear a bellowed summons to + appear, and wondering whether he could escape unknown to his class-room + if his nerve failed him even now. Then he heard the sound of tears, and + indignation drove him onwards, drove him so urgently that actually he + slammed the great door behind him, and made the intent company aware of + his presence. + </p> + + <p> + “What do + <i>you</i> + want?” shouted Dr. Brownjohn. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” + </p> + + <p>“I want to speak to you, sir.” The words actually seemed to come from + his mouth winged with flames, such a volcano was Michael now.</p> + + <p>“I’m busy. Go outside and wait,” roared the Headmaster.</p> + + <p>Michael paused to regard the scene—the two boys sobbing with painful + regular intake of breath, oblivious of him; the witnesses, a sheepish + crew; the school-porter waiting for his prey; old Mr. Caryll coughing + nervously and apparently on the verge of tears himself; the odious Paul + Pry of a Secretary nibbling his pen; and in the background other masters + waiting with favourable or damning testimony.</p> + + <p>The drama of gloating authority shook Michael to the very foundation of + his being, and he came rapidly into the middle of the room, came right + up to the Headmaster, until he felt engulfed in the black silk gown, and + at last said slowly and with simple conviction:</p> + + <p>“I think you’re all making a mistake.”</p> + + <p> + When he had spoken Michael could have kicked himself for not shouting + furiously the torrid denunciations which had come surging up for + utterance. Then he immediately began to talk again, to his own great + surprize, calmly and very reasonably. + <a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I know these kids—these two boys, I mean—quite well. It’s impossible + for any of this to be true. I’ve seen them a lot this term—practically + every day. Really, sir, you’ll make a terrible mistake if you expel + them. They’re awfully decent little chaps. They are really, sir. Of + course they’re too frightened now to say anything for themselves. It’s + not fair for everybody to be set at them like this.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked despairingly at the masters assembled.</p> + + <p>“And these other boys who’ve been brought in to tell what they know. + Why, they’re frightened too. They’d say anything. Why don’t you, why + don’t you——”</p> + + <p>Michael looked round in despair, stammered, broke down, and then to his + own eternal chagrin burst into tears. He moved hastily over to the + window, striving to pull himself together, seeing through an + overpowering blur the great green field in the garish sunlight. Yet his + tears, shameful to him, may have turned the scale, for one by one the + masters came forward with eager testimony of good; and with every word + of praise the tears rushed faster and faster to Michael’s eyes. Then he + heard old Caryll’s rasping cough and broken benignant sentences, which + with all their memories lulled his emotion to quietude again.</p> + + <p>“Hope you’ll bring it in non probatum, Headmaster”—cough—cough—“good + boys both”—cough—cough—“sure it’s a mistake—Fane’s a good boy + too—idle young rascal—but a good heart”—cough—cough—“had him under + me for a year—know him well——”</p> + + <p>Dr. Brownjohn, with a most voluminous wave, dismissed the matter. + Everyone, even the Paul Pry of a Secretary, went out of the room, and as + the door closed Michael heard Mr. Caryll addressing the victims.</p> + + <p>“Now then, don’t cry any more, you young boobies.”</p> + + <p> + Michael’s thoughts followed them upstairs to the jolly + <a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a> + class-room, and + he almost smiled at the imagination of Mr. Caryll’s entrance and the + multitudinous jokes that would demonstrate his relief at his pupils’ + rescue. Michael recovered from his dream to find the Headmaster speaking + to him in his most rumbling bass. + </p> + + <p>“I don’t know why I allowed you to interfere in this disgraceful affair, + boy. Um?”</p> + + <p>“No, sir,” Michael agreed.</p> + + <p>“But since you are here, I will take the opportunity of warning you that + the company you keep is very vile.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked apprehensive.</p> + + <p>“If you think nothing is known of your habits out of school, you are + much mistaken. I will not have any boy at my school frequenting the + house of that deboshed nincompoop Wilmot.”</p> + + <p>Dr. Brownjohn’s voice was now so deep that it vibrated in the pit of + Michael’s stomach like the diapason of the school organ.</p> + + <p>“Give up that detestable association of mental impostors and be a boy + again. You have disappointed me during the whole of your career; but + you’re a winning boy. Um? Go back to your work.”</p> + + <p>Michael left the august room with resolves swaying in his brain, + wondering what he could do to repay the Old Man. It was too late to take + a very high place in the summer examinations. Yet somehow, so passionate + was his gratitude, he managed to come out third.</p> + + <p>Michael never told his mother about his adventure, but in the reaction + against Wilmot and all that partook of decadence, and in his pleasure at + having done something, however clumsily, he felt a great wish to include + his mother in his emotion of universal love.</p> + + <p>“Where are we going these holidays?” he asked.</p> + + <p> + “I thought perhaps you’d like to stay at your monastery again,” said + Mrs. Fane. “I was thinking of going abroad.” + <a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael’s face fell, and his mother was solicitously penitent.</p> + + <p>“My dearest boy, I never dreamed you would want to be with me. You’ve + always gone out on Sundays.”</p> + + <p>“I know, I’m sorry, I won’t again,” Michael assured her.</p> + + <p>“And I’ve made my arrangements now. I wish I’d known. But why shouldn’t + you go and see Stella? It seems a pity that you and she should grow up + so much apart.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I will, if you like,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Dearest boy, what has happened to you? You are so agreeable,” exclaimed + Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>In the end it was arranged that Michael should accompany Mr. Viner on + his holiday in France, and afterwards stay with Stella with a family at + Compiègne for the rest of the time. Michael went to see his mother off + at Charing Cross before he joined Mr. Viner.</p> + + <p>“Darling Michael,” she murmured as the train began to move slowly + forward. “You’re looking so well and happy—just like you were two years + ago. Just like——”</p> + + <p> + The rest of the comparison was lost in the noise of the speeding train. + <a name="page_308" id="page_308"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_X_Stella" id="Chapter_X_Stella"></a> + Chapter X: + <i>Stella</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ICHAEL spent a charming fortnight with Father Viner in Amiens, Chartres + and Rouen. The early Masses to which they went along the cool, empty + streets of the morning, and the shadowy, candle-lit Benedictions from + which they came home through the deepening dusk gave to Michael at least + a profound hope, if not the astonishing faith of his first religious + experience. Sitting with the priest at the open window of their inn, + while down below the footsteps of the wayfarers were pattering like + leaves, Michael recaptured some of that emotion of universal love which + with sacramental force had filled his heart during the wonder of + transition from boyhood to adolescence. He did not wish to know more + about these people than could be told by the sound of their progress so + light, so casual, so essentially becoming to the sapphirine small world + in which they hurried to and fro. The passion of hope overwhelmed + Michael’s imagination with a beauty that was perfectly expressed by the + unseen busy populations of a city’s waning twilight. Love, birth, death, + greed, ambition, all humanity’s stress of thought and effort, were + merged in a murmurous contentment of footfalls and faint-heard voices. + Michael supposed that somehow to God the universe must sound much as + this tall street of Rouen sounded now to him at his inn window, and he + realized for the first time how God must love the world. Later, the + twilight and voices and footfalls would fade together into night, and + through long star-scattered silences Michael would brood with + <a name="page_309" id="page_309"></a> + a rapture + that became more than hope, if less than faith with restless, fiery + heart. Then clocks would strike sonorously; the golden window-panes + would waver and expire; Mr. Viner would tap his pipe upon the sill; and + Michael and he would follow their own great shadows up into bedrooms + noisy in the night-wind and prophetic of sleep’s immense freedom, until + with the slanting beams of dawn Michael would wake and at Mass time seek + to enchain with prayers indomitable dreams. + </p> + + <p>The gravity of Michael’s demeanour suited the grey town in which he + sojourned, and though Mr. Viner used to teaze him about his saintly + exterior, the priest seemed to enjoy his company.</p> + + <p>“But don’t look so solemn when you meet your sister, or she’ll think + you’re sighing for a niche in Chartres Cathedral, which for a young lady + emancipated from Germany would be a most distressing thought.”</p> + + <p>“I’m enjoying myself,” said Michael earnestly.</p> + + <p>“My dear old chap, I’m not questioning that for a moment, and personally + I find your attitude consorts very admirably with the mood in which + these northern towns of France always throw me,” said Mr. Viner.</p> + + <p> + The fortnight came to an end, and to commemorate this chastening + interlude of a confidence and a calm whose impermanence Michael half + dreaded, half desired, he bought a pair of old candlesticks for the + Notting Dale Mission. Michael derived a tremendous consolation from this + purchase, for he felt that, even if in the future he should be powerless + to revive this healing time, its austere hours would be immortalized, + mirrored somehow in the candlesticks’ bases as durably as if engraved + upon a Grecian urn. There was in this impulse nothing more sentimental + than in his erection last year of the small cairn to celebrate a + fleeting moment of faith on the Berkshire downs. + <a name="page_310" id="page_310"></a> + </p> + + <p>Stella was already settled in the bosom of the French family when + Michael reached Compiègne, and as he drove towards the Pension he began + for the first time to wonder what his sister would be like after these + two years. He was inclined to suppose that she would be a problem, and + he already felt qualms about the behaviour of her projected suddenly + like this from Germany into an atmosphere of romance. For Michael, + France always stood out as typically romantic to his fancy. Spain and + Italy were not within his realization as yet, and Germany he conceived + of as a series of towns filled with the noise of piano-scales and hoarse + gutturals. He hoped that Stella was not even now plunged into a girlish + love-affair with one of the idle young Frenchmen who haunted so + amorously the sunshine of this gay land. He even began to rehearse, as + his carriage jolted along the cobbled embankment of the Oise, a + particularly scathing scene in which he coldly denounced the importunate + lover, while Stella stood abashed by fraternal indignation. Then he + reflected that after all Stella was only fifteen and, as he remembered + her, too much wrapped up in a zest for public appreciation to be very + susceptible of private admiration. Moreover, he knew that most of her + time was occupied by piano-practice. An emotion of pride in his + accomplished sister displaced the pessimism of his first thoughts. He + took pleasure in the imagination of her swaying the whole Pension by her + miraculous execution, and he began to build up the picture of his + entrance upon the last crashing chords of a sonata, when after the + applause had ceased he would modestly step forward as the brother of + this paragon.</p> + + <p> + The carriage was now bowling comfortably along a wide tree-shaded avenue + bordered on either side by stretches of greenery which were dappled with + children and nursemaids and sedate little girls with bobbing pigtails. + Michael wondered if Stella was making a discreet promenade with + <a name="page_311" id="page_311"></a> + the + ladies of the family, half hoped she was, that he might reach the + Pension before her and gracefully welcome her, as she, somewhat + flustered by being late for his arrival, hurried up the front-door + steps. Then, just as he was wondering whether there would or would not + be front-door steps to the Pension, the cab drew up by a house with a + green verandah and front-garden geranium-dyed to right and left of a + vivid gravel path. Michael perceived, with a certain disapproval, that + the verandah sheltered various ladies in wicker chairs. He disliked the + notion of carrying up his bag in the range of their cool criticism, nor + did he relish the conversation that would have to be embarked upon with + the neat maid already hurrying to meet him. But most contrary to his + preconceived idea of arrival was the affectionate ambush laid for him by + Stella just when he was trying to remember whether ‘chambre’ were + masculine or feminine. Yet, even as he felt Stella’s dewy lips on his, + and her slim fingers round his neck, he reproached himself for his silly + shyness, although he could only say: + </p> + + <p>“Hullo, look out for my collar.”</p> + + <p>Stella laughed ripplingly.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Michael,” she cried, “I’m most frightfully glad to see you, you + darling old Michael.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked much alarmed at the amazing facility of her affectionate + greeting, and vaguely thought how much easier existence must be to a + girl who never seemed to be hampered by any feeling of what people + within earshot would think of her. Yet almost immediately Stella herself + relapsed into shyness at the prospect of introducing Michael to the + family, and it was only the perfectly accomplished courtesy of Madame + Regnier which saved Michael from summarily making up his mind that these + holidays were going to be a most ghastly failure.</p> + + <p> + The business of unpacking composed his feelings slightly, + <a name="page_312" id="page_312"></a> + and a tap at + his door, followed by Stella’s silvery demand to come in, gave him a + thrill of companionship. He suddenly realized, too, that he and his + sister had corresponded frequently during their absence, and that this + queer shyness at meeting her in person was really absurd. Stella, + wandering round the room with his ties on her arm, gave Michael real + pleasure, and she for her part seemed highly delighted at the privilege + of superintending his unpacking. + </p> + + <p>He noted with a sentimental fondness that she still hummed, and he was + very much impressed by the flowers which she had arranged in the cool + corners of the pleasant room. On her appearance, too, as she hung over + the rail of his bed chatting to him gaily, he congratulated himself. He + liked the big apple-green bows in her chestnut hair; he liked her slim + white hands and large eyes; and he wondered if her smile were like his, + and hoped it was, since it was certainly very subtle and attractive.</p> + + <p>“What sort of people hang out in this place?” he asked.</p> + + <p>“Oh, nice people,” Stella assured him. “Madame Regnier is a darling, and + she loves my playing, and Monsieur is fearfully nice, with a grey beard. + We always play billiards in the evening, and drink cassis. It’s lovely. + There are three darling old ladies, widows I think. They sit and listen + to me playing, and when I’ve finished pay me all sorts of compliments, + which sound so pretty in French. One of them said I was ‘ravissante.’”</p> + + <p>“Are there any kids?” asked Michael.</p> + + <p>Stella said there were no kids, and Michael sighed his relief.</p> + + <p>“Do you practise much?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, I’m having a holiday, I only practise three hours a day.”</p> + + <p> + “How much?” asked Michael. “Good Lord, do you call that a holiday?” + <a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Why, you silly old thing, of course it is,” rippled Stella.</p> + + <p>Presently it was time for déjeuner, and they sat down to eat in a room, + of shaded sunlight, watching the green jalousies that glowed like + beryls, and listening to a canary’s song. Michael was introduced to + Madame Graves, Madame Lamarque and Madame Charpentier, the three old + widows who lived at the Pension, and who all looked strangely alike, + with their faces and hands of aged ivory and their ruffles and + wristbands starched to the semblance of fretted white coral. They ate + mincingly in contrast to M. Regnier who, guarded by a very large napkin, + pitchforked his food into his mouth with noisy recklessness. Later in + the mellow August afternoon Michael and he walked solemnly round the + town together, and Michael wondered if he had ever before raised his hat + so many times.</p> + + <p>After dinner, when the coffee and cassis had been drunk, Madame Regnier + invited Stella to play to them. Dusk was falling in the florid French + drawing-room, but so rich was the approach of darkness that no lamps + brooded with rosy orbs, and only a lighted candle on either side of + Stella stabbed the gloom in which the listeners leaned quietly back + against the tropic tapestries of their chairs, without trying to occupy + themselves with books or crochet-work.</p> + + <p> + Michael sat by the scented window, watching the stars twinkle, it almost + seemed, in tune with the vibrant melodies that Stella rang out. In the + bewitching candlelight the keyboard trembled and shimmered like water to + a low wind. Deep in the shadow the three old ladies sat in a waxen + ecstasy, so still that Michael wondered whether they were alive. He did + not know whose tunes they were that Stella played; he did not know what + dreams they wove for the old ladies, whether of spangled opera-house or + ball; he did not care, being content to watch the lissome hands that + from time to time went dancing away + <a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a> + on either side from the curve of + Stella’s straight back, whether to play with raindrops in the treble or + marshal thunders from the bass. The candlelight sprayed her flowing + chestnut hair with a golden mist that might have been an aureole over + which the apple-green bows floated unsubstantial like amazing moths. + </p> + + <p>Michael continually tried to shape his ideas to the inspiration of the + music, but every image that rose battling for expression lost itself in + a peerless stupefaction.</p> + + <p>Then suddenly Stella stopped playing, and the enchantment was dispelled + by murmurous praise and entering lamplight. Stella, slim as a fountain, + stood upright in the centre of the drawing-room and, like a fountain, + swayed now this way, now that, to catch the compliments so dear to her. + Michael wished the three old ladies would not appeal to him to endorse + their so perfectly phrased enthusiasm, and grew very conscious of the + gradual decline of ‘oui’ into ‘wee’ as he supported their laudation. He + was glad when M. Regnier proposed a game of billiards, and glad to see + that Stella could romp, romp so heartily indeed that once or twice he + had to check a whispered rebuke.</p> + + <p>But later on when he said good night to her outside his bedroom, he had + an impulse to hug her close for the unimaginable artistry of this little + sister.</p> + + <p> + Michael and Stella went out next day to explore the forest of Compiègne. + They wandered away from the geometrical forest roads into high glades + and noble chases; they speculated upon the whereabouts of the wild-boars + that were hunted often, and therefore really did exist; they lay deep in + the bracken utterly remote in the ardent emerald light, utterly quiet + save for the thrum of insects rising and falling. In this intimate + seclusion Michael found it easy enough to talk to Stella. Somehow her + face, magnified by the proportions of the surrounding + <a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a> + vegetation, + scarcely seemed to belong to her, and Michael had a sensation of a fairy + fellowship, as he felt himself being absorbed into her wide and + strangely magical eyes. Seen like this they were as overwhelmingly + beautiful as two flowers, holding mysteries of colour and form that + could never be revealed save thus in an abandonment of contemplation. + </p> + + <p>“Why do you stare at me, Michael?” she asked.</p> + + <p>“Because I think it’s funny to realize that you and I are as nearly as + it’s possible to be the same person, and yet we’re as different from + each other as we are from the rest of people. I wonder, if you didn’t + know I was your brother, and I didn’t know you were my sister, if we + should have a sort of—what’s the word?—intuition about it? For + instance, you can play the piano, and I can’t even understand the + feeling of being able to play the piano. I wish we knew our father. It + must be interesting to have a father and a mother, and see what part of + one comes from each.”</p> + + <p>“I always think father and mother weren’t married,” said Stella.</p> + + <p>Michael blushed hotly, taken utterly aback.</p> + + <p>“I say, my dear girl, don’t say things like that. That’s a frightful + thing to say.”</p> + + <p>“Why?”</p> + + <p>“Why? Why, because people would be horrified to hear a little girl + talking like that,” Michael explained.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I thought you meant they’d be shocked to think of people not being + married.”</p> + + <p>“I say, really, you know, Stella, you ought to be careful. I wouldn’t + have thought you even knew that people sometimes—very seldom, though, + mind—don’t get married.”</p> + + <p> + “You funny old boy,” rippled Stella. “You must think I’m a sort of doll + just wound up to play the piano. If I didn’t know that much after going + to Germany, why—oh, Michael, I do think you’re funny.” + <a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I was afraid these beastly foreigners would spoil you,” muttered + Michael.</p> + + <p>“It’s not the foreigners. It’s myself.”</p> + + <p>“Stella!”</p> + + <p>“Well, I’m fifteen and a half.”</p> + + <p>“I thought girls were innocent,” said Michael with disillusion in his + tone.</p> + + <p>“Girls grow older quicker than boys.”</p> + + <p>“But I mean always innocent,” persisted Michael. “I don’t mean all + girls, of course. But—well—a girl like you.”</p> + + <p>“Very innocent girls are usually very stupid girls,” Stella asserted.</p> + + <p>Michael made a resolution to watch his sister’s behaviour when she came + back to London next year to make her first public appearance at a + concert. For the moment, feeling overmatched, he changed the trend of + his reproof.</p> + + <p>“Well, even if you do talk about people not being married, I think it’s + rotten to talk about mother like that.”</p> + + <p>“You stupid old thing, as if I should do it with anyone but you, and I + only talked about her to you because you look so sort of cosy and + confidential in these ferns.”</p> + + <p>“They’re not ferns—they’re bracken. If I thought such a thing was + possible,” declared Michael, “I believe I’d go mad. I don’t think I + could ever again speak to anybody I knew.”</p> + + <p>“Why not, if they didn’t know?”</p> + + <p>“How like a girl! Stella, you make me feel uncomfortable, you do + really.”</p> + + <p>Stella stretched her full length in the luxurious greenery.</p> + + <p>“Well, mother never seems unhappy.”</p> + + <p>“Exactly,” said Michael eagerly. “Therefore, what you think can’t + possibly be true. If it were, she’d always look miserable.”</p> + + <p> + “Well, then who + <i>was</i> + our father?” + <a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Don’t ask me,” said Michael gloomily. “I believe he’s in prison—or + perhaps he’s in an asylum, or deformed.”</p> + + <p>Stella shuddered.</p> + + <p>“Michael, what a perfectly horrible idea. Deformed!”</p> + + <p>“Well, wouldn’t you sooner he were deformed than that you were—than + that—than the other idea?” Michael stammered.</p> + + <p>“No, I wouldn’t,” Stella cried. “I’d much, much, much rather that mother + was never married.”</p> + + <p>Michael tried to drag his mind towards the comprehension of this + unnatural sentiment, but the longer he regarded it the worse it seemed, + and with intense irony he observed to Stella:</p> + + <p>“I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you’re in love.”</p> + + <p>“I’m not in love just at the moment,” said Stella blandly.</p> + + <p>“Do you mean to say you have been in love?”</p> + + <p>“A good deal,” she admitted.</p> + + <p>Michael leaped to his feet, and looked down on her recumbent in the + bracken.</p> + + <p>“But only in a stupid schoolgirly way?” he gasped.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I suppose it was,” Stella paused. “But it was fearfully thrilling + all the same—especially in duets.”</p> + + <p>“Duets?”</p> + + <p>“I used to read ahead, and watch where our hands would come together, + and then the notes used to get quite slippery with excitement.”</p> + + <p>“Look here,” Michael demanded, drawing himself up, “are you trying to be + funny?”</p> + + <p>“No,” Stella declared, rising to confront Michael. “He was one of my + masters. He was only about thirty, and he was killed in Switzerland by + an avalanche.”</p> + + <p> + Michael was staggered by the confession of this shocking and precocious + child, as one after another his chimeras rose up to leer at him + triumphantly. + <a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a> + </p> + + <p>“And did he make love to you? Did he try to kiss you?” Michael choked + out.</p> + + <p>“Oh, no,” said Stella. “That would have spoilt it all.”</p> + + <p>Michael sighed under a faint lightening of his load, and Stella came up + to him engagingly to slip her arm into his.</p> + + <p>“Don’t be angry with me, Michael, because I have wanted so dreadfully to + be great friends with you and tell you all my secrets. I want to tell + you what I think about when I’m playing; and, Michael, you oughtn’t to + be angry with me, because you were simply just made to be told secrets. + That’s why I played so well last night. I was telling you a secret all + the time.”</p> + + <p>“Do you know what it is, Stella?” said Michael, with a certain awe in + his voice. “I believe our father is in an asylum, and I believe you and + I are both mad—not raving mad, of course—but slightly mad.”</p> + + <p>“All geniuses are,” said Stella earnestly.</p> + + <p>“But we aren’t geniuses.”</p> + + <p>“I am,” murmured Stella in a strangely quiet little voice that sounded + in Michael’s ears like the song of a furtive melodious bird.</p> + + <p>“Are you?” he whispered, half frightened by this assertion, delivered + under huge overarching trees in the burning silence of the forest. “Who + told you so?”</p> + + <p>“I told myself so. And when I tell myself something very solemnly, I + can’t be anything but myself, and I must be speaking the truth.”</p> + + <p>“But even if you’re a genius—and I suppose you might be—I’m not a + genius. I’m clever, but I’m not a genius.”</p> + + <p> + “No, but you’re the nearest person to being me, and if you’re not a + genius, I think you can understand. Oh, Michael,” Stella cried, clasping + his arm to her heart, “you do understand, because you never laughed + when + <a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a> + I told you I was a genius. I’ve told lots of girl-friends, and + they laugh and say I’m conceited.” + </p> + + <p>“Well, you are,” said Michael, feeling bound not to lose the opportunity + of impressing Stella with disapproval as well as comprehension.</p> + + <p>“I know I am. But I must be to go on being myself. Oh, you darling + brother, you do understand me. I’ve longed for someone to understand me. + Mother’s only proud of me.”</p> + + <p>“I’m not at all proud of you,” said Michael crushingly.</p> + + <p>“I don’t want you to be. If you were proud of me, you’d think I belonged + to you, and I don’t ever want to belong to anybody.”</p> + + <p>“I shouldn’t think you ever would,” said Michael encouragingly, as they + paced the sensuous mossy path in a rapture of avowals. “I should think + you’d frighten anybody except me. But why do you fall in love, then?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, because I want to make people die with despair.”</p> + + <p>“Great Scott, you are an unearthly kid.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I’m glad I’m unearthly,” said Stella. “I’d like to be a sort of + Undine. I think I am. I don’t think I’ve got a soul, because when I play + I go rushing out into the darkness to look for my soul, and the better I + play the nearer I get.”</p> + + <p>Michael stopped beneath an oak-tree and surveyed this extraordinary + sister of his.</p> + + <p>“Well, I always thought I was a mystic, but, good Lord, you’re fifty + times as much of a mystic as I am,” he exclaimed with depressed + conviction.</p> + + <p>Suddenly Stella gave a loud scream.</p> + + <p>“What on earth are you yelling at?” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, Michael, look—a most enormous animal. Oh, look, oh, let me get up + a tree. Oh, help me up. Push me up this tree.” + <a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a> + </p> + + <p>“It’s a wild-boar,” declared Michael in a tone of astonished interest.</p> + + <p>Stella screamed louder than ever and clung to Michael, sobbing. The + boar, however, went on its way, routing among the herbage.</p> + + <p>“Well, you may be a genius,” said Michael, “but you’re an awful little + funk.”</p> + + <p>“But I was frightened.”</p> + + <p>“Wild-boars aren’t dangerous except when they’re being hunted,” Michael + asserted positively.</p> + + <p> + Stella soon became calm under the influence of her brother’s equanimity. + Arm-in-arm they sauntered back towards Compiègne, and so for a month of + serene weather they sauntered every day, and every day Michael pondered + more and more deeply the mystery of woman. He was sorry to say good-bye + to Stella when she went back to Germany, and longed for the breathless + hour of her first concert, wishful that all his life he might stand + between her and the world, the blundering wild-boar of a world. + <a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XI_Action_and_Reaction" id="Chapter_XI_Action_and_Reaction"></a> + Chapter XI: + <i>Action and Reaction</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">A</span> + LMOST before the confusion of a new term had subsided, Michael put his + name down to play football again, and it was something in the nature of + an occasion when in the first sweltering Middle-side game he scored six + tries. Already his contemporaries had forgotten that he was once a fleet + and promising three-quarter, so that his resurrection was regarded as an + authentic apparition, startling in its unexpectedness. Michael was the + only person not much surprized when he was invited by Abercrombie to + play as substitute for one of the Seniors absent from a Big-side trial. + Yet even Michael was surprized when in the opening match between + Classics and Moderns he read his name on the notice-board as sixteenth + man; and when, through the continued illness of the first choice, he + actually found himself walking on to the field between the black lines + of spectators, he was greatly content. Yet the finest thrill of all came + when in the line-out he found himself on the left wing with Alan, with + Alan not very unlike the old Alan even now in the coveted Tyrian vest of + the Classical First Fifteen. + </p> + + <p> + Into that game Michael poured all he felt of savage detestation for + everything that the Modern side stood for. Not an opponent was collared + that did not in his falling agony take on the likeness of Percy Garrod; + not a Modern half-back was hurled into touch who was not in Michael’s + imagination insolent with damnably destructive theories of life. It was + exhilarating, it was superb, it was ineffable, the joy of seeing Alan + hand off a Modern bounder + <a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a> + and swing the ball out low to him crouching + vigilant upon the left. It was intoxicating, it was divine to catch the + ball, and with zigzag leap and plunge to tear wildly on towards the + Modern goal, to hear the Classical lower boys shriek their high-voiced + thrilling exhortations, to hear the maledictions of the enemy + ricochetting from a force of speed that spun its own stability. Back + went the ball to Alan, shouting with flushed face on his right, just as + one of the Modern three-quarters, with iron grip round Michael’s + faltering knees, fetched him crashing down. + </p> + + <p>“Good pass,” cried the delighted Classical boys, and “Well run, sir, + well run, sir!” they roared as Alan whizzed the ball along to the + dapper, the elusive, the incomparable Terry. “Go in, yourself,” they + prayed, as Terry like a chamois bounded straight at the despairing + full-back, then with a gasp that triumphed over the vibrant hush, + checked himself, and in one peerless spring breasted the shoulders of + the back to come thudding down upon the turf with a glorious try.</p> + + <p> + Now the game swayed desperately, and with Alan ever beside him Michael + lived through every heroic fight of man. They were at Thermopylae, + stemming the Persian charges with hack and thrust and sweeping cut; they + were at Platea with Aristides and Pausanias, vowing death rather than + subjugation; the body of Terry beneath a weight of Modern forwards, + crying, “Let me up, you stinkers!” was fought for as long ago beneath + the walls of Troy the battle raged about the body of Patroclus. And when + the game was over, when the Moderns had been defeated for the first time + in four resentful years of scientific domination, when the Classical + Fifteen proudly strode from the field, immortal in muddied Tyrian, it + was easy enough to walk across the gravel arm-in-arm with Alan and, + while still the noise of the contest and the cries of the onlookers + echoed in their ears, it was easy to span the + <a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a> + icy floes of two drifting + years in one moment of careless, artless intercourse. + </p> + + <p>“You’ll get your Second Fifteen colours,” said Alan confidently.</p> + + <p>“Not this year,” Michael thought.</p> + + <p>“You’ll get your Third Fifteen cap for a snip.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, I ought to get that,” Michael agreed.</p> + + <p>“Well, that’s damned good, considering you haven’t played for two + years,” Alan vowed.</p> + + <p>And as he spoke Michael wondered if Alan had ever wished for his company + in the many stressful games from which he had been absent.</p> + + <p>Michael now became one of that group of happy immortals in the + entrance-hall, whose attitudes of noble ease graced the hot-water pipes + below the ‘board’ on which the news of the school fluctuated daily. This + society, to which nothing gave admission but a profound sense of one’s + own right to enter it, varied from time to time only in details. As a + whole composition it was immutable, as permanent, as decorative and as + appropriate as the frieze of the Parthenon. From twenty minutes past + nine until twenty-seven minutes past nine, from twenty-five minutes past + eleven until twenty-eight minutes past eleven, from ten minutes to three + until two minutes to three the heroes of the school met in a large + familiarity whose Olympian laughter awed the fearful small boy that + flitted uneasily past and chilled the slouching senior that rashly + paused to examine the notices in assertion of an unearned right. Even + masters entering through the swinging doors seemed glad to pass beyond + the range of the heroes’ patronizing contemplation.</p> + + <p> + Michael found a pedestal here, and soon idealized the heedless stupidity + of these immortals into a Lacedemonian rigour which seemed to him very + fine. He accepted their unimaginative standards, their coarseness, their + brutality + <a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a> + as virtues, and in them he saw the consummation of all that + England should cherish. He successfully destroyed a legend that he was + clever, and though at first he found it difficult to combat the + suspicion of æsthetic proclivities and religious eccentricity, even of + poetic ambitions which overshadowed his first welcome, he was at last + able to get these condoned as a blemish upon an otherwise diverting + personality with a tongue nimble enough to make heroes guffaw. Moreover, + he was a friend of Alan, who with his slim disdain and perfectly stoic + bearing was irreproachable, and since Michael frankly admired his new + friends, and since he imparted just enough fantasy to their stolid + fellowship to lend it a faint distinction, he was very soon allowed to + preserve a flavour of oddity, and became in time arbiter of whatever + elegance they could claim. Michael on his side was most anxious to + conform to every prejudice of the Olympians, esteeming their stolidity + far above his own natural demeanour, envious too of their profoundly + ordinary point of view and their commonplace expression of it. + </p> + + <p>Upon this assembly descended the news of war with the Transvaal, and for + three months at least Michael shared in the febrile elation and + arrogance and complacent outlook of the average Englishman. The + Olympians recalled from early schooldays the forms of heroes who were + even now gazetted to regiments on their way to the front, and who but a + little while ago had lounged against these very hot-water pipes. + Sandhurst and Woolwich candidates lamented their ill-luck in being born + too young, and consoled themselves with proclaiming that after all the + war was so easy that scarcely were they missing anything at all. Then + came the first low rumble of defeat, the first tremulous breath of + doubt.</p> + + <p> + Word went round that meetings were being held to stop the war, and + wrathfully the heroes mounted a London + <a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a> + Road Car omnibus, snatched the + Union Jack from its socket, and surged into Hammersmith Town Hall to + yell and hoot at the farouche Irishmen and dirty Socialists who were + mouthing their hatred of the war and exulting in the unlucky capture of + two regiments. The School Cadet Corps could not accept the mass of + recruits that demanded to be enrolled. Drums were bought by + subscription, and in the armoury down under the School tattoo and + rataplan voiced the martial spirit of St. James’. + </p> + + <p>One day Alan brought back the news that his Uncle Kenneth was ordered to + the front, that he would sail from Southampton in a few days. Leave was + granted Alan to go and say good-bye, and in the patriotic fervour that + now burned even in the hearts of schoolmasters, Michael was accorded + leave to accompany him.</p> + + <p>They travelled down to Southampton on a wet, windy November day, proud + to think as they sat opposite one another in the gloomy railway-carriage + that in some way since this summons they were both more intimately + connected with the war.</p> + + <p>In a dreary Southampton hotel they met Mrs. Ross, and Michael thought + that she was very beautiful and very brave waiting in the chilly + fly-blown dining-room of the hotel. Three years of marriage scarcely + seemed to have altered his dear Miss Carthew; yet there was a dignity, a + carven stillness that Michael had never associated with the figure of + his governess, or perhaps it was that now he was older, more capable of + appreciating the noble lines of this woman.</p> + + <p> + It gave Michael a sentimental pang to watch Mrs. Ross presiding over + their lunch as she had in the past presided over so many lunches. They + spoke hardly at all of Captain Ross’s departure, but they talked of + Nancy, and how well she was doing as secretary to Lord Perham, of Mrs. + Carthew, still among the roses and plums of Cobble Place, and of a + <a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a> + + hundred jolly bygone events. Mrs. Ross was greatly interested to hear of + Stella, and greatly amused by Michael’s arrangement of her future. + </p> + + <p>Then Captain Ross came in, and after a few jokes, which fell very flat + in the bleak dining-room—perhaps because the two boys were in awe of + this soldier going away to the wars, or perhaps because they knew that + there was indeed nothing to joke about—said:</p> + + <p>“The regiment comes in by the 2.45. We shall embark at once. What’s the + time now?”</p> + + <p>Everyone, even the mournful waiter, stared up at the wall. It was two + o’clock.</p> + + <p>“Half an hour before I need go down to the station,” said Captain Ross, + and then he began to whistle very quietly. The wind was getting more + boisterous, and the rain rattled on the windows as if, without, a + menacing hand flung gravel for a signal.</p> + + <p>“Can you two boys amuse yourselves for a little while?” asked Captain + Ross.</p> + + <p>“Oh, rather,” said Michael and Alan.</p> + + <p>“I’ve just one or two things I wanted to say to you, dear,” said Captain + Ross, turning to his wife. They left the dining-room together. Michael + and Alan sat silently at the table, crumbling bread and making patterns + in the salt-cellar. They could hear the gaunt clock ticking away on the + stained wall above them. From time to time far-off bugles sounded above + the tossing wind. So they sat for twenty solemn minutes. Then the + husband and wife came back. The bill was paid; the door of the hotel + swung back; the porter said ‘Good luck, sir,’ very solemnly, and in a + minute they were walking down the street towards the railway-station + through the wind and rain.</p> + + <p> + “I’ll see you on the dock in a moment,” said Captain Ross. “You’d better + take a cab down and wait under cover.” + <a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a> + </p> + + <p>Thence onwards for an hour or more all was noise, excitement and bustle + in contrast to the brooding, ominous calm of the dingy hotel. Regiments + were marching down to the docks; bands were playing; there were drums + and bugles, shouts of command, clatter of horses, the occasional rumble + of a gun-carriage, enquiries, the sobbing of children and women, oaths, + the hooting of sirens, a steam-engine’s whistle, and at last, above + everything else, was heard the wail of approaching pipes.</p> + + <p> + Nearer and nearer swirled the maddening, gladdening, heart-rending tune + they played; the Kintail Highlanders were coming; they swung into view; + they halted, company after company of them; there were shouts of command + very close; suddenly Michael found his hand clenched and saw Captain + Ross’s grey eyes smiling good-bye; Alan’s sleeve seemed to have a loose + thread that wanted biting off; the sirens of the great transport + trumpeted angrily and, resounding through the sinking hearts of those + who were not going, robbed them of whatever pluck was left. Everywhere + in view sister, mother, and wife were held for a moment by those they + loved. The last man was aboard; the gangway was hauled up; the screw + pounded the water; the ship began to glide away from the dock with slow, + sickening inevitableness. Upon the air danced handkerchiefs, feeble + fluttering envoys of the passionate farewells they flung to the wind. + Spellbound, intolerably powerless, the watchers on shore waved and + waved; smaller grew the faces leaning over the rail; smaller and + smaller, until at last they were unrecognizable to those left behind; + and now the handkerchiefs were waved in a new fever of energy as if with + the fading of the faces there had fallen upon the assembly a fresh + communal grief, a grief that, no longer regarding personal heartbreaks, + frantically pursued the great graceful ship herself whose prow was + straining for the open sea. Still, though now scarcely even were + <a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a> + human + forms discernible upon the decks, the handkerchiefs jigged on for + horribly mechanic gestures, as if those who waved them were become + automatons through sorrow. + </p> + + <p>Glad of the musty peace of a railway-carriage after the tears and + confusion of the docks, Michael and Alan and Mrs. Ross spoke very little + on the journey back to London.</p> + + <p>“Aren’t you going to stay the night with us at Richmond?” Alan asked.</p> + + <p>“No, I must get down to Cobble Place. My large son has already gone + there with his nurse.”</p> + + <p>“Your son?” exclaimed Michael. “Oh, of course, I forgot.”</p> + + <p>So Alan and he put Mrs. Ross into her train and rode back together on an + omnibus, proud citizens of an Empire whose inspiration they had lately + beheld in action.</p> + + <p>Next morning the Olympians on their frieze were considerably impressed + by Michael’s account of the stirring scene at Southampton.</p> + + <p>“Oh, the war will be over almost at once. We’re not taking any risks. + We’re sending out enough men to conquer more than the Transvaal,” said + the heroes wisely.</p> + + <p>But soon there came the news of fresh defeats, and when in the middle of + January school reassembled there were actually figures missing from the + familiar composition itself. Actually contemporary heroes had left, had + enlisted in the Volunteers and Yeomanry, were even now waiting for + orders and meantime self-consciously wandering round the school-grounds + in militant khaki. Sandhurst and Woolwich candidates passed with + incredible ease; boys were coming to school in mourning; Old Jacobeans + died bravely, and their deaths were recorded in the school magazine; one + Old Jacobean gained the Victoria Cross, and everyone walked from prayers + very proudly upon that day.</p> + + <p> + Michael was still conventionally patriotic, but sometimes + <a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a> + with the + progress of the war a doubt would creep into his mind whether this + increasing blazonry of a country’s emotion were so fine as once he had + thought it, whether England were losing some of her self-control under + reverses, and, worst of all, whether in her victories she were becoming + blatant. He remembered how he had been sickened by the accounts of + American hysteria during the war with Spain, whose weaker cause, true to + his earliest inclinations, he had been compelled to champion. And now + when the tide was turning in England’s favour, when every other boy came + to school wearing a khaki tie quartered with blue or red and some of + them even came tricked out with Union Jack waistcoats, when the wearing + of a British general’s head on a button and the hissing of Kruger’s name + at a pantomime were signs of high emotion, when many wastrels of his + acquaintance had uniforms, and when the patriotism of their friends + consisted of making these undignified supernumeraries drunk, Michael + began to wonder whether war conducted by a democracy had ever been much + more than a circus for the populace. + </p> + + <p>And when one bleak morning in early spring he read in a fatal column + that Captain Kenneth Ross had been killed in action, his smouldering + resentment blazed out, and as he hurried to school with sickened heart + and eyes in a mist of welling tears, he could have cursed everyone of + the rosetted patriots for whose vainglory such a death paid the price. + Alan, as he expected, was not at school, and Michael spent a restless, + miserable morning. He hated the idea of discussing the news with his + friends of the hot-water pipes, and when one by one the unimaginative, + flaccid comments flowed easily forth upon an event that was too great + for them even to hear, much less to speak of, Michael’s rage burst + forth:</p> + + <p> + “For God’s sake, you asses, don’t talk so much. I’m sick of this war. + I’m sick of reading that a lot of decent + <a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a> + chaps have died for nothing, + because it is for nothing, if this country is never again going to be + able to stand defeat or victory. War isn’t anything to admire in itself. + All the good of war is what it makes of the people who fight, and what + it makes of the people who stay at home.” + </p> + + <p>The Olympians roared with laughter, and congratulated Michael on his + humorous oration.</p> + + <p>“Can’t you see that I’m serious? that it is important to be gentlemen?” + Michael shouted.</p> + + <p>“Who says we aren’t gentlemen?” demanded a very vapid, but slightly + bellicose hero.</p> + + <p> + “Nobody says + <i>you</i> + aren’t a gentleman, you ass; at least nobody says you + eat peas with a knife, but, my God, if you think it’s decent to wear + that damned awful button in your coat when fellows are being killed + every day for you, for your pleasure, for your profit, for your + existence, all I can say is I don’t.” + </p> + + <p>Michael felt that the climax of this speech was somewhat weak, and he + relapsed into silence, biting his nails with the unexpressed rage of + limp words.</p> + + <p>“You might as well say that the School oughtn’t to cheer at a football + match,” said Abercrombie the Captain.</p> + + <p>“I would say so, if I thought that all the cheerers never expected and + never even intended to play themselves. That’s why professional football + is so rotten.”</p> + + <p>“You were damned glad to get your Third Fifteen cap,” Abercrombie + pointed out gruffly.</p> + + <p>The laugh that followed this rebuke from the mightiest of the immortals + goaded Michael into much more than he had intended to say when he began + his unlucky tirade.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, was I?” he sneered. “That’s just where you’re quite wrong, because, + as a matter of fact, I don’t intend to play football any more, if School + Footer is simply to be a show for a lot of wasters. I’m not going to + exert myself like an acrobat in a circus, if it all means nothing.” + <a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a> + </p> + + <p>The heroes regarded Michael with surprize and distaste; they shrank from + him coldly as if his unreasonable outburst in some way involved their + honour. They laughed uncomfortably, each one hiding himself behind + another’s shoulders, as if they mocked a madman. The bell for school + rang, and the heroes left him. Michael, still enraged, went back to his + class-room. Then he wondered if Alan would hate him for having made his + uncle’s death an occasion for this breach of a school’s code of manners. + He supposed sadly that Alan would not understand any more than the + others what he felt. He cursed himself for having let these ordinary, + obvious, fat-headed fools impose upon his imagination, as to lead him to + consider them worthy of his respect. He had wasted three months in this + society; he had thought he was happy and had congratulated himself upon + at last finding school endurable. School was a prison, such as it always + had been. He was seventeen and a schoolboy. It was ignominious. At one + o’clock he waited for nobody, but walked quickly home to lunch, still + fuming with the loss of his self-control and, as he looked back on the + scene, of his dignity.</p> + + <p>His mother came down to lunch with signs of a morning’s tears, and + Michael looked at her in astonishment. He had not supposed that she + would be much affected by the death of Captain Ross, and he enquired if + she had been writing to Mrs. Ross.</p> + + <p>“No, dear,” said Mrs. Fane. “Why should I have written to Mrs. Ross this + morning?”</p> + + <p>“Didn’t you see in the paper?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“See what?”</p> + + <p>“That Captain Ross was killed in action.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no,” gasped his mother, white and shuddering. “Oh, Michael, how + horrible, and on the same day.”</p> + + <p>“The same day as what?”</p> + + <p> + Mrs. Fane looked at her son for a moment very intently, + <a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a> + as if she were + minded to tell him something. Then the parlour-maid came into the room, + and she seemed to change her mind, and finally said in perfectly + controlled accents: + </p> + + <p>“The same day as the announcement is made that—that your old friend + Lord Saxby has raised a troop of horse—Saxby’s horse. He is going to + Africa almost at once.”</p> + + <p>“Another gentleman going to be killed for the sake of these rowdy swine + at home!” said Michael savagely.</p> + + <p>“Michael! What do you mean? Don’t you admire a man for—for trying to do + something for his country?”</p> + + <p>“It depends on the country,” Michael answered, “If you think it’s worth + while doing anything for what England is now, I don’t. I wouldn’t raise + a finger, if London were to be invaded to-morrow.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t understand you, dearest boy. You’re talking rather like a + Radical, and rather like old Conservative gentlemen I remember as a + girl. It’s such a strange mixture. I don’t think you quite understand + what you’re saying.”</p> + + <p>“I understand perfectly what I’m saving,” Michael contradicted.</p> + + <p>“Well, then I don’t think you ought to talk like that. I don’t think + it’s kind or considerate to me and, after you’ve just heard about + Captain Ross’s death, I think it’s irreverent. And I thought you + attached so much importance to reverence,” Mrs. Fane added in a + complaining tone.</p> + + <p>Michael was vexed by his mother’s failure to understand his point of + view, and became harder and more perverse every minute.</p> + + <p>“Lord Saxby would be shocked to hear you talking like this, shocked and + horrified,” she went on.</p> + + <p> + “I’m very sorry for hurting Lord Saxby’s feelings,” + <a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a> + said Michael with + elaborate sarcasm. “But really I don’t see that it matters much to him + what I think.” + </p> + + <p>“He wants to see you before he sails,” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“To see me? Why?” gasped Michael. “Why on earth should he want to see + me?”</p> + + <p>“Well, he’s—he’s in a way the head of our family.”</p> + + <p>“He’s not taken much interest in me up to the present. It’s rather odd + he should want to see me now when he’s going away.”</p> + + <p>“Michael, don’t be so bitter and horrid. Lord Saxby’s so kind, and + he—and he—might never come back.”</p> + + <p>“Dearest mother,” said Michael, “I think you’re a little unreasonable. + Why should I go and meet a man now, and perhaps grow to like him—and + then say good-bye to him, perhaps for ever?”</p> + + <p>“Michael, do not talk like that. You are selfish and brutal. You’ve + grown up to be perfectly heartless, although you can be charming. I + think you’d better not see Lord Saxby. He’d be ashamed of you.”</p> + + <p>Michael rose in irritation.</p> + + <p>“My dear mother, what on earth business is it of Lord Saxby’s how I + behave? I don’t understand what you mean by being ashamed of me. I have + lived all these years, and I’ve seen Lord Saxby once. He sent me some + Siamese stamps and some soldiers. I dare say he’s a splendid chap. I + know I liked him terrifically, when I was a kid, and if he’s killed I + shall be sorry—I shall be more than sorry—I shall be angry, furious + that for the sake of these insufferable rowdies another decent chap is + going to risk his life.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane put out her hand to stop Michael’s flowing tirade, but he paid + no attention, talking away less to her than to himself. Indeed, long + before he had finished, she made no pretence of listening, but merely + sat crying quietly.</p> + + <p> + “I’ve been thinking a good deal lately about this war,” + <a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a> + Michael + declared. “I’m beginning to doubt whether it’s a just war, whether we + didn’t simply set out on it for brag and money. I’m not sure that I want + to see the Boers conquered. They’re a small independent nation, and they + have old-fashioned ideas and they’re narrow-minded Bible-worshippers, + but there’s something noble about them, something much nobler than there + is in these rotten adventurers who go out to fight them. Of course, I + don’t mean by that people like Captain Ross or Lord Saxby. They’re + gentlemen. They go either because it’s their duty or because they think + it’s their duty. And they’re the ones that get killed. You don’t hear of + these swaggerers in khaki being killed. I haven’t heard yet of many of + them even going to the front at all. Oh, mother, I am fed up with the + rotten core of everything that looks so fine on the outside.” + </p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane was now crying loud enough to make Michael stop in sudden + embarrassment.</p> + + <p>“I say, mother, don’t cry. I expect I’ve been talking nonsense,” he + softly told her.</p> + + <p>“I don’t know where you get these views. I was always so proud of you. I + thought you were charming and mysterious, and you’re simply vulgar!”</p> + + <p>“Vulgar?” echoed Michael in dismay.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane nodded vehemently.</p> + + <p>“Oh, well, if I’m vulgar, I’ll go.”</p> + + <p>Michael hurried to the door.</p> + + <p>“Where are you going?” asked his mother in alarm.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Lord, only to school. That’s what makes a scene like this so funny. + After I’ve worked myself up and made you angry——”</p> + + <p>“Not angry, dear. Only grieved,” interrupted his mother.</p> + + <p> + “You were more than grieved when you said I was vulgar. At least I hope + you were. But, after it’s all over, + <a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a> + I go trotting off like a good + little boy to school—to school—to school. Oh, mother, what is the good + of expecting me to believe in the finest fellows in the world being + killed, while I’m still at school? What’s the good of making me more + wretched, more discontented, more alive to my own futile existence by + asking me now, when he’s going away, to make friends with Lord Saxby? + Oh, darling mother, can’t you realize that I’m no longer a little boy + who wants to clap his hands at the sight of a red coat? Let me kiss you, + mother, I’m sorry I was vulgar, but I’ve minded so dreadfully about + Captain Ross, and it’s all for nothing.” + </p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane let herself be petted by her son, but she did not again ask + Michael to see Lord Saxby before he went away to the war.</p> + + <p>Alan was still absent at afternoon school, and Michael, disdaining his + place in the heroic group, passed quickly into the class-room and read + in Alison of Salamanca and Albuera and of the storming of Badajoz, + wondering what had happened to his country since those famous dates. He + supposed that then was the nation’s zenith, for from what he could make + out of the Crimean War, that had been as little creditable to England as + this miserable business of the present.</p> + + <p> + In the afternoon Michael thought he would walk over to Notting Dale and + see Mr. Viner—perhaps he would understand some of his indignation—and + this evening when all was quiet he must write to Mrs. Ross. On his way + down the Kensington Road he met Wilmot, whom he had not seen since the + summer, for luckily about the time of the row Wilmot had been going + abroad and was only lately back. He recognized Wilmot’s fanciful walk + from a distance, and nearly crossed over to the opposite pavement to + avoid meeting him; but on second thoughts decided he would like to hear + a fresh opinion of the war. + <a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Why, here’s a delightful meeting,” said Wilmot, “I have been wondering + why you didn’t come round to see me. You got my cards?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes, rather,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“I have been in Greece and Italy. I wish you had been with me. I thought + of you, as I sat in the ruined rose-gardens of Paestum. You’ve no idea + how well those columns of honey-coloured Travertine would become you, + Michael. But I’m so glad to see that you have not yet clothed yourself + in khaki. This toy war is so utterly absurd. I feel as if I were living + in a Christmas bazaar. How dreadfully these puttees and haversacks + debase even the most beautiful figures. What is a haversack? It sounds + so Lenten, so eloquent of mortification. I have discovered some charming + Cyprian cigarettes. Do come and let me watch you enjoy them. How young + you look, and yet how old!”</p> + + <p>“I’m feeling very fit,” said Michael loftily.</p> + + <p>“How abruptly informative you are! What has happened to you?”</p> + + <p>“I’m thinking about this war.”</p> + + <p> + “Good gracious,” cried Wilmot in mincing amazement. “What an odd + subject. Soon you will be telling me that by moonlight you brood upon + the Albert Memorial. But perhaps your mind is full of trophies. Perhaps + you are picturing to yourself in Piccadilly a second column of Trajan + displacing the amorous and acrobatic Cupid who now presides over the + painted throng. Come with me some evening to the Long Bar at the + Criterion, and while the Maori-like barmaids titter in their + <i>dévergondage</i> + , we will select the victorious site and picture to + ourselves the Boer commanders chained like hairy Scythians to the + chariot of whatever absurd general chooses to accept the triumph awarded + to him by our legislative + <i>bourgeoisie</i> + .” + </p> + + <p> + “I think I must be getting on,” said Michael. + <a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a> + </p> + + <p>“How urgent! You speak like Phaeton or Icarus, and pray remember the + calamities that befell them. But seriously, when are you coming to see + me?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I’m rather busy,” said Michael briefly.</p> + + <p>Wilmot looked at him curiously with his glittering eyes for a moment. + Then he spoke again:</p> + + <p>“Farewell, Narcissus. Have you learnt that I was but a shallow pool in + which to watch your reflection? Did I flatter you too much or not + enough? Who shall say? But you know I’m always your friend, and when + this love-affair is done, I shall always be interested to hear the + legend of it told movingly when and where you will, but perhaps best of + all in October when the full moon lies like a huge apricot upon the + chimneys of the town. Farewell, Narcissus. Does she display your graces + very clearly?”</p> + + <p>“I’m not in love with anybody, if that’s what you mean,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“No? But you are on the margin of a strange pool, and soon you will be + peeping over the bulrushes to stare at yourself again.”</p> + + <p>Then Mr. Wilmot, making his pontifical and undulatory adieu, passed on.</p> + + <p>“Silly ass!” said Michael to himself. “And he always thinks he knows + everything.”</p> + + <p> + Michael turned out of the noisy main road into the sylvan urbanity of + Holland Walk. A haze of tender diaphanous green clung to the boles of + the smirched elms, softening the sooty decay that made their antiquity + so grotesque and so dishonourable. Michael sat down for a while on a + bench, inhaling the immemorial perfume of a London spring and listening + to the loud courtship of the blackbirds in the ragged shrubberies that + lined the railings of Holland Park. He was not made any the more content + with himself by this effluence of revivified effort + <a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a> + that impregnated + the air around him. He was out of harmony with every impulse of the + season, and felt just as tightly fettered now as long ago he used to + feel on waits by this same line of blackened trees with Nurse to quell + his lightest step towards freedom. Where was Nurse now? The pungent + odour of privet blown along a dying wind of March was quick with old + memories of forbidden hiding-places, and he looked up, half expectant of + her mummified shape peering after his straying steps round the gnarled + and blackened trunk of the nearest elm. Michael rose quickly and went on + his way towards Notting Dale. This Holland Walk had always been a + haunted spot, not at all a place to hearten one, especially where at the + top it converged to a silent passage between wooden palings whose + twinkling interstices and exudations of green slime had always been + queerly sinister. Even now Michael was glad when he could hear again the + noise of traffic in the Bayswater Road. As he walked on towards Mr. + Viner’s house he gave rein to fanciful moralizings upon these two great + roads on either side of the Park that ran a parallel course, but never + met. How foreign it all seemed on this side with unfamiliar green + omnibuses instead of red, with never even a well-known beggar or + pavement-artist. The very sky had an alien look, seeming vaster somehow + than the circumscribed clouds of Kensington. Perhaps after all the + people of this intolerably surprizing city were not so much to be blamed + for their behaviour during a period of war. They had nothing to hold + them together, to teach them to endure and enjoy, to suffer and rejoice + in company. These great main roads sweeping West and East with + multitudinous chimney-pots between were symbolic of the whole muddle of + existence. + </p> + + <p> + “But what do I want?” Michael asked himself so loudly that an errand-boy + stayed his whistling and stared after him until he turned the corner. + <a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I don’t know,” he muttered in the face of a fussy little woman, who + jumped aside to let him pass.</p> + + <p>Soon he was deep in one of Mr. Viner’s arm-chairs and, without waiting + even to produce one of the attenuated pipes he still affected, exclaimed + with desolating conviction:</p> + + <p>“I’m absolutely sick of everything!”</p> + + <p>“What, again?” said the priest, smiling.</p> + + <p>“It’s this war.”</p> + + <p>“You’re not thinking of enlisting in the Imperial Yeomanry?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, but a friend of mine—Alan Merivale’s uncle—has been killed. + It seems all wrong.”</p> + + <p>“My dear old chap,” said Mr. Viner earnestly, “I’m sorry for you.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, it isn’t me you’ve got to pity,” Michael cried. “I’d be glad of his + death. It’s the finest death a fellow can have. But there’s nothing fine + about it, when one sees these gibbering blockheads shouting and yelling + about nothing. I don’t know what’s the matter with England.”</p> + + <p>“Is England any worse than the rest of the world?” asked Mr. Viner.</p> + + <p>“All this wearing of buttons and khaki ties!” Michael groaned.</p> + + <p>“But that’s the only way the man in the street can show his devotion. + You don’t object to ritualism, do you? You cross yourself and bow down. + The church has colours and lights and incense. Do all these dishonour + Our Lord’s death?”</p> + + <p>“That’s different,” said Michael. “And anyway I don’t know that the + comparison is much good to me now. I think I’ve lost my faith. I am + sorry to shock you, Mr. Viner.”</p> + + <p> + “You don’t shock me at all, my dear boy.” + <a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Don’t I?” said Michael in slightly disappointed tones.</p> + + <p>“You forget that a priest is more difficult to shock than anyone on + earth.”</p> + + <p>“I like the way you take yourself as a typical priest. Very few of them + are like you.”</p> + + <p>“Come, that’s rather a stupid remark, I think,” said Mr. Viner coldly.</p> + + <p>“Is it? I’m sorry. It doesn’t seem to worry you very much that I’ve lost + my faith,” Michael went on in an aggrieved voice.</p> + + <p>“No, because I don’t think you have. I’ve got a high enough opinion of + you to believe that if you really had lost your faith, you wouldn’t + plunge comfortably down into one of my arm-chairs and give me the + information in the same sort of tone you’d tell me you’d forgotten to + bring back a book I’d lent you.”</p> + + <p>“I know you always find it very difficult to take me seriously,” Michael + grumbled. “I suppose that’s the right method with people like me.”</p> + + <p>“I thought you’d come up to talk about the South African War. If I’d + known the war was so near home, I shouldn’t have been so frivolous,” + said the priest. His eyes were so merry in the leaping firelight that + Michael was compelled against his will to smile.</p> + + <p>“Of course, you make me laugh at the time and I forget how serious I + meant to be when I arrived, and it’s not until I’m at home again that I + realize I’m no nearer to what I wanted to say than when I came up,” + protested Michael.</p> + + <p>“I’m not the unsympathetic boor you’d make me out,” Mr. Viner said.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, I perfectly understand that all this heart-searching becomes a + nuisance. But honestly, Mr. Viner, I think I’ve done nothing long + enough.” + <a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Then you do want to enlist?” said the priest quickly.</p> + + <p>“Why must ‘doing’ mean only one thing nowadays? Surely South Africa + hasn’t got a monopoly of whatever’s being done,” Michael argued. “No, I + don’t want to enlist,” he went on. “And I don’t want to go into a + monastery, and I’m not sure that I really even want to go to church + again.”</p> + + <p>“Give up going for a bit,” advised the priest.</p> + + <p>Michael jumped up from the chair and walked over to the bay-window, + through which came a discordant sound of children playing in the street + outside.</p> + + <p>“It’s impossible to be serious with you. I suppose you’re fed up with + people like me,” Michael complained. “I know I’m moody and irritating, + but I’ve got a lot to grumble about. I don’t seem to have any natural + inclination for any profession. I’m not a musical genius like my young + sister. That’s pretty galling, you know, really. After all, girls can + get along better than boys without any special gifts, and she simply + shines compared with me. I have no father. I’ve no idea who I was, where + I came from, what I’m going to be. I keep on trying to be optimistic and + think everything is good and beautiful, and then almost at once it turns + out bad and ugly.”</p> + + <p>“Has your religion really turned out bad and ugly?” asked the priest + gently.</p> + + <p>“Not right through, but here and there, yes.”</p> + + <p>“The religion itself or the people who profess it?” Mr. Viner persisted.</p> + + <p> + “Doesn’t it amount to the same thing ultimately?” Michael parried. “But + leave out religion for the moment, and consider this war. The only + justification for such a war is the moral effect it has on the nations + engaged. Now, I ask you, do you sincerely believe there has been a trace + of any purifying influence since we started waving + <a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a> + Union Jacks last + September? It’s no good; we simply have not got it in us to stand defeat + or victory. At any rate, if the Boers win, it will mean the preservation + of something. Whereas if we win, we shall just destroy everything.” + </p> + + <p>“Michael, what do you think is the important thing for this country at + this moment?” Mr. Viner asked.</p> + + <p>“Well, I suppose I still think it is that the people—the great mass of + the nation, that is—should be happier and better. No, I don’t think + that’s it at all. I think the important thing is that the people should + be able to use the power that’s coming to them in bigger lumps every + day. I’d like to think it wasn’t, I’d like to believe that democracy + always will be as it always has been—a self-made failure. But against + my own will I can’t help believing that this time democracy is going to + carry everything before it. And this war is going to hurry it on. Of + course it is. The masses will learn their power. They’ll learn that + generals can make fools of themselves, that officers can be done + without, that professional soldiers can be cowards, but that simply by + paying we can still win. And where’s the money coming from? Why, from + the class that tried to be clever and bluff the people out of their + power by staging this war. Well, do you mean to tell me that it’s good + for a democracy, this sudden realization of their omnipotence? Look + here, you think I’m an excitable young fool, but I tell you I’ve been + pitching my ideals at a blank wall like so many empty bottles and——”</p> + + <p>“Were they empty?” asked Mr. Viner. “Are you sure they were empty? May + they not have been cruses of ointment the more precious for being + broken?”</p> + + <p>“Well, I wish I could keep one for myself,” Michael said.</p> + + <p> + “My dear boy, you’ll never be able to do that. You’ll always be too + prodigal of your ideals. I should have no + <a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a> + qualms about your future, + whatever you did meanwhile. And, do you know, I don’t think I have many + qualms about this England of ours, however badly she behaves sometimes. + I’m glad you recognize that the people are coming into their own. I wish + that + <i>you</i> + were glad, but you will be one day. The Catholic religion + must be a popular religion. The Sabbath was made for man, you know. + Catholicism is God’s method of throwing bottles at a blank wall—but not + empty bottles, Michael. On the whole, I would sooner that now you were a + reactionary than a Dantonist. Your present attitude of mind at any rate + gives you the opportunity of going forward, instead of going back; there + will be plenty of ideals to take the places of those you destroy, + however priceless. And the tragedy of age is not having any more bottles + to throw.” + </p> + + <p>During these words that came soothingly from Mr. Viner’s firm lips + Michael had settled himself down again in the arm-chair and lighted his + pipe.</p> + + <p>“Come, now,” said the priest, “you and I have muddled through our + discussion long enough, let’s gossip for a change. What’s Mark Chator + doing?”</p> + + <p>“I haven’t seen much of him this term. He’s still going to take orders. + I find old Chator’s eternal simplicity and goodness rather wearing. + Life’s pretty easy for him. I wish I could get as much out of it as + easily,” Michael answered.</p> + + <p>“Well, I can’t make any comment on that last remark of yours without + plunging into platitudes that would make you terribly contemptuous of my + struggles to avoid them. But don’t despise the Chators of this world.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I don’t. I envy them. Well, I must go. Thanks awfully for putting + up with me again.”</p> + + <p> + Michael picked up his cap and hurried home. When he reached Carlington + Road, he was inclined to tell his + <a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a> + mother that, if she liked, he would + go and visit Lord Saxby before he sailed; but when it came to the point + he felt too shy to reopen the subject, and decided to let the proposal + drop. + </p> + + <p>He was surprized to find that it was much easier to write to Mrs. Ross + about her husband than he thought it would be. Whether this long and + stormy day (he could scarcely believe that he had only read the news + about Captain Ross that morning) had purged him of all complexities of + emotion, he did not know; but certainly the letter was easy enough.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + 64 C + <small>ARLINGTON</small> + R + <small>OAD</small> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>My dear Mrs. Ross,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>I can’t tell you the sadness of to-day. I’ve thought about you + most tremendously, and I think you must be gloriously proud of him. + I felt angry at first, but now I feel all right. You’ve always been + so stunning to me, and I’ve never thanked you. I do want to see you + soon. I shall never forget saying good-bye to Captain Ross. Mother + asked me to go and say good-bye to Lord Saxby. I don’t suppose you + ever met him. He’s a sort of cousin of ours. But I did not want to + spoil the memory of that day at Southampton. I haven’t seen poor + old Alan yet. He’ll be in despair. I’m longing to see him + to-morrow. This is a rotten letter, but I can’t write down what I + feel. I wish Stella had known Captain Ross. She would have been + able to express her feelings.</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <span style="margin-right: 10%;"> + <i>With all my love,</i> + </span> + <br/> + <span style="margin-right:5%;"> + <i>Your affectionate</i> + </span> + <br/> + <i>Michael.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p> + In bed that night Michael thought what a beast he had made of himself + that day, and flung the blankets feverishly away from his burnt-out + self. Figures of well-loved people kept trooping through the darkness, + and he longed to + <a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a> + converse with them, inspired by the limitless + eloquence of the night-time. All that he would say to Mr. Viner, to Mrs. + Ross, to Alan, even to good old Chator, splashed the dark with fiery + sentences. He longed to be with Stella in a cool woodland. He almost got + up to go down and pour his soul out upon his mother’s breast; but the + fever of fatigue mocked his impulse and he fell tossing into sleep. + <a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XII_Alan" id="Chapter_XII_Alan"></a> + Chapter XII: + <i>Alan</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ICHAEL left the house early next day that he might make sure of seeing + Alan for a moment before Prayers. A snowy aggregation of cumulus + sustained the empyrean upon the volume of its mighty curve and swell. + The road before him stretched shining in a radiant drench of azure + puddles. It was a full-bosomed morning of immense peace. + </p> + + <p>Michael rather dreaded to see Alan appear in oppressive black, and felt + that anything like a costume would embarrass their meeting. But just + before the second bell he came quickly up the steps dressed in his + ordinary clothes, and Michael in the surging corridor gripped his arm + for a moment, saying he would wait for him in the ‘quarter.’</p> + + <p>“Is your mater fearfully cut up?” he asked when they had met and were + strolling together along the ‘gravel.’</p> + + <p>“I think she was,” said Alan. “She’s going up to Cobble Place this + morning to see Aunt Maud.”</p> + + <p>“I wrote to her last night,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“I spent nearly all yesterday in writing to her,” said Alan. “I couldn’t + think of anything to say. Could you?”</p> + + <p>“No, I couldn’t think of very much,” Michael agreed. “It seemed so + unnecessary.”</p> + + <p>“I know,” Alan said. “I’d really rather have come to school.”</p> + + <p>“I wish you had. I made an awful fool of myself in the morning. I got in + a wax with Abercrombie and the chaps, and said I’d never play football + again.”</p> + + <p> + “Whatever for?” + <a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Oh, because I didn’t think they appreciated what it meant for a chap + like your Uncle Kenneth to be killed.”</p> + + <p>“Do you mean they said something rotten?” asked Alan, flushing.</p> + + <p>“I don’t think you would have thought it rotten. In fact, I think the + whole row was my fault. But they seemed to take everything for granted. + That’s what made me so wild.”</p> + + <p>“Look here, we can’t start a conversation like this just before school. + Are you going home to dinner?” Alan asked.</p> + + <p>“No, I’ll have dinner down in the Tuck,” said Michael, “and we can go + for a walk afterwards, if you like. It’s the first really decent day + we’ve had this year.”</p> + + <p>So after a lunch of buns, cheese-cakes, fruit pastilles, and vanilla + biscuits, eaten in the noisy half-light of the Tuckshop, accompanied by + the usual storm of pellets, Michael and Alan set out to grapple with the + situation Michael had by his own hasty behaviour created.</p> + + <p>“The chaps seem rather sick with you,” observed Alan, as they strolled + arm-in-arm across the school-ground not yet populous with games.</p> + + <p>“Well, they are such a set of sheep,” Michael urged in justification of + himself.</p> + + <p>“I thought you rather liked them.”</p> + + <p> + “I did at first. I do still in a way. I do when nothing matters; but + that horrible line in the paper did matter most awfully, and I couldn’t + stick their bleating. You see, you’re different. You just say nothing. + That’s all right. But these fools tried to say something and couldn’t. I + always did hate people who + <i>tried</i> + very obviously. That’s why I like + you. You’re so casual and you always seem to fit.” + </p> + + <p> + “I don’t talk, because I know if I opened my mouth I should make an ass + of myself,” said Alan. + <a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a> + </p> + + <p>“There you are, that’s what I say. That’s why it’s possible to talk to + you. You see I’m a bit mad.”</p> + + <p>“Shut up, you ass,” commanded Alan, smiling.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, not very mad. And I’m not complaining. But I + <i>am</i> + a little bit mad. + I always have been.” + </p> + + <p>“Why? You haven’t got a clot on your brain, have you?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, Great Scott, no! It’s purely mental, my madness.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I think you’re talking tosh,” said Alan firmly. “If you go on + thinking you’re mad, you will be mad, and then you’ll be sorry. So shut + up trying to horrify me, because if you really were mad I should bar + you,” he added coolly.</p> + + <p>“All right,” said Michael, a little subdued, as he always was, by Alan’s + tranquil snubs. “All right. I’m not mad, but I’m excitable.”</p> + + <p>“Well, you shouldn’t be,” said Alan.</p> + + <p>“I can’t help my character, can I?” Michael demanded.</p> + + <p>“You’re not a girl,” Alan pointed out.</p> + + <p>“Men have very strong emotions often,” Michael argued.</p> + + <p>“They may have them, but they don’t show them. Just lately you’ve been + holding forth about the rotten way in which everybody gets hysterical + over this war. And now you’re getting hysterical over yourself, which is + much worse.”</p> + + <p>“Damn you, Alan, if I didn’t like you so much I shouldn’t listen to + you,” said Michael, fiercely pausing.</p> + + <p>“Well, if I didn’t like you, I shouldn’t talk,” answered Alan simply.</p> + + <p> + As they walked on again in silence for a while, Michael continually + tried to get a perspective view of his friend, puzzling over his + self-assurance, which was never offensive, + <a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a> + and wondering how a person + so much less clever than himself could possibly make him feel so humble. + Alan was good-looking and well-dressed; he was essentially debonair; he + was certainly in appearance the most attractive boy in the school. It + always gave Michael the most acute thrill of admiration to see Alan + swinging himself along so lithe and so graceful. It made him want to go + up and pat Alan’s shoulder and say, “You fine and lovely creature, go on + walking for ever.” But mere good looks were not enough to explain the + influence which Alan wielded, an influence which had steadily increased + during the period of their greatest devotion to each other, and had + never really ceased during the period of their comparative estrangement. + Yet, if Michael looked back on their joint behaviour, it had always been + he who apparently led and Alan who followed. + </p> + + <p>“Do you know, old chap,” said Michael suddenly, “you’re a great + responsibility to me.”</p> + + <p>“Thanks very much and all that,” Alan answered, with a mocking bow.</p> + + <p>“Have you ever imagined yourself the owner of some frightfully famous + statue?” Michael went on earnestly.</p> + + <p>“Why, have you?” Alan countered, with his familiar look of embarrassed + persiflage.</p> + + <p>Michael, however, kept tight hold of the thread that was guiding him + through the labyrinth that led to the arcana of Alan’s disposition.</p> + + <p>“You’ve the same sort of responsibility,” he asserted. “I always feel + that if I were the owner of the Venus of Milo, though I could move her + about all over the place and set her up wherever I liked, I should be + responsible to her in some way. I should feel she was looking at me, and + if I put her in a wrong position, I should feel ashamed of myself and + half afraid of the statue.”</p> + + <p> + “Are you trying to prove you’re mad?” Alan enquired. + <a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Do be serious,” Michael begged, “and tell me if you think you + understand what I mean. Alan, you used to discuss everything with me + when we were kids, why won’t you discuss yourself now?”</p> + + <p>Alan looked up at the sky for a moment, blinking in the sun, perhaps to + hide the tremor of feeling that touched for one instant the corners of + his mouth. Then he said:</p> + + <p>“Do you remember years ago, when we were at Eastbourne and you met Uncle + Kenneth for the first time, he told me at dinner not to be a showman? + I’ve always remembered that remark of his, and I think it applies to one + showing off oneself as much as to showing off other people. I think + that’s why I’m different from you.”</p> + + <p>Michael glanced up at this.</p> + + <p>“You can be damned rude when you like,” he murmured.</p> + + <p>“Well, you asked me.”</p> + + <p>“So I’m a showman?” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Oh, for Heaven’s sake don’t begin to worry over it. It doesn’t make any + odds to me what you are. I don’t think it ever would,” he added simply, + and in this avowal was all that Michael craved for. Under a sudden chill + presentiment that before long he would test this friend of his to the + last red throb of his proud heart, Michael took comfort from this + declaration and asked no more for comprehension or sympathy. Those were + shifting sands of feeling compared with this rock-hewn permanence of + Alan. He remembered the stones upon the Berkshire downs, the stolid, + unperceiving, eternal stones. Comparable to them alone stood Alan.</p> + + <p> + They had turned out of the gates of the school-ground by now, and were + strolling heedless of direction through the streets of West Kensington + that to Michael seemed + <a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a> + all at once strangely alluring with their + display of a sedate and cosy life. He could not recall that he had ever + before been so sensitive to the atmosphere of sunlit security which was + radiated by these windows with their visions of rosy babies bobbing and + laughing, of demure and saucy maids, of polished bird-cages and pots of + daffodils. The white steps were in tune with the billowy clouds, and the + scarlet pillar-box at the corner had a friendly, human smile. It was a + doll’s-house world, whose dainty offer of intimate citizenship refreshed + Michael’s imagination like a child’s picture-book. + </p> + + <p>He began to reflect that the opinions of Abercrombie and his friends + round the hot-water pipes were wrought out in such surroundings as + these, and he arrived gradually at a sort of compassion for them, + picturing the lives of small effort that would inevitably be their + portion. He perceived that they would bear the burden of existence in + the future, struggling to preserve their gentility against the envy of + the class beneath them and the contempt of those above. These gay little + houses, half of whose charm lay in their similarity, were as near as + they would ever come to any paradise of being. Michael had experienced + many spasms of love for his fellow-men, and now in one of these + outbursts he suddenly realized himself in sympathy with mediocrity.</p> + + <p>“Rather jolly round here,” said Alan. “I suppose a tremendous lot of + chaps from the school live about here. Funny thing, if you come to think + of it. Practically everybody at St. James’ slides into a little house + like this. A few go into the Army; a few go to the ‘Varsity. But this is + really the School.”</p> + + <p> + Alan indicated an empty perambulator standing outside one of the houses. + “Funny thing if the kid that’s waiting for should be Captain of the + School in another eighteen years. I wouldn’t be surprized.” + <a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a> + </p> + + <p>Alan had just expressed so much of what Michael himself was thinking + that he felt entitled to put the direct question which a moment ago he + had been shy of asking.</p> + + <p>“Do you feel as if you belonged to all this?”</p> + + <p>“No,” said Alan very coolly.</p> + + <p>“Nor do I,” Michael echoed.</p> + + <p>“And that’s why it was rotten of you to give yourself away to + Abercrombie and the other chaps,” Alan went on severely.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I think it was,” Michael agreed.</p> + + <p>Then they retraced their steps unconsciously, wandering along silently + in the sunlight towards the school. Michael did not want to converse + because he was too much elated by this walk, and the satisfying way in + which Alan had lived up to his ideal of him. He began to weave a fine + romance of himself and Alan going through life together in a lofty + self-sufficiency from which they would condescend to every aspect of + humanity. He was not sure whether Alan would condescend so far and so + widely as himself, and he was not sure whether he wanted him to, whether + it would not always be a relief to be aware of Alan as a cold supernal + sanctuary from the vulgar struggles in which he foresaw his own frequent + immersion. Meanwhile he must make it easy for Alan by apologizing to + Abercrombie and the rest for his ridiculous passion of yesterday. He did + not wish to imperil Alan’s superb aloofness by involving him in the + acrimonious and undignified defence of a friend. There should be no more + outbreaks. So much Michael vowed to his loyalty. However, the apology + must be made quickly—if possible, this afternoon before school—and as + they entered the school-ground again, Michael looked up at the clock, + and said:</p> + + <p>“Do you mind if I bunk on? I’ve something I must do before the bell + goes.”</p> + + <p> + Alan shook his head. + <a name="page_353" id="page_353"></a> + </p> + + <p>To Abercrombie and the other immortals Michael came up quickly and + breathlessly.</p> + + <p>“I say, you chaps, I’m sorry I made such an ass of myself yesterday; I + felt chippy over that friend of mine being killed.”</p> + + <p>“That’s all right, old bangabout,” said Abercrombie cordially, and the + chorus guffawed their forgiveness. They did more. They called him + ‘Bangs’ thereafter, commemorating, as schoolboys use, with an + affectionate nickname their esteem.</p> + + <p>The next day a letter came for Michael from Mrs. Ross, and impressed + with all the clarity of writing much of what he had dimly reached out + for in his friendship with Alan. He read the letter first hurriedly on + his way to school in the morning; but he read it a second and third time + along those serene and intimate streets where he and Alan had walked the + day before.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + <span class="smcap">Cobble Place</span> + , + <br/> + <i>March, 1900</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>My dearest Michael,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>You and Alan are the only people to whom I can bear to write + to-day. I am grieving most for my young son, because he will have + to grow up without his father’s splendid example always before him. + I won’t write of my own sorrow. I could not.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i> + My husband, as you know, was very devoted to you and Alan, and he + had been quite worried (and so had I) that you and he seemed to + have grown away from one another. It was a moment of true delight + to him, when he read a long letter from dear old Alan describing + his gladness at playing football again with you. Alan expresses + himself much less eloquently than you do, but he is as deeply fond + of you as I know you are of him. His letters are full of you and + your cleverness and popularity; and I pray that all your lives + <a name="page_354" id="page_354"></a> + you + will pull together for the good. Kenneth used always to admire you + both so much for your ability to ‘cope with a situation.’ He was + shot, as you know, leading his men (who adored him) into action. + Ah, how I wish he could lead his own little son into action. You + and Alan will have that responsibility now. + </i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>It is sweet of you to thank me for being so ‘stunning’ to you. It + wasn’t very difficult. But you know how high my hopes have always + been and always will be for you, and I know that you will never + disappoint me. There may come times which with your restless, + sensitive temperament you will find very hard to bear. Always + remember that you have a friend in me. I have suffered very much, + and suffering makes the heart yearn to comfort others. Be very + chivalrous always, and remember that of all your ideals your mother + should be the highest. I hope that you’ll be able to come and stay + with us soon after Easter. God bless you, dear boy, and thank you + very much for your expression of the sorrow I know you share with + me.</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Your loving</i> + + <br/> + <i>Maud Ross.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>I wonder if you remember how you used to love Don Quixote as a + child. Will you always be a Don Quixote, however much people may + laugh? It really means just being a gentleman.</i> + <a name="page_355" id="page_355"></a> + </p> + </div> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XIII_Sentiment" id="Chapter_XIII_Sentiment"></a> + Chapter XIII: + <i>Sentiment</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">B</span> + ACK once more upon his pedestal in the frieze, Michael devoted himself + to enjoying, while still they were important to his life, the + conversation and opinions of the immortals. He gave up worrying about + the war and yielded himself entirely either to the blandishments of his + seniority in the school or of dreams about himself at Oxford, now within + sight of attainment. Four more terms of school would set him free, and + he had ambitions to get into the Fifteen in his last year. He would then + be able to look back with satisfaction to the accomplishment of + something. He actually threw himself into the rowdiest vanguard of + Mafeking’s celebrators, and accepted the occasion as an excuse to make a + noise without being compelled to make the noise alone. These Bacchanalia + of patriotism were very amusing, and perhaps it was a good thing for the + populace to be merry; moreover, since he now had Alan to idealize, he + could afford to let his high thoughts of England’s duty and England’s + honour become a little less stringent. + </p> + + <p> + He spent much time with Alan in discussing Oxford and in building up a + most elaborate and logical scheme of their life at the University. He + was anxious that Alan should leave the classical Lower Sixth, into which + he had climbed somewhat hardly, and come to join him in the leisure of + the History Sixth. He spoke of Strang whose Captaincy of Cricket shed + such lustre on the form, of Terry whose Captaincy of Football next year + would shed an equal lustre. But Alan, having found the journey to the + Lower + <a name="page_356" id="page_356"></a> + Sixth so arduous, was disinclined to be cheated of the + intellectual eminence of the Upper Sixth which had been his Valhalla so + long. + </p> + + <p>Michael and Alan had been looking forward to a visit to Cobble Place + during the Easter holidays; but Mrs. Fane was much upset by the idea of + being left alone, and Michael had to decline the invitation, which was a + great disappointment. In the end he and his mother went to Bournemouth, + staying rather grandly at one of the large hotels, and Michael was able + to look up some old friends, including Father Moneypenny of St. + Bartholomew’s, Mrs. Rewins, their landlady of three years back, and Mr. + Prout.</p> + + <p> + The passion-flower at Esdraelon had grown considerably, but that was the + only thing which showed any signs of expansion, unless Mr. Prout’s + engagement to be married could be accepted as evidence of expansion. + Michael thought it had a contrary effect, and whether from that cause or + from his own increased age he found poor Prout sadly dull. It was + depressing to hear that unpleasantness was expected at the Easter vestry + that year; Michael could not recall any year in which that had not been + the case. It was depressing to learn that the People’s Churchwarden was + still opposed to the Assumption. It was most depressing of all to be + informed that Prout saw no prospect of being married for at least five + years. Michael, having failed with Prout, tried to recapture the emotion + of his first religious experience at St. Bartholomew’s. But the church + that had once seemed so inspiring now struck him as dingily and poorly + designed, without any of the mystery which once had made it beautiful. + He wondered if everything that formerly had appealed to his imagination + were going to turn out dross, and he made an expedition to Christchurch + Priory to test this idea. Here he was relieved to find himself able to + recapture the perfect + <a name="page_357" id="page_357"></a> + thrill of his first visit, and he spent a rich + day wandering between the grey church and the watery meadows near by, + about whose plashy levels the green rushes were springing up in the + fleecy April weather. + </p> + + <p>Michael concluded that all impermanent emotions of beauty proved that it + was merely the emotion which had created an illusion of beauty, and he + was glad to have discovered for himself a touchstone for his æsthetic + judgments in the future. He would have liked to see Alan in the + cloistral glooms of the Priory, and thought how he would have enhanced + with his own eternity of classic shape the knights and ladies praying + there. Michael sympathized with the trousered boy whom Flaxman, contrary + to every canon, might almost be said to have perpetrated. He felt + slightly muddled between classic and romantic art, and could not make up + his mind whether Flaxman’s attempt or the mediæval sculptor’s + achievement were worthier of admiration. He tried to apply his own test, + and came to the conclusion that Flaxman was really all wrong. He decided + that he only liked the trousered boy because the figure gave him + sentimental pleasure, and he was sure that true classical art was not + sentimental. Finally he got himself in a complete muddle, sitting among + these hollow chantries and pondering art’s evaluations; so he left the + Priory behind him, and went dreamily through the water-meadows under the + spell of a simple beauty that needed no analysis. Oxford would be like + this, he thought; a place of bells and singing streams and towers + against the horizon.</p> + + <p> + He waited by a stile, watching the sky of which sunset had made a + tranced archipelago set in a tideless sea. The purple islands stood out + more and more distinct against the sheeted gold that lapped their + indentations; then in a few moments the gold went out to primrose, the + purple isles were grey as mice, and by an imperceptible breath of time + became merged in a luminous green that + <a name="page_358" id="page_358"></a> + held the young moon led + downwards through the west by one great sulphur star. + </p> + + <p>This speculation of the sky made Michael late for dinner, and gave his + mother an opportunity to complain of his daylong desertion of her.</p> + + <p>“I rather wish we hadn’t come to Bournemouth,” said Michael. “I think + it’s a bad place for us to choose to come together. I remember last time + we stayed here you were always criticizing me.”</p> + + <p>“I suppose Bournemouth must have a bad effect on you, dearest boy,” said + Mrs. Fane in her most gentle, most discouraging voice.</p> + + <p>Michael laughed a little bitterly.</p> + + <p>“You’re wonderful at always being able to put me in the wrong,” he said.</p> + + <p>“You’re sometimes not very polite, are you, nowadays? But I dare say + you’ll grow out of this curious manner you’ve lately adopted towards + me.”</p> + + <p>“Was I rude?” asked Michael, quickly penitent.</p> + + <p>“I think you were rather rude, dear,” said Mrs. Fane. “Of course, I + don’t want you never to have an opinion of your own, and I quite realize + that school has a disastrous effect on manners, but you didn’t apologize + very gracefully for being late for dinner, did you, dear?”</p> + + <p>“I’m sorry. I won’t ever be again,” said Michael shortly.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane sighed, and the meal progressed in silence. Michael, however, + could never bear to sulk, and he braced himself to be pleasant.</p> + + <p>“You ought to come over to Christchurch, mother. Shall we drive over one + day?”</p> + + <p>“Well, I’m not very fond of looking at churches,” said Mrs. Fane. “But + if you want to go, let us. I always like you to do everything you want.”</p> + + <p> + Michael sighed at the ingenuity of his mother’s method, and changed the + subject to their fellow-guests. + <a name="page_359" id="page_359"></a> + </p> + + <p>“That’s rather a pretty girl, don’t you think?”</p> + + <p>“Where, dear?” asked Mrs. Fane, putting up her lorgnette and staring + hard at the wife of a clergyman sitting across the room from their + table.</p> + + <p>“No, no, mother,” said Michael, beaming with pleasure at the delightful + vagueness of his mother which only distressed him when it shrouded his + own sensations. “The next table—the girl in pink.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, decidedly,” said Mrs. Fane. “But dreadfully common. I can’t think + why those sort of people come to nice hotels. I suppose they read about + them in railway guides.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t think she’s very common,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Well, dear, you’re not quite at the best age for judging, are you?”</p> + + <p>“Hang it, mother, I’m seventeen.”</p> + + <p>“It’s terrible to think of,” said Mrs. Fane. “And only such a little + while ago you were the dearest baby boy. Then Stella must be sixteen,” + she went on. “I think it’s time she came back from the Continent.”</p> + + <p>“What about her first concert?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I must think a lot before I settle when that is to be.”</p> + + <p>“But Stella is counting on it being very soon.”</p> + + <p>“Dear children, you’re both rather impetuous,” said Mrs. Fane, + deprecating with the softness of her implied rebuke the quality, and in + Michael at any rate for the moment quenching all ardour.</p> + + <p>“I wonder if it’s wise to let a girl be a professional musician,” she + continued. “Dear me, children are a great responsibility, especially + when one is alone.”</p> + + <p> + Here was an opportunity for Michael to revive the subject of his father, + but he had now lost the cruel frankness of childhood and shrank from the + directness of the personal encounter such a topic would involve. He was + <a name="page_360" id="page_360"></a> + + seized with one of his fits of shy sensitiveness, and he became suddenly + so deeply embarrassed that he could scarcely even bring himself to + address his mother as ‘you.’ He felt that he must go away by himself + until he had shaken off this uncomfortable sensation. He actually felt a + kind of immodesty in saying ‘you’ to his mother, as if in saying so much + he was trespassing on the forbidden confines of her individuality. It + would not endure for more than an hour or so, this fear of approach, + this hyperæsthesia of contact and communication. Yet not for anything + could he kiss her good night and, mumbling a few bearish excuses, he + vanished as soon as dinner was over, vowing that he would cure himself + of this mood by walking through the pine trees and blowy darkness of the + cliffs. + </p> + + <p>As he passed through the hotel lounge, he saw the good-looking girl, + whom his mother had stigmatized as common, waiting there wrapped up in a + feathery cloak. He decided that he would sit down and observe her until + the sister came down. He wished he knew this girl, since it would be + pleasant after dinner to stroll out either upon the pier or to listen to + the music in the Winter Garden in such attractive company. Michael + fancied that the girl, as she walked slowly up and down the lounge, was + conscious of his glances, and he felt an adventurous excitement at his + heart. It would be a daring and delightful novelty to speak to her. Then + the sister came down, and the two girls went out through the swinging + doors of the hotel, leaving Michael depressed and lonely. Was it a trick + of the lamplight, or did he really perceive her head turn outside to + regard him for a moment?</p> + + <p> + During his walk along the cliffs Michael played with this idea. By the + time he went to bed his mind was full of this girl, and it was certainly + thrilling to come down to breakfast next morning and see what blouse she + was wearing. Mrs. Fane always had breakfast in her room, + <a name="page_361" id="page_361"></a> + so Michael was + free to watch this new interest over the cricket matches in The + Sportsman. He grew almost jealous of the plates and forks and cups which + existed so intimately upon her table, and he derived a sentimental + pleasure from the thought that nothing was more likely than that + to-morrow there would be an exchange of cups between his table and hers. + He conceived the idea of chipping a piece out of his own cup and + watching every morning on which table it would be laid, until it reached + her. + </p> + + <p>At lunch Michael, as nonchalantly as he could speak, asked his mother + whether she did not think the pretty girl dressed rather well.</p> + + <p>“Very provincial,” Mrs. Fane judged.</p> + + <p>“But prettily, I think,” persisted Michael. “And she wears a different + dress every day.”</p> + + <p>“Do you want to know her?” asked Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Oh, mother, of course not,” said Michael, blushing hotly.</p> + + <p>“I dare say they’re very pleasant people,” Mrs. Fane remarked. “I’ll + speak to them after lunch, and tell them how anxious you are to make + their acquaintance.”</p> + + <p>“I say, mother,” Michael protested. “Oh, no, don’t, mother. I really + don’t want to know them.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane smiled at him, and told him not to be a foolish boy. After + lunch, in her own gracious and distinguished manner which Michael always + admired, Mrs. Fane spoke to the two sisters and presently beckoned to + Michael who crossed the room, feeling rather as if he were going in to + bat first for his side.</p> + + <p>“I don’t think I know your name,” said Mrs. Fane to the elder sister.</p> + + <p>“McDonnell—Norah McDonnell, and this is my sister Kathleen.”</p> + + <p>“Scotch?” asked Mrs. Fane vaguely and pleasantly.</p> + + <p> + “No, Irish,” contradicted the younger sister. “At + <a name="page_362" id="page_362"></a> + least by extraction. + McDonnell is an Irish name. But we live in Burton-on-Trent. Father and + mother are coming down later on.” + </p> + + <p>She spoke with the jerky speech of the Midlands, and Michael rather + wished she did not come from Burton-on-Trent, not on his own account, + but because his mother would be able to point out to him how right she + had been about their provincialism.</p> + + <p>“Are you going anywhere this evening?” Michael managed to ask at last.</p> + + <p>“I suppose we shall go on the pier. We usually go on the pier. Eh, but + it’s rather dull in Bournemouth. I like Llandudno better. Llandudno’s + fine,” said the elder Miss McDonnell with fervour.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane came to the rescue of an awkward conversation by asking the + Miss McDonnells if they would take pity on her son and invite him to + accompany them. And so it was arranged.</p> + + <p>“Happy, Michael?” asked his mother when the ladies, with many smiles, + had withdrawn to their rooms.</p> + + <p>“Yes. I’m all right,” said Michael. “Only I rather wish you hadn’t asked + them so obviously. It made me feel rather a fool.”</p> + + <p>“Dearest boy, they were delighted at the idea of your company. They seem + quite nice people too. Only, as I said, very provincial. Older, too, + than I thought at first.”</p> + + <p>Michael asked how old his mother thought they were, and she supposed + them to be about twenty-seven and thirty. Michael was inclined to + protest against this high estimate, but since he had spoken to the Miss + McDonnells, he felt that after all his mother might be right.</p> + + <p> + In the evening his new friends came down to dinner much enwrapped in + feathers, and Michael thought that Kathleen looked very beautiful in the + crimson lamplight of the dinner-table. + <a name="page_363" id="page_363"></a> + </p> + + <p>“How smart you are, Michael, to-night!” said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Oh, well, I thought as I’d got my dinner-jacket down here I might as + well put it on. I say, mother, I think I’ll get a tail-coat. Couldn’t I + have one made here?”</p> + + <p>“Isn’t that collar rather tight?” asked Mrs. Fane anxiously. “And it + seems dreadfully tall.”</p> + + <p>“I like tall collars with evening dress,” said Michael severely.</p> + + <p>“You know best, dear, but you look perfectly miserable.”</p> + + <p>“It’s only because my chin is a bit sore after shaving.”</p> + + <p>“Do you have to shave often?” enquired Mrs. Fane, tenderly horrified.</p> + + <p>“Rather often,” said Michael. “About once a week now.”</p> + + <p>“She has pretty hands, your lady love,” said Mrs. Fane, suddenly looking + across to the McDonnells’ table.</p> + + <p>“I say, mother, for goodness’ sake mind. She’ll hear you,” whispered + Michael.</p> + + <p>“Oh, Michael dear, don’t be so foolishly self-conscious.”</p> + + <p>After dinner Michael retired to his room, and came down again smoking a + cigarette.</p> + + <p> + Mrs. Fane made a little + <i>moue</i> + of surprise. + </p> + + <p>“I say, mother, don’t keep on calling attention to everything I do. You + know I’ve smoked for ages.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, but not so very publicly, dear boy.”</p> + + <p>“Well, you don’t mind, do you? I must begin some time,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Michael, don’t be cross with me. You’re so deliciously amusing, and so + much too nice for those absurd women,” Mrs. Fane laughed.</p> + + <p>Just then the Miss McDonnells appeared on the staircase, and Michael + frowned at his mother not to say any more about them.</p> + + <p> + <a name="page_364" id="page_364"></a> + It was a fairly successful evening. The elder Miss McDonnell bored + Michael rather with a long account of why her father had left Ireland, + and what a blow it had been to him to open a large hotel in + Burton-on-Trent. He was also somewhat fatigued by the catalogue of Mr. + McDonnell’s virtues, of his wit and courage and good looks and + shrewdness. + </p> + + <p>“He has a really old-fashioned sense of humour,” said Miss McDonnell. + “But then, of course, he’s Irish. He’s accounted quite the cleverest man + in Burton, but then, being Irish, that’s not to be wondered at.”</p> + + <p>Michael wished she would not say ‘wondered’ as if it were ‘wandered,’ + and indeed he was beginning to think that Miss McDonnell was a great + trial, when he suddenly discovered that by letting his arm hang very + loosely from his shoulder it was possible without the slightest hint of + intention occasionally to touch Kathleen’s hand as they walked along. + The careful calculation that this proceeding demanded occupied his mind + so fully that he was able to give mechanical assents to Miss McDonnell’s + praise of her father, and apparently at the same time impress her with + his own intelligence.</p> + + <p>As the evening progressed Michael slightly increased the number of times + he tapped Kathleen’s hand with his, and after about an hour’s promenade + of the pier he was doing a steady three taps a minute. He now began to + speculate whether Kathleen was aware of these taps, and from time to + time he would glance round at her over his shoulder, hopeful of catching + her eyes.</p> + + <p>“Are you admiring my sister’s brooch?” asked Miss McDonnell. “Eh, I + think it’s grand. Don’t you?”</p> + + <p> + Kathleen giggled lightly at this, and asked her sister how she could, + and then Michael with a boldness that on reflection made him catch his + breath at the imagination of it, said that while he was admiring Miss + Kathleen’s brooch he was admiring her eyes still more. + <a name="page_365" id="page_365"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Oh, Mr. Fane. How can you!” exclaimed Kathleen.</p> + + <p>“Well, he’s got good taste, I’m sure,” said Miss McDonnell. “But, there, + after all, what can you expect from an Irish girl? All Irish girls have + fine eyes.”</p> + + <p>When Michael went to bed he felt that on the whole he had acquitted + himself that first evening with considerable success, and as he fell + asleep he dreamed triumphantly of a daring to-morrow.</p> + + <p>It was an April day, whose deeps of azure sky made the diverse foliage + of spring burn in one ardent green. Such a day spread out before his + windows set Michael on fire for its commemoration, and he made up his + mind to propose a long bicycling expedition to the two Miss McDonnells. + He wished that it were not necessary to invite the elder sister, but not + even this April morning could embolden him so far as to ask Kathleen + alone. Mrs. Fane smilingly approved of his proposal, but suggested that + on such a warm day it would be wiser not to start until after lunch. So + it was arranged, and Michael thoroughly enjoyed the consciousness of + escorting these girls out of Bournemouth on their trim bicycles. Indeed, + he enjoyed his position so much that he continually looked in the + shop-windows, as they rode past, to observe the effect and was so much + charmed by the result that he crossed in front of Miss McDonnell, and + upset her and her bicycle in the middle of the town.</p> + + <p>“Eh, that’s a nuisance,” said Miss McDonnell, surveying bent handlebars + and inner tyre swelling like a toy balloon along the rim. “That was + quite a mishap,” she added, shaking the dust from her skirt.</p> + + <p>Michael was in despair over his clumsiness, especially when Miss + Kathleen McDonnell remarked that there went the ride she’d been looking + forward to all day.</p> + + <p> + “Well, you two go on an I’ll walk back,” Miss McDonnell offered. + <a name="page_366" id="page_366"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Oh, but I can easily hire another machine,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“No. I’ll go back. I’ve grazed my knee a bit badly.”</p> + + <p>Michael was so much perturbed to hear this that without thinking he + anxiously asked to be allowed to look, and wished that the drain by + which he was standing would swallow him up when he realized by + Kathleen’s giggling what he had said.</p> + + <p>“It’s all right,” said Miss McDonnell kindly. “There’s no need to worry. + I hope you’ll have a pleasant ride.”</p> + + <p>“I say, it’s really awfully ripping of you to be so jolly good-tempered + about it,” Michael exclaimed. “Are you sure I can’t do anything?”</p> + + <p>“No, you can just put my bicycle in the shop along there, and I’ll take + the tram back. Mind and enjoy yourselves, and don’t be late.”</p> + + <p>The equable Miss McDonnell then left her sister and Michael to their own + devices.</p> + + <p>They rode along in alert silence until they left Branksome behind them + and came into hedgerows, where an insect earned Michael’s cordial + gratitude by invading his eye. He jumped off his bicycle immediately and + called for Kathleen’s aid, and as he stood in the quiet lane with the + girl’s face close to his and her hand brushing his cheeks, Michael felt + himself to be indeed a favourite of fortune.</p> + + <p>“There it is, Mr. Fane,” said Miss Kathleen McDonnell. And, though he + tried to be sceptical for a while of the insect’s discovery, he was + bound to admit the evidence of the handkerchief.</p> + + <p>“Thanks awfully,” said Michael. “And I say, I wish you wouldn’t call me + Mr. Fane. You know my Christian name.”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, but I’d feel shy to call you Michael,” said Miss McDonnell. + <a name="page_367" id="page_367"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Not if I called you Kathleen,” Michael suggested, and felt inclined to + shake his own hand in congratulation of his own magnificent daring.</p> + + <p>“Well, I must say one thing. You don’t waste much time. I think you’re a + bit of a flirt, you know,” said Kathleen.</p> + + <p>“A flirt,” Michael echoed. “Oh, I say, do you really think so?”</p> + + <p>“I’m afraid I do,” murmured Kathleen. “Shall we go on again?”</p> + + <p>They rode along in renewed silence for several miles, and then they + suddenly came upon Poole Harbour lying below them, washed in the + tremulous golden airs of the afternoon.</p> + + <p>“I say, how ripping!” cried Michael, leaping from his machine and + flinging it away from him against a bank of vivid grass. “We must sit + down here for a bit.”</p> + + <p>“It is pretty,” said Kathleen. “It’s almost like a picture.”</p> + + <p>“I’m glad you’re fond of beautiful things,” said Michael earnestly.</p> + + <p>“Well, one can’t help it, can one?” sighed Kathleen.</p> + + <p>“Some people can,” said Michael darkly. “There’s rather a good place to + sit over there,” he added, pointing to a broken gate that marked the + entrance to an oak wood, and he faintly touched the sleeve of Kathleen’s + blouse to guide her towards the chosen spot.</p> + + <p> + Then they sat leaning against the gate, she idly plucking sun-faded + primroses, he brooding upon the nearness of her hand. In such universal + placidity it could not be wrong to hold that hand wasting itself amid + small energies. Without looking into her eyes, without turning his gaze + from the great tranquil water before him, Michael took her hand in his + so lightly that save for the pulsing of his heart he scarcely knew he + held it. So he sat breathless, + <a name="page_368" id="page_368"></a> + enduring pins and needles, tolerating + the uncertain pilgrimage of ants rather than move an inch and break the + yielding spell which made her his. + </p> + + <p>“Are you holding my hand?” she asked, after they had sat a long while + pensively.</p> + + <p>“I suppose I am,” said Michael. Then he turned and with full-blooded + cheeks and swimming eyes met unabashed Kathleen’s demure and faintly + mocking glance.</p> + + <p>“Do you think you ought to?” she enquired.</p> + + <p>“I haven’t thought anything about that,” said Michael. “I simply thought + I wanted to.”</p> + + <p>“You’re rather old for your age,” she went on, with an inflection of + teazing surprize in her soft voice. “How old are you?”</p> + + <p>“Seventeen,” said Michael simply.</p> + + <p>“Goodness!” cried Kathleen, withdrawing her hand suddenly. “And I wonder + how old you think I am?”</p> + + <p>“I suppose you’re about twenty-five.”</p> + + <p>Kathleen got up and said in a brisk voice that destroyed all Michael’s + bravery, “Come, let’s be getting back. Norah will be thinking I’m lost.”</p> + + <p>Just when they were nearing the outskirts of Branksome, Kathleen + dismounted suddenly and said:</p> + + <p>“I suppose you’ll be surprized when I tell you I’m engaged to be + married?”</p> + + <p>“Are you?” faltered Michael; and the road swam before him.</p> + + <p>“At least I’m only engaged secretly, because my fiancé is poor. He’s + coming down soon. I’d like you to meet him.”</p> + + <p>“I should like to meet him very much,” said Michael politely.</p> + + <p>“You won’t tell anybody what I’ve told you?”</p> + + <p> + “Good Lord, no. Perhaps I might be of some use,” said Michael. “You + know, in arranging meetings.” + <a name="page_369" id="page_369"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Eh, you’re a nice boy,” exclaimed Kathleen suddenly.</p> + + <p>And Michael was not perfectly sure whether he thought himself a hero or + a martyr.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane was very much diverted by Michael’s account of Miss + McDonnell’s accident, and teazed him gaily about Kathleen. Michael would + assume an expression of mystery, as if indeed he had been entrusted with + the dark secrets of a young woman’s mind; but the more mysterious he + looked the more his mother laughed. In his own heart he cultivated + assiduously his devotion, and regretted most poignantly that each new + blouse and each chosen evening-dress was not for him. He used to watch + Kathleen at dinner, and depress himself with the imagination of her + spirit roaming out over the broad Midlands to meet her lover. He never + made the effort to conjure up the lover, but preferred to picture him + and Kathleen gathering like vague shapes upon the immeasurable + territories of the soul.</p> + + <p>Then one morning Kathleen took him aside after breakfast to question his + steadfastness.</p> + + <p>“Were you in earnest about what you said?” she asked.</p> + + <p>“Of course I was,” Michael affirmed.</p> + + <p>“He’s come down. He’s staying in rooms. Why don’t you ask me to go out + for a bicycle ride?”</p> + + <p>“Well, will you?” Michael dutifully invited.</p> + + <p>“I’m so excited,” said Kathleen, fluttering off to tell her sister of + this engagement to go riding with Michael.</p> + + <p>In about half an hour they stood outside the small red-brick house which + cabined the bold spirit of Michael’s depressed fancies.</p> + + <p>“You’ll come in and say ‘how do you do’?” suggested Kathleen.</p> + + <p>“I suppose I’d better,” Michael agreed.</p> + + <p> + They entered together the little efflorescent parlour of the house. + <a name="page_370" id="page_370"></a> + </p> + + <p>“This is my fiancé—Mr. Walter Trimble,” Kathleen proudly announced.</p> + + <p>“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Trimble. “Kath tells me you’re on to do + us a good turn.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked at Mr. Trimble, resolutely anxious to find in him the + creator of Kathleen’s noble destiny. He saw a thick-set young man in a + splendidly fitting, but ill-cut blue serge suit; he saw a dark moustache + of silky luxuriance growing amid regular features; in fact, he saw + someone that might have stepped from one of the grandiose frames of that + efflorescent little room. But he was Kathleen’s choice, and Michael + refused to let himself feel at all disappointed.</p> + + <p>“I think it’s bad luck not to be able to marry, if one wants to,” said + Michael deeply.</p> + + <p>“You’re right,” Mr. Trimble agreed. “That’s why I want Kath here to + marry me first and tell her dad afterwards.”</p> + + <p>“I only wish I dared,” sighed Kathleen. “Well, if we’re going to have + our walk, we’d better be getting along. Will I meet you by the side-gate + into the Winter Garden at a quarter to one?”</p> + + <p>“Right-o,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“I wonder if you’d lend Mr. Trimble your bicycle?”</p> + + <p>“Of course,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Because we could get out of the town a bit,” suggested Kathleen. “And + that’s always pleasanter.”</p> + + <p> + Michael spent a dull morning in wandering about Bournemouth, while + Kathleen and her Trimble probably rode along the same road he and she + had gone a few days back. He tried to console himself with thoughts of + self-sacrifice, and he took a morbid delight in the imagination of the + pleasure he had made possible for others. But undeniably his own morning + was dreary, and not even could Swinburne’s canorous Triumph of Time do + much more than + <a name="page_371" id="page_371"></a> + echo somewhat sadly through the resonant emptiness of + his self-constructed prison, whose windows opened on to a sentimental if + circumscribed view of unattainable sweetness. + </p> + + <p> + Michael sat on a bench in a sophisticated pine-grove and, having lighted + a cigarette, put out the match with his sighing exhalation of + <i>‘O love, + my love, and no love for me.’</i> + It was wonderful to Michael how perfectly + Swinburne expressed his despair. + <i>‘O love, my love, had you loved but + me.’</i> + And why had she not loved him? Why did she prefer Trimble? Did + Trimble ever read Swinburne? Could Trimble sit like this smoking calmly + a cigarette and breathing out deathless lines of love’s despair? Michael + began to feel a little sorry for Kathleen, almost as sorry for her as he + felt for himself. Soon the Easter holidays would be over, and he would + go back to school. He began to wonder whether he would wear the marks of + suffering on his countenance, and whether his friends would eye him + curiously, asking themselves in whispers what man this was that came + among them with so sad and noble an expression of resignation. As + Michael thought of Trimble and Kathleen meeting in Burton-on-Trent and + daily growing nearer to each other in love, he became certain that his + grief would indeed be manifest. He pictured himself sitting in the + sunlit serene class-room of the History Sixth, a listless figure of + despair, an object of wondering, whispering compassion. And so his life + would lose itself in a monotone of discontent. Grey distances of time + presented themselves to him with a terrible menace of loneliness; the + future was worse than ever, a barren waste whose horizon would never + darken to the silhouette of Kathleen coming towards him with open arms. + Never would he hold her hand again; never would he touch those lips at + all; never would he even know what dresses she wore in summer. + <i>‘O love, + my love, and no love for me.’</i> + <a name="page_372" id="page_372"></a> + </p> + + <p>When Michael met Kathleen by the side-gate of the Winter Gardens, and + received his bicycle back from Trimble, he suddenly wondered whether + Kathleen had told her betrothed that another had held her hand. Michael + rather hoped she had, and that the news of it had made Trimble jealous. + Trimble, however, seemed particularly pleased with himself, and invited + Michael to spend the afternoon with him, which Michael promised to do, + if his mother did not want his company.</p> + + <p>“Well, did you have a decent morning?” Michael enquired of Kathleen, as + together they rode towards their hotel.</p> + + <p>“Oh, we had a grand time; we sat down where you and me sat the other + day.”</p> + + <p>Michael nearly mounted the pavement at this news, and looked very + gloomy.</p> + + <p>“What’s the matter?” Kathleen pursued. “You’re not put out, are you?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, not at all,” said Michael sardonically. “All the same, I think + you might have turned off and gone another road. I sat and thought of + you all the morning. But I don’t mind really,” he added, remembering + that at any rate for Kathleen he must remain that chivalrous and + selfless being which had been created by the loan of a bicycle. “I’m + glad you enjoyed yourself. I always want you to be happy. All my life I + shall want that.”</p> + + <p> + Michael was surprized to find how much more eloquent he was in the + throes of disappointment than he had ever been through the prompting of + passion. He wished that the hotel were not already in sight, for he felt + that he could easily say much more about his renunciation, and indeed he + made up his mind to do so at the first opportunity. In the afternoon he + told his mother he was going to pay a visit to Father Moneypenny. He did + not tell her about Trimble, because he feared her teazing; although + <a name="page_373" id="page_373"></a> + he + tried to deceive himself that the lie was due to his loyalty to + Kathleen. + </p> + + <p>“What shall we do?” asked Trimble. “Shall we toddle round to the Shades + and have a drink?”</p> + + <p>“Just as you like,” Michael said.</p> + + <p>“Well, I’m on for a drink. It’s easier to talk down at the Shades than + in here.”</p> + + <p>Michael wondered why, but he accepted a cigar, and with Trimble sought + the speech-compelling Shades.</p> + + <p>“It’s like this,” Trimble began, when they were seated on the worn + leather of the corner lounge. “I took a fancy to you right off. Eh, I’m + from the North, and I may be a bit blunt, but by gum I liked you, and + that’s how it is. Yes. I’m going to talk to you the same as I might to + my own brother, only I haven’t got one.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked a little apprehensive of the sack of confidences that + would presently be emptied over his head, and, seeking perhaps to turn + Trimble from his intention, asked him to guess his age.</p> + + <p>“Well, I suppose you’re anything from twenty-two to twenty-three.”</p> + + <p>Michael choked over his lemon-and-dash before he announced grimly that + he was seventeen.</p> + + <p>“Get out,” said Trimble sceptically. “You’re more than that. Seventeen? + Eh, I wouldn’t have thought it. Never mind, I said I was going to tell + you. And by gum I will, if you say next you haven’t been weaned.”</p> + + <p>Michael resented the freedom of this expression and knitted his eyebrows + in momentary distaste.</p> + + <p>“It’s like this,” Mr. Trimble began again, “I made up my mind to-day + that Kath’s the lass for me. Now am I right? That’s what I want to ask + you. Am I right?”</p> + + <p>“I suppose if you’re in love with her and she’s in love with you, yes,” + said Michael.</p> + + <p> + “Well, she is. Now you wouldn’t think she was passionate, + <a name="page_374" id="page_374"></a> + would you? + You’d say she was a bit of ice, wouldn’t you? Well, by gum, I tell you, + lad, she’s a furnace. Would you believe that?” Mr. Trimble leaned back + triumphantly. + </p> + + <p>Michael did not know what comment to make on this information, and took + another sip of his lemon-and-dash.</p> + + <p>“Well, now what I say is—and I’m not a chap who’s flung round a great + deal with the girls—what I say is,” Trimble went on, banging the marble + table before him, “it’s not fair on a lass to play around like this, and + so I’ve made up my mind to marry her. Am I right? By gum, lad, I know + I’m right.”</p> + + <p>“I think you are,” said Michael solemnly. “And I think you’re awfully + lucky.”</p> + + <p>“Lucky?” echoed Trimble, “I’m lucky enough, if it wasn’t for her domned + old father. The lass is fine, but him—well, if I was to tell you what + he is, you’d say I was using language. So it’s like this. I want Kath to + marry me down here. I’ll get the license. I’ve saved up a hundred + pounds. I’m earning two hundred a year now. Am I right?”</p> + + <p>“Perfectly right,” said Michael earnestly, who, now that Trimble was + showing himself to possess real fervour of soul, was ready to support + him, even at the cost of his own suffering. He envied Trimble his + freedom from the trammels of education, which for such a long while + would prevent himself from taking such a step as marriage by license. + Indeed, Michael scarcely thought he ever would take such a step now, + since it was unlikely that anyone with Kathleen’s attraction would lure + him on to such a deed.</p> + + <p> + Trimble’s determination certainly went a long way to excuse the failings + of his outer person in Michael’s eyes, and indeed, as he pledged him a + stirrup-cup of lemon-and-dash, Trimble and Young Lochinvar were not + seriously distinct in Michael’s imaginative anticipation of the + exploit. + <a name="page_375" id="page_375"></a> + </p> + + <p>So all day and every day for ten days Michael presumably spent his time + with Kathleen, notwithstanding Mrs. Fane’s tenderly malicious teazing, + notwithstanding the elder Miss McDonnell’s growing chill, and + notwithstanding several very pointed questions from the interfering old + spinsters and knitters in the sun of the hotel-gardens. That actually he + spent his time alone in watching slow-handed clocks creep on towards a + quarter to one or a quarter to five or a quarter to seven, filled + Michael daily more full with the spiritual rewards of his sacrifice. He + had never known before the luxury of grief, and he had no idea what a + variety of becoming attitudes could be wrought of sadness, and not + merely attitudes, but veritable dramas. One of the most heroically + poignant of these was founded on the moment when Kathleen should ask him + to be godfather to her first-born. “No, no,” Michael would exclaim. + “Don’t ask me to do that. I have suffered enough.” And Kathleen would + remorsefully and silently steal from the dusky room a-flicker with sad + firelight, leaving Michael a prey to his own noble thoughts. There was + another drama scarcely less moving, in which the first-born died, and + Michael, on hearing the news, took the night express to Burton in order + to speak words of hope above the little duplicate of Trimble now for + ever still in his cradle. Sometimes in the more expansive moments of + Michael’s celibacy Trimble and Kathleen would lose all their money, and + Michael, again taking the night express to Burton-on-Trent, would offer + to adopt about half a dozen duplicates of Trimble.</p> + + <p> + Finally the morning of the marriage arrived, and Michael, feeling that + this was an excellent opportunity to have the first of his dramas staged + in reality, declined to be present. His refusal was a little less + dramatic than he had intended, because Kathleen was too much excited by + her own reckless behaviour to act up. While Michael waited for the + ceremony’s + <a name="page_376" id="page_376"></a> + conclusion, he began a poem called ‘Renunciation.’ + Unfortunately the marriage service was very much faster than his Muse, + and he never got farther than half the opening line, + ‘<i>If I renounce</i>.’ + Michael, however, ascribed his failure to a little girl who would + persist in bouncing a tennis ball near his seat in the gardens. + </p> + + <p>The wedding was only concluded just in time, because Mr. and Mrs. + McDonnell arrived on the following day and Michael’s expeditions with + Kathleen were immediately forbidden. Possibly the equable Miss McDonnell + had been faintly alarmed for her sister’s good name. At any rate she had + certainly been annoyed by her continuous neglect.</p> + + <p>Michael, however, had a long interview with Trimble, and managed to warn + Kathleen that her husband was going to present himself after dinner. + Trimble and he had thought this was more likely to suit Mr. McDonnell’s + digestion than an after-breakfast confession. Michael expressed himself + perfectly willing to take all the blame, and privately made up his mind + that if Mr. McDonnell tried to be ‘too funny,’ he would summon his + mother to ‘polish him off’ with the vision of her manifest superiority.</p> + + <p>Somewhat to Michael’s chagrin his share in the matter was overlooked by + Mr. McDonnell, and the oration he had prepared to quell the long-lipped + Irish father was never delivered. Whatever scenes of domestic strife + occurred, occurred without Michael’s assistance, and he was not a little + dismayed to be told by Kathleen in the morning that all had passed off + well, but that in the circumstances her father had thought they had + better leave Bournemouth at once.</p> + + <p>“You’re going?” stammered Michael.</p> + + <p> + “Yes. We must be getting back. It’s all been so sudden, and Walter’s + coming into the business, and eh, I’m as happy as the day is long.” + <a name="page_377" id="page_377"></a> + + Michael watched them all depart, and after a few brave good-byes and + three flutters from Kathleen’s handkerchief turned sadly back into the + large, unfriendly hotel. He knew the number of Kathleen’s room, and in + an access of despair that was, however, not so overwhelming as to + preclude all self-consciousness, he wandered down the corridor and + peeped into the late haunt of his love. The floor was littered with + tissue paper, broken cardboard-boxes, empty toilet-bottles, and all the + disarray of departure. Michael caught his breath at the sudden + revelation of this abandoned room’s appeal. Here was the end of + Kathleen’s maidenhood; here still lingered the allurement of her + presence; but Trimble could never see this last virginal abode, this + elusive shrine that Michael wished he could hire for sentimental + meditations. Along the corridor came the sound of a dustpan. He looked + round hastily for one souvenir of Kathleen, and perceived still moist + from her last quick ablution a piece of soap. He seized it quickly and + surrendered the room to the destructive personality of the housemaid. + </p> + + <p>“Well, dear,” asked Mrs. Fane at lunch, “did your lady love give you + anything to commemorate your help? Darling Michael, you must have made a + most delicious knight-errant.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, she didn’t give me anything,” said Michael. “Why should she?”</p> + + <p> + Then he blushed, thinking of the soap that was even now enshrined in a + drawer and scenting his handkerchiefs and ties. He wondered if Alan + would understand the imperishable effluence from that slim cenotaph of + soap. + <a name="page_378" id="page_378"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XIV_Arabesque" id="Chapter_XIV_Arabesque"></a> + Chapter XIV: + <i>Arabesque</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + N the air of the Easter holidays that year there must have been + something unusually amorous even for April, for when Michael came back + to school he found that most of his friends and contemporaries had been + wounded by love’s darts. Alan, to be sure, returned unscathed, but as he + had been resting in the comparatively cloistral seclusion of Cobble + Place, Michael did not count his whole heart much honour to anything + except his lack of opportunity. Everybody else had come back in + possession of girls; some even had acquired photographs. There was talk + of gloves and handkerchiefs, of flowers and fans, but nobody, as far as + Michael could cautiously ascertain, had thought of soap; and he + congratulated himself upon his relic. Also, apparently, all his friends + in their pursuit of Eastertide nymphs had been successful, and he began + to take credit to himself for being unlucky. His refusal (to this + already had come Kathleen’s suddenly withdrawn hand) gave him a peculiar + interest, and those of his friends in whom he confided looked at him + with awe, and listened respectfully to his legend of despair. + </p> + + <p>Beneath the hawthorns on the golden afternoons and lingering topaz eves + of May, Michael would wait for Alan to finish his game of cricket, and + between lazily applauded strokes and catches he would tell the tale of + Kathleen to his fellows:</p> + + <p> + “I asked her to wait for me. Of course she was older than me. I said I + was ready to marry her when I was twenty-one, but there was another + chap, a decent fellow, + <a name="page_379" id="page_379"></a> + devilish handsome, too. He was frightfully rich, + and so she agreed to elope with him. I helped them no end. I told her + father he simply must not attempt to interfere. But, of course, I was + frightfully cut up—oh, absolutely knocked out. We’re all of us unlucky + in love in our family. My sister was in love with an Austrian who was + killed by an avalanche. I don’t suppose I shall ever be in love again. + They say you never really fall in love more than once in your life. I + feel a good deal older this term. I suppose I look ... oh, well hit + indeed—run it out, and again, sir, and again ...!” + </p> + + <p>So Michael would break off the tale of his love, until one of his + listeners would seek to learn more of passion’s frets and fevers.</p> + + <p>“But, Bangs, what about the day she eloped? What did you do?”</p> + + <p>“I wrote poetry,” Michael would answer.</p> + + <p>“Great Scott, that’s a bit of a swat, isn’t it?”</p> + + <p> + “Yes, it’s a bit difficult,” Michael would agree. “Only, of course, I + only write + <i>vers libre</i> + . No rhymes or anything.” + </p> + + <p>And then an argument would arise as to whether poetry without rhymes + could fairly be called poetry at all. This argument, or another like it, + would last until the cricket stopped, when Michael and his fellows would + stroll into the pavilion and examine the scoring-book or criticize the + conduct of the game.</p> + + <p> + It was a pleasant time, that summer term, and life moved on very equably + for Michael, notwithstanding his Eastertide heartbreak. Alan caused him + a little trouble by his indifference to anything but cricket, and one + Sunday, when May had deepened into June, Michael took him to task for + his attitude. Alan had asked Michael over to Richmond for the week-end, + and the two of them had punted down the river towards Kew. They had + moored their boat under a weeping willow about the time when the + <a name="page_380" id="page_380"></a> + bells + for church, begin to chime across the level water-meadows. + </p> + + <p>“Alan, aren’t you ever going to fall in love?” Michael began.</p> + + <p>“Why should I?” Alan countered in his usual way.</p> + + <p>“I don’t know. I think it’s time you did,” said Michael. “You’ve no idea + how much older it makes you feel. And I suppose you don’t want to remain + a kid for ever. Because, you know, old chap, you are an awful kid beside + me.”</p> + + <p>“Thanks very much,” said Alan. “I believe you’re exactly one month + older, as a matter of fact.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, in actual time,” said Michael earnestly. “But in experience I’m + years older than you.”</p> + + <p>“That must be why you’re such a rotten field,” commented Alan. “After + forty the joints get stiff.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, chuck being funny,” said Michael severely. “I’m in earnest. Now you + know as well as I do that last term and the term before I was miserable. + Well, look at me now. I’m absolutely happy.”</p> + + <p>“I thought you were so frightfully depressed,” said Alan, twinkling. “I + thought you’d had an unlucky love affair. It seems to take you + differently from the way it takes most people.”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, of course, I + <i>was</i> + miserable,” Michael explained. “But now I’m + happy in her happiness. That’s love.” + </p> + + <p>Alan burst out laughing, and Michael observed that if he intended to + receive his confidences in such a flippant way, he would in future take + care to be more secretive.</p> + + <p>“I’m showing you what a lot I care about you,” Michael went on in tones + of deepest injury, “by telling you about myself. I think it’s rather + rotten of you to laugh.”</p> + + <p>“But you’ve told everybody,” Alan pointed out.</p> + + <p> + Michael took another tack, and explained to Alan that he wanted the spur + of his companionship in everything. + <a name="page_381" id="page_381"></a> + </p> + + <p>“It would be so ripping if we were both in love,” he sighed. “Honestly, + Alan, don’t you feel I’m much more developed since last term? I say, you + played awfully well yesterday against Dulford Second. If you go on + improving at the rate you are now, I don’t see why you shouldn’t get + your Blue at Oxford. By Jove, you know, in eighteen months we shall be + at Oxford. Are you keen?”</p> + + <p>“Frightfully keen,” said Alan. “Especially if I haven’t got to be in + love all the time.”</p> + + <p>“I’m not going to argue with you any more,” Michael announced. “But + you’re making a jolly big mistake. Still, of course, I do understand + about your cricket, and I dare say love might make you a bit boss-eyed. + Perhaps when footer begins again next term, I shall get over this + perpetual longing I have for Kathleen. You’ve no idea how awful I felt + when she said she loved Trimble. He was rather a bounder too, but of + course I had to help them. I say, Alan, do you remember Dora and + Winnie?”</p> + + <p>“Rather,” said Alan, smiling. “We made pretty good asses of ourselves + over them. Do you remember how fed up Nancy got?”</p> + + <p>So, very easily the conversation drifted into reminiscences of earlier + days, until the sky was quilted with rose-tipped pearly clouds. Then + they swung a Japanese lantern in the prow and worked up-stream towards + Richmond clustering dark against the west, while an ivory moon shimmered + on the dying azure of the day behind.</p> + + <p> + Throughout June the image of Kathleen became gradually fainter and + fainter with each materialization that Michael evoked. Then one evening + before dinner he found that the maid had forgotten to put a fresh cake + of soap in the dish. It was a question of ringing the bell or of + callously using Kathleen’s commemorative tablet. Michael went to his + drawer and, as he slowly washed his hands, he washed from his mind the + few insignificant + <a name="page_382" id="page_382"></a> + outlines of Kathleen that were printed there. The + soap was Trèfle Incarnat, and somewhat cynically Michael relished the + savour of it, and even made up his mind to buy a full fat cake when this + one should be finished. Kathleen, however, even in the fragrant moment + of her annihilation, had her revenge, for Michael experienced a return + of the old restlessness and discontent that was not mitigated by Alan’s + increasing preoccupation with cricket. He did not complain of this, for + he respected the quest of School Colours, and was proud for Alan. At the + same time something must be done to while away these warm summer + evenings until at Basingstead Minor, where his mother had delightfully + agreed to take a cottage for the summer, he and Alan could revive old + days at Cobble Place. + </p> + + <p>One evening Michael went out about nine o’clock to post a letter and, + finding the evening velvety and calm, strolled on through the enticing + streets of twilight. The violet shadows in which the white caps and + aprons of gossiping maids took on a moth-like immaterial beauty, the + gliding, enraptured lovers, the scent of freshly watered flower-boxes, + the stars winking between the chimney-pots, and all the drowsy alertness + of a fine London dusk drew him on to turn each new corner as it arrived, + until he saw the sky stained with dull gold from the reflection of the + lively crater of the Earl’s Court Exhibition, and heard over the vague + intervening noises music that was sometimes clearly melodious, sometimes + a mere confusion of spasmodic sound.</p> + + <p> + Michael suddenly thought he would like to spend his evening at the + Exhibition, and wondered to himself why he had never thought of going + there casually like this, why always he had considered it necessary to + devote a hot afternoon and flurried evening to its exploitation. By the + entrance he met a fellow-Jacobean, one Drake, + <a name="page_383" id="page_383"></a> + whose accentuated + mannishness, however disagreeable in the proximity of the school, might + be valuable at the Exhibition. Michael therefore accepted his boisterous + greeting pleasantly enough, and they passed through the turnstiles + together. + </p> + + <p>“I’ll introduce you to a smart girl, if you like,” Drake offered, as + they paused undecided between the attractions of two portions of the + Exhibition. “She sells Turkish Delight by the Cave of the Four Winds. + Very O.T., my boy,” Drake went on.</p> + + <p>“Do you mean——” Michael began.</p> + + <p>“What? Rather,” said Drake. “I’ve been home to her place.”</p> + + <p>“No joking?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“Yes,” affirmed Drake with a triumphant inhalation of sibilant breath.</p> + + <p>“Rather lucky, wasn’t it?” Michael asked. “I mean to say, it was rather + lucky to meet her.”</p> + + <p>“She might take you home,” suggested Drake, examining Michael + critically.</p> + + <p>“But I mightn’t like her,” Michael expostulated.</p> + + <p>“Good Lord,” exclaimed Drake, struck by a point of view that was + obviously dismaying in its novelty, “you don’t mean to say you’d bother + about that, if you could?”</p> + + <p>“Well, I rather think I should,” Michael admitted. “I think I’d want to + be in love.”</p> + + <p>“You are an extraordinary chap,” said Drake. “Now if I were dead nuts on + a girl, the last thing I’d think of would be that.”</p> + + <p> + They walked along silently, each one pondering the other’s + incomprehensibleness, until they came to the stall presided over by Miss + Mabel Bannerman, who in Michael’s opinion bore a curious resemblance to + the Turkish Delight she sold. With the knowledge of her he had obtained + from Drake, Michael regarded Miss Bannerman very much + <a name="page_384" id="page_384"></a> + as he would have + looked at an animal in the Zoological Gardens with whose habits he had + formed a previous acquaintanceship through a book of natural history. He + tried to perceive beyond her sachet-like hands and watery blue eyes and + spongy hair and full-blown breast the fascination which had made her + man’s common property. Then he looked at Drake, and came to the + conclusion that the problem was not worth the difficulty of solution. + </p> + + <p>“I think I’ll be getting back,” said Michael awkwardly.</p> + + <p>“Why, it’s not ten,” gasped Drake. “Don’t be an ass. Mabel gets out at + eleven, and we can take her home. Can’t we, Mabel?”</p> + + <p>“Sauce!” Mabel archly snapped.</p> + + <p>This savoury monosyllable disposed of Michael’s hesitation, and, as the + personality of Mabel cloyed him with a sudden nausea like her own + Turkish Delight, he left her to Drake without another word and went home + to bed.</p> + + <p> + The night was hot and drew Michael from vain attempts at sleep to the + open window where, as he sat thinking, a strange visionary survey of the + evening, a survey that he himself could scarcely account for, was + conjured up. He had not been aware at the time of much more than Drake + and the Turkish Delight stall. Now he realized that he too craved for a + Mabel, not a peony of a woman who could be flaunted like a vulgar + button-hole, but a more shy, a more subtle creature, yet conquerable. + Then, as Michael stared out over the housetops at the brooding pavilion + of sky which enclosed the hectic city, he began to recall the numberless + glances, the countless attitudes, all the sensuous phantasmagoria of the + Exhibition’s population. He remembered a slim hand, a slanting eye, lips + translucent in a burst of light. He caught at scents that, always + fugitive, were now utterly incommunicable; he trembled at the + remembrance of some contact in a crowd + <a name="page_385" id="page_385"></a> + that had been at once divinely + intimate and unendurably remote. The illusion of all the city’s sleepers + calling to him became more and more vivid under each stifling breath of + the night. Somewhere beneath that sable diadem of chimney-tops she lay, + that lovely girl of his desire. He would not picture her too clearly + lest he should destroy the charm of this amazing omnipotence of longing. + He would be content to enfold the imagination of her, and at dawn let + her slip from his arms like a cloud. He would sit all the night time at + his window, aware of kisses. Was this the emotion that prompted poets to + their verses? Michael broke his trance to search for paper and pencil, + and wrote ecstatically. + </p> + + <p>In the morning, when he read what he had written, he hastily tore it up, + and made up his mind that the Earl’s Court Exhibition would feed his + fire more satisfactorily than bad verses. Half a guinea would buy a + season-ticket, and July should be a pageant of sensations.</p> + + <p>Every night Michael went to Earl’s Court, and here a hundred brilliant + but evanescent flames were kindled in his heart, just as in the + Exhibition gardens every night for three hours the fairy-lamps spangled + the edge of the paths in threads of many-tinted lights. Michael always + went alone, because he did not desire any but his own discoveries to + reward his excited speculation. At first he merely enjoyed the sensation + of the slow stream of people that continually went up and down, or + strolled backwards and forwards, or circled round the bandstand that was + set out like a great gaudy coronet upon the parterres of lobelias and + geraniums and calceolarias that with nightfall came to seem brocaded + cushions.</p> + + <p> + It was a time profitable with a thousand reflections, this crowded hour + of the promenade. There was always the mesmeric sighing of silk skirts + and the ceaseless murmur of conversation; there was the noise of the + band and the + <a name="page_386" id="page_386"></a> + tapping of canes; there was, in fact, a regularity of + sound that was as infinitely soothing as breaking waves or a + wind-ruffled wood. There were the sudden provocative glances which + flashed as impersonally as precious stones, and yet lanced forth a + thrill that no faceted gem could give. There were hands whose white + knuckles, as they rippled over Michael’s hands in some momentary + pressure of the throng, gave him a sense of being an instrument upon + which a chord had been clearly struck. There were strands of hair that + floated against his cheeks with a strange, but exquisitely elusive + intimacy of communication. It was all very intoxicating and very + sensuous; but the spell crept over him as imperceptibly as if he were + merely yielding himself to the influence of a beautiful landscape, as if + he were lotus-eating in a solitude created by numbers. + </p> + + <p>Michael, however, was not content to dream away in a crowd these + passionate nights of July; and after a while he set out to find + adventures in the great bazaar of the Exhibition, wandering through the + golden corridors and arcades with a queer sense of suppressed + expectancy. So many fantastic trades were carried on here, that it was + natural to endow the girls behind the counters with a more romantic life + than that of ordinary and anæmic shop-assistants. Even Miss Mabel + Bannerman amid her Turkish Delight came to seem less crude in such + surroundings, and Michael once or twice had thoughts of prosecuting his + acquaintanceship; for as yet he had not been able to bring himself to + converse with any of the numerous girls, so much more attractive than + Mabel, who were haunting him with their suggestion of a strange + potentiality.</p> + + <p> + Michael wandered on past the palmists who went in and out of their + tapestried tents; past the physiognomists and phrenologists and + graphologists; past the vendors of scents and silver; past the languid + women who spread out their golden rugs from Samarcand; past the + Oriental + <a name="page_387" id="page_387"></a> + shops fuming with odorous pastilles, where lamps encrusted in + deep-hued jewels of glass glimmered richly; past that slant-eyed + cigarette-seller with the crimson fez crowning her dark hair. + </p> + + <p>July was nearing its end; the holidays were in sight; and still Michael + had got no farther with his ambitions; still at the last moment he would + pass on and neglect some perfect opportunity for speech. He used to rail + at his cowardice, and repeat to himself all his academic knowledge of + frail womanhood. He even took the trouble to consult the Ars Amatoria, + and was so much impressed by Ovid’s prescription for behaviour at a + circus that he determined to follow his advice. To put his theory into + practice, Michael selected a booth where seals performed for humanity at + sixpence a head. But all his resolutions ended in sitting mildly amused + by the entertainment in a condition of absolute decorum.</p> + + <p>School broke up with the usual explosion of self-congratulatory rhetoric + from which Michael, owing to his Exhibition ticket, failed to emerge + with any calf-bound souvenir of intellectual achievement. He minded this + less than his own pusillanimous behaviour on the brink of experience. It + made him desperate to think that in two days he would be at Basingstead + with his mother and Alan and Mrs. Ross, utterly remote even from the + pretence of temptation.</p> + + <p>“Dearest Michael, you really must get your things together,” + expostulated Mrs. Fane, when he announced his intention of going round + to the Exhibition as usual on the night before they were to leave town.</p> + + <p>“Well, mother, I can pack when I come in, and I do want to get all I can + out of this ‘season.’ You see it will be absolutely wasted for August + and half September.”</p> + + <p> + “Michael,” said Mrs. Fane suddenly, “you’re not keeping anything from + me?” + <a name="page_388" id="page_388"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Good gracious, no. What makes you ask?” Michael demanded, blushing.</p> + + <p>“I was afraid that perhaps some horrid girl might have got hold of you,” + said Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p>“Why, would you mind very much?” asked Michael, with a curious + hopefulness that his mother would pursue the subject, as if by so doing + she would give him an opportunity of regarding himself and his behaviour + objectively.</p> + + <p>“I don’t know that I should mind very much,” said Mrs. Fane, “if I + thought you were quite certain not to do anything foolish.” Then she + seemed to correct the laxity of her point of view, and substituted, + “anything that you might regret.”</p> + + <p>“What could I regret?” asked Michael, seeking to drive his mother on to + the rocks of frankness.</p> + + <p>“Surely you know what better than I can tell you. Don’t you?” The note + of interrogation caught the wind, and Mrs. Fane sailed off on the + starboard tack.</p> + + <p>“But as long as you’re not keeping anything from me,” she went on, “I + don’t mind. So go out, dear child, and enjoy yourself by all means. But + don’t be very late.”</p> + + <p>“I never am,” said Michael quickly, and a little resentfully as he + thought of his very decorous homecomings.</p> + + <p>“I know you’re not. You’re really a very dear fellow,” his mother + murmured, now safe in port.</p> + + <p>So at nine o’clock as usual Michael passed through the turnstiles and + began his feverish progress across the Exhibition grounds, trying as he + had never tried before to screw himself up to the pitch of the + experience he craved.</p> + + <p> + He was standing by one of the entrances to the Court of Marvels, + struggling with his self-consciousness and egging himself on to be bold + on this his last night, when he heard himself accosted as Mr. Michael + Fane. He looked round and saw a man whom he instantly recognized, but + for the moment could not name. + <a name="page_389" id="page_389"></a> + </p> + + <p>“It is Mr. Michael Fane?” the stranger asked. “You don’t remember me? I + met you at Clere Abbey.”</p> + + <p>“Brother Aloysius!” Michael exclaimed, and as he uttered the + high-sounding religious appellation he almost laughed at the incongruity + of it in connection with this slightly overdressed and dissolute-looking + person he so entitled.</p> + + <p>“Well, not exactly, old chap. At least not in this get-up. Meats is my + name.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes,” said Michael vaguely. There seemed no other comment on such a + name, and Mr. Meats himself appeared sensitive to the implication of + uncertainty, for he made haste to put Michael at ease by commenting on + its oddity.</p> + + <p>“I suppose you’re thinking it’s a damned funny exchange for Brother + Aloysius. But a fellow can’t help his name, and that’s a fact.”</p> + + <p>“You’ve left the Abbey then?” enquired Michael.</p> + + <p>“Oh Lord, yes. Soon after you went. It was no place for me. Manners, + O.S.B., gave me the push pretty quick. And I don’t blame him. Well, what + are you doing? Have a drink? Or have you got to meet your best girl? My, + you’ve grown since I saw you last. Quite the Johnny nowadays. But I + spotted you all right. Something about your eyes that would be very hard + to forget.”</p> + + <p>Michael thought that if it came to unforgettable eyes, the eyes of Mr. + Meats would stand as much chance of perpetual remembrance as any, since + their unholy light would surely set any heart beating with the + breathless imagination of sheer wickedness.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I have got funny eyes, haven’t I?” said Meats in complacent + realization of Michael’s thoughts. And as he spoke he seemed consciously + to exercise their vile charm, so that his irises kindled slowly with + lambent blue flames.</p> + + <p> + “Come on, let’s have this drink,” urged Meats, and + <a name="page_390" id="page_390"></a> + he led the way to a + scattered group of green tables. They sat down, and Michael ordered a + lemon-squash. + </p> + + <p>“Very good drink too,” commented Meats. “I think I’ll have the same, + Rosie,” he said to the girl who served them.</p> + + <p>“Do you know that girl?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“Used to. About three years ago. She’s gone oil though,” said Meats + indifferently.</p> + + <p>Michael, to hide his astonishment at the contemptuous suggestion of + damaged goods, enquired what Meats had been doing since he left the + Monastery.</p> + + <p>“Want to know?” asked Meats.</p> + + <p>Michael assured him that he did.</p> + + <p>“You’re rather interested in me, aren’t you? Well, I can tell you a few + things and that’s a fact. I don’t suppose that there’s anybody in London + who could tell you more. But you might be shocked.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, shut up!” scoffed Michael, blushing with indignation.</p> + + <p>Then began the shameless narration of the late Brother Aloysius, whom + various attainments had enabled to gain an equal profit from religion + and vice. Sometimes as Michael listened to the adventures he was + reminded of Benvenuto Cellini or Casanova, but almost immediately the + comparison would be shattered by a sudden sanctimonious blasphemy which + he found nauseating. Moreover, he disliked the sly procurer that + continually leered through the man’s personality.</p> + + <p>“You seem to have done a lot of dirty work for other people,” Michael + bluntly observed at last.</p> + + <p> + “My dear old chap,” replied Meats, “of course I have. You see, in this + world there are lots of people who can always square their own + consciences, if the worst of what they want to do is done for them + behind the scenes as it were. You never yet heard a man confess that he + ruined + <a name="page_391" id="page_391"></a> + a girl. Now, did you? Why, I’ve heard the most shocking + out-and-outers anyone could wish to meet brag that they’ve done + everything, and then turn up their eyes and thank God they’ve always + respected real purity. Well, I never respected anything or anybody. And + why should I? I never had a chance. Who was my mother? A servant. Who + was my father? A minister, a Nonconformist minister in Wales. And what + did the old tyke do? Why, he took the case to court and swore my mother + was out for blackmail. So she went to prison, and he came smirking home + behind the village band; and all the old women in the place hung out + Union Jacks to show they believed in him. And then his wife gave a + party.” + </p> + + <p>Michael looked horrified and felt horrified at this revelation of + vileness, and yet, all the time he was listening, through some + grotesquery of his nerves he was aware of thinking to himself the jingle + of Little Bo-peep.</p> + + <p>“Ah, that’s touched you up, hasn’t it?” said Meats, eagerly leaning + forward. “But wait a bit. What did my mother do when she came out? Went + on the streets. Do you hear? On the streets, and mark you, she was a + servant, a common village servant, none of your flash Empire goods. Oh, + no, she never knew what it was like to go up the river on a Sunday + afternoon. And she drank. Well, of course she drank. Gin was as near as + she ever got to paradise. And where was I brought up? Not among the + buttercups, my friend, you may lay on that. No, I was down underneath, + underneath, underneath where a chap like you will never go because + you’re a gentleman. And so, though, of course, you’re never likely to + ruin a girl, you’ll always have your fun. Why shouldn’t you? Being a + nicely brought-up young gentleman, it’s your birthright.”</p> + + <p> + “But how on earth did you ever become a monk?” asked Michael, anxious to + divert the conversation away from himself. + <a name="page_392" id="page_392"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Well, it does sound a bit improbable, I must say. I was recommended + there by a priest—a nice chap called Arbuthnot who’d believe a + chimney-sweep was a miller. But Manners was very sharp on to me, and I + was very sharp on to Manners. Picking blackberries and emptying slops! + What a game! I came with a character and left without one. Probationer + was what they called me. Silly mug was what I called myself.”</p> + + <p>“You seem to know a lot of priests,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I’ve been in with parsons since I was at Sunday-school. Well, don’t + look so surprized. You don’t suppose my mother wanted me hanging round + all the afternoon! Now I very soon found out that one can always get + round a High Church slum parson, and very often a Catholic priest by + turning over a new leaf and confessing. It gets them every time, and + being by nature generous, it gets their pockets. That’s why I gave up + Dissenters and fashionable Vicars. Dissenters want more than they give, + and fashionable Vicars are too clever. That’s why they become + fashionable Vicars, I suppose,” said Meats pensively.</p> + + <p>“But you couldn’t go on taking in even priests for ever,” Michael + objected.</p> + + <p>“Ah, now I’ll tell you something. I do feel religious sometimes,” Meats + declared solemnly. “And I do really want to lead a new life. But it + doesn’t last. It’s like love. Never mind, perhaps I’ll be lucky enough + to die when I’m working off a religious stretch. I give you my word, + Fane, that often in these fits I’ve felt like committing suicide just to + cheat the devil. Would you believe that?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t think you’re as bad as you make out,” said Michael + sententiously.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, yes, I am,” smiled the other. “I’m rotten bad. But I reckon the + first man I meet in hell will be my father, and if it’s possible to hurt + anyone down there more than they’re being hurt already, I’ll do it. But + look here, I shall + <a name="page_393" id="page_393"></a> + get the hump with this blooming conversation you’ve + started me off on. Come along, drink up and have another, and tell us + something about yourself.” + </p> + + <p>“Oh, there’s nothing to tell,” Michael sighed. “My existence is pretty + dull after yours.”</p> + + <p>“I suppose it is,” said Meats, as if struck by a new thought. + “Everything has its compensations, as they say.”</p> + + <p>“Frightfully dull,” Michael vowed. “Why, here am I still at school! You + know I wouldn’t half mind going down underneath, as you call it, for a + while. I believe I’d like it.”</p> + + <p>“If you knew you could get up again all right,” commented Meats.</p> + + <p>“Oh, of course,” Michael answered. “I don’t suppose Æneas would have + cared much about going down to hell, if he hadn’t been sure he could + come up again quite safely.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t know your friend with the Jewish name,” said Meats. “But + I’ll lay he didn’t come out much wiser than he went in if he knew he + could get out all right by pressing a button and taking the first lift + up.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, well, I was only speaking figuratively,” Michael explained.</p> + + <p>“So was I. The same here, and many of them, old chap,” retorted Meats + enigmatically.</p> + + <p>“Ah, you don’t think I’m in earnest. You think I’m fooling,” Michael + complained.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes, I think you’d like to take a peep without letting go of + Nurse’s apron,” sneered Meats.</p> + + <p>“Well, perhaps one day you’ll see me underneath,” Michael almost + threatened.</p> + + <p> + “No offence, old chap,” said Meats cordially. “It’s no good my giving + you an address because it won’t last, but London isn’t very big, and + we’ll run up against one another again, that’s a cert. Now I’ve got to + toddle off and meet a girl.” + <a name="page_394" id="page_394"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Have you?” asked Michael, and his enquiry was tinged with a faint + longing that the other noticed at once.</p> + + <p>“Jealous?” enquired Meats. “Why, look at all the girls round about you. + It’s up to you not to feel lonely.”</p> + + <p>“I know,” said Michael fretfully. “But how the deuce can I tell whether + they want me to talk to them?”</p> + + <p>Meats laughed shrilly.</p> + + <p>“What are you afraid of? Leading some innocent lamb astray?”</p> + + <p>Again to Michael occurred the ridiculous rhyme of Bo-peep. So insistent + was it that he could scarcely refrain from humming it aloud.</p> + + <p>“Of course I’m not afraid of that,” he protested. “But how am I to tell + they won’t think me a brute?”</p> + + <p>“What would it matter if they did?” asked Meats.</p> + + <p>“Well, I should feel a fool.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, dear. You’re very young, aren’t you?”</p> + + <p>“It’s nothing to do with being young,” Michael asserted. “I simply don’t + want to be a cad.”</p> + + <p>“Somebody else is to be the cad first and then it’s all right, eh?” + chuckled Meats. “But it’s a shame to teaze a nice chap like you. I dare + say Daisy’ll have a friend with her.”</p> + + <p>“Is Daisy the girl you’re going to see?”</p> + + <p>“You’ve guessed my secret,” said Meats. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”</p> + + <p>As Michael rose to follow Meats, he felt that he was like Faust with + Mephistopheles. But Faust had asked for his youth back again. Michael + only demanded the courage not to waste youth while it was his to enjoy. + He felt that his situation was essentially different from the other, and + he hesitated no longer.</p> + + <p> + The next half-hour passed in a whirl. Michael was conscious of a slim + brunette in black and scarlet, and of a fairy-like figure by her side in + a dress of shimmering blue; + <a name="page_395" id="page_395"></a> + he was conscious too of a voice + insinuating, softly metallic, and of fingers that touched his wrist as + lightly as silk. There were whispers and laughters and sudden sweeping + embarrassments. There was a horrible sense of publicity, of curious + mocking eyes that watched his progress. There was an overwhelming + knowledge of money burning in his pocket, of money hard and round and + powerful. There were hot waves of remorse and the thought of his heart + hammering him on to be brave. A cabman leaned over from his box like a + gargoyle. A key clicked. + </p> + + <p>Then, it seemed a century afterwards, Carlington Road stretched dim, + austere, forbidding to Michael’s ingress. A policeman’s deep salutation + sounded portentously reproachful. The bloom of dawn was on the windows. + The flames in the street-lamps were pale as primroses. At his own house + Michael saw the red and amber sparrows in their crude blue vegetation + horribly garish against the lighted entrance-hall. The Salve printed + funereally upon the mat was the utterance of blackest irony. He hastily + turned down the gas, and the stairs caught a chill unreality from the + creeping dawn. The balustrade stuck to his parched hands; the stairs + creaked grotesquely to his breathless ascent. His mother stood like a + ghost in her doorway.</p> + + <p>“Michael, how dreadfully late you are.”</p> + + <p>“Am I?” said Michael. “I suppose it is rather late. I met a fellow I + know.”</p> + + <p>He spoke petulantly to conceal his agitation, and his one thought was to + avoid kissing her before he went up to his own room.</p> + + <p>“It’s all right about my packing,” he murmured hastily. “In the morning + I shall have time. I’m sorry I woke you. Good night.”</p> + + <p> + He had passed; and he looked back compassionately, as she faded in her + rosy and indefinite loveliness away to her room. + <a name="page_396" id="page_396"></a> + </p> + + <p> + Then, with the patterns of foulard ties crawling like insects before his + strained eyes, with collars coiling and uncoiling like mainsprings, with + all his clothes in one large intolerable muddle, Michael pressed the + cold sheets to his forehead and tried to imagine that to-morrow he would + be in the country. + <a name="page_397" id="page_397"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XV_Grey_Eyes" id="Chapter_XV_Grey_Eyes"></a> + Chapter XV: Grey Eyes + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">A</span> + S Michael sat opposite to his mother in the railway-carriage on the + following morning, he found it hard indeed to realize that an ocean did + not stretch between them. He did not feel ashamed; he had no tremors for + the straightforward regard; he had no uneasy sensation that possibly + even now his mother was perplexing herself on account of his action. He + simply felt that he had suffered a profound change and that his action + of yesterday called for a readjustment of his entire standpoint. Or + rather, he felt that having since yesterday travelled so far and lived + so violently, he could now only meet his mother as a friend from whom + one has been long parted and whose mental progress during many years + must be gradually apprehended. + </p> + + <p>“Why do you look at me with such a puzzled expression, Michael?” asked + Mrs. Fane. “Is my hat crooked?”</p> + + <p>Michael assured her that nothing was the matter with her hat.</p> + + <p>“Do you want to ask me something?” persisted Mrs. Fane.</p> + + <p> + Michael shook his head and smiled, wondering whether he did really wish + to ask her a question, whether he would be relieved to know what + attitude she would adopt towards his adventure. With so stirring a word + did he enhance what otherwise would have seemed base. His mother + evidently was aware of a tension in this ridiculously circumscribed + railway-carriage. Would it be released if he were to inform her frankly + of what had happened, or would + <a name="page_398" id="page_398"></a> + such, an admission be an indiscretion + from which their relationship would never recover? After all she was his + mother, and there must positively exist in her inmost self the power of + understanding what he had done. Some part of the impulse which had + actuated his behaviour would surely find a root in the heart of the + handsome woman who travelled with such becoming repose on the seat + opposite to him. He forgot to bother about himself in this sudden new + pleasure of observation that seemed to endow him with undreamed-of + opportunities of distraction and, what was more important, with a stable + sense of his own individuality. How young his mother looked! Until now + he had taken her youth for granted, but she must be nearly forty. It was + scarcely credible that this tall slim creature with the proud, upcurving + mouth and lustrous grey eyes was his own mother. He thought of his + friends’ homes that were presided over by dumpy women in black silk with + greying hair. Even Alan’s mother, astonishingly pretty though she was, + seemed in the picture he conjured of her to look faded beside his own. + </p> + + <p>And while he was pondering his mother’s beauty, the train reached the + station at which they must alight for Basingstead. There was Alan in + white flannels on the platform, there too was Mrs. Ross; and as she + greeted his mother Michael’s thoughts went back to the day he saw these + two come together at Carlington Road, and by their gracious encounter + drive away the shadow of Nurse.</p> + + <p>“I vote we walk,” said Alan. “Mrs. Fane and Aunt Maud can drive in the + pony-chaise, and then your luggage can all come up at once in the cart.”</p> + + <p> + So it was arranged, and as Michael watched his mother and Mrs. Ross + drive off, he was strangely reminded of a picture that he had once + dearly loved, a picture by Flaxman of Hera and Athene driving down from + Olympus to help the Greeks. + <span title="Leukôlenos Hêrê">Λευκὡλενος Ἡρη</span> + —that was his mother, + <a name="page_399" id="page_399"></a> + and + <span title="glaukôpis 'AThênê">γλαυκὡπις Ἁθἡνη</span> + —that + was Mrs. Ross. He could actually remember the line in the + Iliad that told of the gates of heaven, where the Hours keep watch, + opening for the goddesses’ descent— + <span title="automatai de pulai mukon ouranoi as echon Ôrai">αὑτὑμαται δἑ πὑλαι μὑκοον + οὑρανοι ἁς ἑχον Ὡραι</span> + . At + the same time for all his high quotations, Michael could not help + smiling at the dolefully senescent dun pony being compared to the golden + steeds of Hera or at the pleasant old porter who hastened to throw open + the white gate of the station-drive serving as a substitute for the + Hours. + </p> + + <p>The country air was still sweet between the hazel hedgerows, although + the grass was drouthy and the scabious blooms were already grey with + dust. Nothing for Michael could have been more charged with immemorial + perfume than this long walk at July’s end. It held the very quintessence + of holiday airs through all the marching years of boyhood. It was + haunted by the memory of all the glad anticipations of six weeks’ + freedom that time after time had succeeded the turmoil of breaking up + for the August holidays. The yellow amoret swinging from the tallest + shoot of the hedge was the companion of how many summer walks. The acrid + smell of nettles by the roadside was prophetic of how many pastoral + days. The butterflies, brown and white and tortoiseshell, that danced + away to right and left over the green bushes, to what winding paths did + they not summon. And surely Alan gave a final grace to this first walk + of the holidays. Surely he crystallized all hopes, all memories, all + delights of the past in a perfection of present joy.</p> + + <p> + Yet Michael, as he walked beside him, could only think of Alan as a + beautiful inanimate object for whom perception did not exist. Inanimate, + however, was scarcely the word to describe one who was so very + definitely alive: Michael racked his invention to discover a suitable + label for Alan, but he could not find the word. With a shock of + <a name="page_400" id="page_400"></a> + + misgiving he asked himself whether he had outgrown their friendship, and + partly to test, but chiefly to allay his dread, he took Alan’s arm with + a gesture of almost fierce possession. He was relieved to find that + Alan’s touch was still primed with consolation, that companionship with + him still soothed the turbulence of his own spirit reaching out to grasp + what could never be expressed in words, and therefore could never be + grasped. Michael was seized with a longing to urge Alan to grow up more + quickly, to make haste lest he should be left behind by his adventurous + friend. Michael remembered how he used to dread being moved up, hating + to leave Alan in a class below him, how he had deliberately dallied to + allow Alan to overtake him. But idleness in school-work was not the same + as idleness in experience of life, and unless Alan would quickly grow + up, he knew that he must soon leave him irremediably behind. It was + distressing to reflect that Alan would be shocked by the confidence + which he longed to impose upon him, and it was disquieting to realize + that these last summer holidays of school, however complete with the + quiet contentment of familiar pleasures, would for himself grow slowly + irksome with deferred excitement. + </p> + + <p> + But as the green miles slowly unfolded themselves, as the dauntless + yellow amoret still swung from a lissome stem, as Alan spoke of the + river and the grey tower on the hill, Michael saw the fretful colours of + the Exhibition grow dim; and when dreaming in the haze of the slumberous + afternoon they perceived the village and heard the mysterious murmur of + human tranquillity, Michael’s heart overflowed with gratitude for the + sight of Alan by his side. Then the church-clock that struck a timeless + hour sounded for him one of those moments whose significance would + resist eternally whatever lying experience should endeavour to assail + the truth which had made of one flashing scene a revelation. + <a name="page_401" id="page_401"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael was ineffably refreshed by his vision of the imperishable + substance of human friendship, and he could not but jeer at himself now + for having a little while back put Alan into the domain of objects + inanimate.</p> + + <p>“There’s your cottage,” said Alan. “It’s practically next door to Cobble + Place. Rather decent, eh?”</p> + + <p>Michael could not say how decent he thought it, nor how decent he + thought Alan.</p> + + <p>“I vote we go up the river after tea,” he suggested.</p> + + <p>“Rather,” said Alan. “I expect you’ll come round to tea with us. Don’t + be long unpacking.”</p> + + <p>“I shan’t, you bet,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>Nor was he, and after a few minutes he and his mother were sitting in + the drawing-room at Cobble Place, eating a tea that must have been very + nearly the same as an unforgettable tea of nine years ago. Mrs. Carthew + did not seem quite so old; nor indeed did anybody, and as for Joan and + May Carthew, they were still girls. Yet even when he and Alan had stayed + down here for the wedding only four years ago, Michael had always been + conscious of everybody’s age. And now he was curiously aware of + everybody’s youth. He supposed vaguely that all this change of outlook + was due to his own remarkable precocity and rapid advance; but + nevertheless he still ate with all the heartiness of childhood.</p> + + <p>After tea Mrs. Ross with much tact took up Michael by himself to see her + son and, spared the necessity of comment, Michael solemnly regarded the + fair-haired boy of two who was squeaking an india-rubber horse for his + mother’s benefit.</p> + + <p>“O you attractive son of mine,” Mrs. Ross sighed in a whisper.</p> + + <p>“He’s an awfully sporting kid,” Michael said.</p> + + <p> + Then he suddenly remembered that he had not seen Mrs. Ross since her + husband was killed. Yet from this + <a name="page_402" id="page_402"></a> + chintz-hung room whose casements were + flooded with the amber of the westering sun, how far off seemed fatal + Africa. He remembered also that to this very same gay room he had long + ago gone with Miss Carthew after tea, that here in a ribboned bed he had + first heard the news of her coming to live at 64 Carlington Road. + </p> + + <p>“We must have a long talk together soon,” said Mrs. Ross, seeming to + divine his thoughts. “But I expect you’re anxious to revive old memories + and visit old haunts with Alan. I’m going to stay here and talk to + Kenneth while Nurse has her tea.”</p> + + <p>Michael lingered for a moment in the doorway to watch the two. Then he + said abruptly, breathlessly:</p> + + <p>“Mrs. Ross, I think painters and sculptors are lucky fellows. I’d like + to paint you now. I wish one could understand the way people look, when + one’s young. But I’m just beginning to realize how lucky I was when you + came to us. And yet I used to be ashamed of having a governess. Still, I + believe I did appreciate you, even when I was eight.”</p> + + <p>Then he fled, and to cover his retreat sang out loudly for Alan all the + way downstairs.</p> + + <p>“I say, Aunt Enid wants to talk to you,” said Alan.</p> + + <p>“Aunt Enid?” Michael echoed.</p> + + <p>“Mrs. Carthew,” Alan explained.</p> + + <p>“I vote we go for a walk afterwards, don’t you?” Michael suggested.</p> + + <p>“Rather,” said Alan. “I’ll shout for you, when I think you’ve jawed long + enough.”</p> + + <p>Michael found Mrs. Carthew in her sun-coloured garden, cutting down the + withering lupins whose silky seed-pods were strewn all about the paths.</p> + + <p>“Can you spare ten minutes for an old friend?” asked Mrs. Carthew.</p> + + <p> + Michael thought how tremendously wise she looked, and lest he should be + held to be staring unduly, he bent + <a name="page_403" id="page_403"></a> + down to sweep together the + shimmering seed-pods, while Mrs. Carthew snipped away, talking in + sentences that matched the quick snickasnack of her weapon. + </p> + + <p>“I must say you’ve grown up into an attractive youth. Let me see, you + must be seventeen and a half. I suppose you think yourself a man now? + Dear me, these lupins should have been cut back a fortnight ago. And now + I have destroyed a hollyhock. Tut-tut, I’m getting very blind. What did + you think of Maud’s son? A healthy rosy child, and not at all amenable + to discipline, I’m glad to say. Well, are you enjoying school?”</p> + + <p>The old lady paused with her scissors gaping, and looked shrewdly at + Michael.</p> + + <p>“I’m getting rather fed up with it,” Michael admitted. “It goes on for + such a long time. It wasn’t so bad this term, though.”</p> + + <p>Then he remembered that whatever pleasures had mitigated the + exasperation of school last term were decidedly unscholastic, and he + blushed.</p> + + <p>“I simply loathed it for a time,” he added.</p> + + <p>“Alan informs me he acquired his first eleven cap this term and will be + in the first fifteen as Lord Treasurer or something,” Mrs. Carthew went + on. “Naturally he must enjoy this shower of honours. Alan is decidedly + typical of the better class of unthinking young Englishman. He is + pleasant to look at—a little colt-like perhaps, but that will soon wear + off. My own dear boy was very like him, and Maud’s dear husband was much + the same. You, I’m afraid, think too much, Michael.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, I don’t think very much,” said Michael, disclaiming philosophy, + and greatly afraid that Mrs. Carthew was supposing him a prig.</p> + + <p> + “You needn’t be ashamed of thinking,” she said. “After all, the amount + you think now won’t seriously disorganize the world. But you seem to me + old for your age, much older + <a name="page_404" id="page_404"></a> + than Alan for instance, and though your + conversation with me at any rate is not mature, nevertheless you convey + somehow an impression of maturity that I cannot quite account for.” + </p> + + <p>Michael could not understand why, when for the first time he was + confronted with somebody who gave his precocity its due, he was unable + to discuss it eagerly and voluminously, why he should half resent being + considered older than Alan.</p> + + <p>“Don’t look so cross with me,” Mrs. Carthew commanded. “I am an old + woman, and I have a perfect right to say what I please to you. Besides, + you and I have had many conversations, and I take a great interest in + you. What are you going to be?”</p> + + <p>“Well, that’s what I can’t find out,” said Michael desperately. “I know + what I’m not going to be, and that’s all.”</p> + + <p>“That’s a good deal, I think,” said Mrs. Carthew. “Pray tell me what + professions you have condemned.”</p> + + <p>“I’m not going into the Army. I’m not going into the Civil Service. I’m + not going to be a doctor or a lawyer.”</p> + + <p>“Or a parson?” asked Mrs. Carthew, crunching through so many lupin + stalks at once that they fell with a rattle on to the path.</p> + + <p>“Well, I have thought about being a parson,” Michael slowly granted. + “But I don’t think parsons ought to marry.”</p> + + <p>“Good gracious,” exclaimed Mrs. Carthew, “you’re surely not engaged?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no,” said Michael; but he felt extremely flattered by the + imputation. “Still, I might want to be.”</p> + + <p> + “Then you’re in love,” decided Mrs. Carthew. “No wonder you look so + careworn. I suppose she’s nearly thirty and has promised to wait until + you come of age. I can picture her. If I had my stick with me I could + draw her + <a name="page_405" id="page_405"></a> + on the gravel. A melon stuck on a bell-glass, I’ll be bound.” + </p> + + <p>“I’m not in love, and if I were in love,” said Michael with dignity, “I + certainly shouldn’t be in love with anyone like that. But I could be in + love at any moment, and so I don’t think I shall be a parson.”</p> + + <p>“You’ve got plenty of time,” said Mrs. Carthew. “Alan says you’re going + to Oxford next year.”</p> + + <p>Michael’s heart leapt—next year had never before seemed so imminent.</p> + + <p>“I suppose you’ll say that I’m an ignorant and foolish old woman, if I + attempt to give you advice about Oxford; but I gave you advice once + about school, and I’ll do the same again. To begin with, I think you’ll + find having been to St. James’ a handicap. I have an old friend, the + wife of a don, who assures me that many of the boys who go up from your + school suffer at Oxford from their selfish incubation by Dr. Brownjohn. + They’re fit for killing too soon. In fact, they have been forced.”</p> + + <p>“Ah, but I saw that for myself,” said Michael. “I had a row with + Brownjohn about my future.”</p> + + <p>“How delighted I am to hear that!” said Mrs. Carthew. “I think that I’ll + cut back the delphiniums also. Then you’re not going in for a + scholarship?”</p> + + <p>“No,” said Michael. “I don’t want to be hampered, and I think my + mother’s got plenty of money. But Alan’s going to get a scholarship.”</p> + + <p> + “Yes, that is unfortunately necessary,” said Mrs. Carthew. “Still, Alan + is sufficiently typical of the public-school spirit—an odious + expression yet always unavoidable—to carry off the burden. If you were + poor, I should advise you to buy overcoats. Three smart overcoats are an + equipment for a poor man. But I needn’t dwell on social ruses in your + case. Remember that going to Oxford is like going to school. Be normal + and inconspicuous at + <a name="page_406" id="page_406"></a> + first; and when you have established yourself as + an utterly undistinguished young creature, you can career into whatever + absurdities of thought, action or attire you will. In your first year + establish your sanity; in your second year display your charm; and in + your third year do whatever you like. Now there is Alan calling, and + we’ll leave the paths strewn with these cut stalks as a Memento Mori to + the gardener. What a charming woman your mother is. She has that + exquisite vagueness which when allied with good breeding is perfectly + irresistible, at any rate to a practical and worldly old woman like me. + But then I’ve had an immense amount of time in which to tidy up. + Pleasant hours to you down here. It’s delightful to hear about the place + the sound of boys laughing and shouting.” + </p> + + <p> + Michael left Mrs. Carthew, rather undecided as to what exactly she + thought of him or Alan or anybody else. As he walked over the lawn that + went sloping down to the stream, he experienced a revulsion from the + interest he took in listening to what people thought about him, and he + now began to feel an almost morbid sensitiveness to the opinion of + others. This destroyed some of the peace which he had sought and + cherished down here in the country. He began to wonder if that wise old + lady had been laughing at him, whether all she said had been an implied + criticism of his attitude towards existence. Her praise must have been + grave irony; her endorsement of his behaviour had been disguised + reproof. She really admired Alan, and had only been trying as gently as + possible to make him come into line with her nephew. He himself must + seem to her eccentric, undignified, a flamboyant sort of creature whom + she pitied and whose errors she wished to remedy. Michael was mortified + by his retrospect of the conversation, and felt inclined when he saw + Alan to make an excuse and retire from his society, until his + self-esteem had recovered from the rebuke that had lately been + inflicted. Indeed, it called + <a name="page_407" id="page_407"></a> + for a great effort on Michael’s part to + embark in the canoe with his paragon and sit face to face without + betraying the wound that was damaging his own sense of personality. + </p> + + <p>“You had a very long jaw with Aunt Enid,” said Alan. “I thought you were + never coming. She polished me off in about three minutes.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked darkly at Alan for a moment before he asked with + ungracious accentuation what on earth Alan and Mrs. Carthew had talked + about.</p> + + <p>“She was rather down on me,” said Alan. “I think she must have thought I + was putting on side about getting my Eleven.”</p> + + <p>Michael was greatly relieved to hear this, and his brow cleared as he + enquired what was wrong.</p> + + <p>“Well, I can’t remember her exact words,” Alan went on. “But she said I + must be careful not to grow up into a strong silent Englishman, because + their day was done. She practically told me I was rather an ass, and + pretended to be fearfully surprized when she heard I was going to try + for a scholarship at Oxford. She was squashing slugs all the time she + was talking, and I could do nothing but look a bigger fool than ever and + count the slugs. I ventured to remark once that most people thought it + was a good thing to be keen on games, and she said half the world was + composed of fools which accounted for the preponderation—I mean + preponderance—of pink on the map. She said it always looked like an + advertizement of successful fox-hunting. And when I carefully pointed + out that I’d never all my life had a chance to hunt, she said ‘More’s + the pity,’ I couldn’t make out what she was driving at; so, feeling + rather a worm, I shot off as soon as I could. What did she say to you?”</p> + + <p> + “Oh, nothing much,” said Michael triumphantly. “She’s a rum old girl, + but rather decent.” + <a name="page_408" id="page_408"></a> + </p> + + <p>“She’s too clever for me,” said Alan, shaking his head. “It’s like + batting to a pro.”</p> + + <p>Then from the complexities of feminine judgment, the conversation glided + easily like the canoe towards a discussion of the umpire’s decision last + term in giving Alan out l.b.w. to a ball that pitched at least two feet + away from the off stump.</p> + + <p>“It was rotten,” said Alan fervidly.</p> + + <p>“It was putrid,” Michael agreed.</p> + + <p>To avoid the difficulty of a first night in a strange cottage, Mrs. Fane + and Michael had supper at Cobble Place; and after a jolly evening spent + in looking for pencils to play games that nobody could ever recollect in + all their rich perfection of potential incidents, Michael and Mrs. Fane + walked with leisurely paces back to Woodbine Cottage through a + sweet-savoured moonless night.</p> + + <p>Michael enjoyed the intimate good night beneath so small a roof, and + wished that Stella were with them. He lay awake, reading from each in + turn of the tower of books he had erected by his bedside to fortify + himself against sleeplessness. It was a queer enough mixture—Swinburne, + Keats, Matthew Arnold, Robinson Crusoe, Half-hours with the Mystics, Tom + Brown’s Schooldays, Daudet’s Sappho, the second volume of The Savoy, The + Green Carnation, Holy Living and Dying; and as each time he changed his + mind and took another volume, on the gabled ceiling the monstrous shadow + that was himself filled him with a dreadful uncertainty. After an hour + or so, he went to sit by the low window, leaning out and seeming to hear + the dark world revolve in its course. Stars shook themselves clear from + great rustling trees, and were in time enmeshed by others. The waning + moon came up behind a rounded hill. A breeze fluttered down the dusty + road, and was silent.</p> + + <p> + Michael fell to wondering whether he could ever bring + <a name="page_409" id="page_409"></a> + himself in tune + with these slow progressions of nature, whether he could renounce after + one haggard spell of experience the mazy stir of transitory emotions + that danced always beyond this dream. An Half-hour with St. John of the + Cross made him ask himself whether this were the dark night of the soul + through which he was passing. But he had never travelled yet, nor was he + travelling now. He was simply sitting quiescent, allowing himself to be + passed. These calm and stately figures of humanity whom he admired in + their seclusion had only reached it after long strife. Mrs. Carthew had + lost a husband and a son, had seen her daughter leave her house as a + governess. Joan and May had for many years sunk their hopes in tending + their mother. Nancy was away earning money, and would be entitled to + retire here one day. Mrs. Ross had endured himself and Stella for + several years, had married and lost her husband, and had borne a child. + All these had won their timeless repose and their serene uncloying ease. + They were not fossils, but perdurable images of stone. And his mother, + she was—he stopped his reverie. Of his mother he knew nothing. Outside + the dust stirred in the road fretfully; a malaise was in the night air. + Michael shivered and went back to bed, and as he turned to blow out his + candle he saw above him huge and menacing his own shadow. A cock crowed. + </p> + + <p>“Silly ass,” muttered Michael, “he thinks it’s already morning,” and + turning over after a dreamless sleep he found it was morning. So he rose + and dressed himself serenely for a long sunburnt day.</p> + + <p>On his way up the road to call for Alan he met the postman, who in + answer to his enquiries handed him a letter from South Africa stamped + all over with mysterious official abbreviations. He took it up to his + mother curiously.</p> + + <p>At lunch he asked her about the news from the war.</p> + + <p> + “Yes, dear, I had a letter,” she murmured. + <a name="page_410" id="page_410"></a> + </p> + + <p>“From Lord Saxby, I suppose?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, dear.”</p> + + <p>“Anything interesting?” Michael persisted.</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, it’s only about marches and not being able to wash properly.”</p> + + <p>“I thought it might be interesting,” Michael speculated.</p> + + <p>“No, dear. It wouldn’t interest you,” said Mrs. Fane in her tone of + gentle discouragement.</p> + + <p>“I don’t want to be inquisitive,” said Michael resentfully.</p> + + <p>“No, dear, I’m sure you don’t,” his mother softly agreed.</p> + + <p>The holidays ran their pastoral course of sun and rain, of clouds and + winds, until the last week arrived with September in her most majestic + mood of flawless halcyon. These were days that more than any hitherto + enhanced for Michael the reverence he felt for the household of Cobble + Place. These were days when Mrs. Carthew stepped wisely along her + flowery enclosure, pondering the plums and peaches on the warm walls + that in a transcendency of mellow sunlight almost took on the texture of + living sunburnt flesh. These were days when Joan and May Carthew went + down the village street with great bunches of Michaelmas daisies, of + phloxes and Japanese anemones, or sat beneath the mulberry tree, sewing + in the bee-drowsed air.</p> + + <p>At the foot of the hill beyond the stream was a straggling wind-frayed + apple-orchard, fresh pasturage for lambs in spring, and now in September + a jolly haunt for the young son of Mrs. Ross. Here one afternoon, when + Alan was away at Basingstead Major playing the last cricket match of the + year, Michael plunged down in the grass beside her.</p> + + <p> + They sat for a while in silence, and Mrs. Ross seemed to Michael to be + waiting for him to speak first, as if by her + <a name="page_411" id="page_411"></a> + own attitude of mute + expectation she could lure him on to express himself more openly than by + direct question and shy answer. He felt the air pregnant with + confidences, and kept urging himself on to begin the statement and + revelation of his character, sure that whatever he desired to ask must + be asked now while he was perhaps for the last time liable to this grave + woman’s influence, conscious of the security of goodness, envious of the + maternity of peace. This grey-eyed woman seemed to sit above him like a + proud eagle, careless of homage, never to be caught, never to be tamed, + a figure for worship and inspiration. Michael wondered why all the women + who awed him had grey eyes. Blue eyes fired his senses, striking sparks + and kindling answering flames from his own blue eyes. Brown eyes left + him indifferent. But grey eyes absorbed his very being, whether they + were lustrous and violet-shaded like his mother’s and Stella’s, or + whether, like Mrs. Ross’s, they were soft as grey sea-water that in a + moment could change to the iron-bound rocks they were so near. + </p> + + <p>Still Michael did not speak, but watched Mrs. Ross solemnly hand back to + the rosy child sitting beside her in the grass the fallen apples that he + would always fling from him exuberantly, panting the while at laughter’s + highest pitch.</p> + + <p>“I wonder if I ever laughed like that,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“You were a very serious little boy, when I first knew you,” Mrs. Ross + told him.</p> + + <p>“I must have been rather depressing,” Michael sighed.</p> + + <p>“No, indeed you were not, dear Michael,” she answered. “You had much too + much personality.”</p> + + <p>“Have I now?” Michael asked sharply.</p> + + <p>“Yes, of course you have.”</p> + + <p>“Well, what gives it to me?”</p> + + <p> + “Surely personality is something that is born with one. Personality + can’t be made,” said Mrs. Ross. + <a name="page_412" id="page_412"></a> + </p> + + <p>“You don’t think experience has got anything to do with it?” Michael + pressed.</p> + + <p>“I think experience makes the setting, and according to the experience + the personality is perfected or debased, but nothing can destroy + personality, not even death,” she murmured, far away for a moment from + this orchard.</p> + + <p>“Which would you say had the stronger personality—Alan or I?” asked + Michael.</p> + + <p>“I should say you had,” said Mrs. Ross. “Or at any rate you have a + personality that will affect a larger number of people, either + favourably or unfavourably.”</p> + + <p>“But Alan influences me more than I influence him,” Michael argued.</p> + + <p>“That may be,” Mrs. Ross admitted. “Though I think your influence over + Alan is very strong in this way. I think Alan is always very eager to + see you at your best, and probably as your friendship goes on he will be + more solicitous for you than for himself. I should say that he would be + likely to sink himself in you. I wonder if you realize what a + passionately loyal soul he is.”</p> + + <p>Michael flushed with pleasure at this appreciation of his friend, and + his ambition went flying over to Basingstead Major to inspire Alan to + bat his best. Then he burst forth in praise of him; he spoke of his + changelessness, his freedom from moods, his candour and toleration and + modesty.</p> + + <p>“But the terrible thing is,” said Michael suddenly, “that I always feel + that without noticing it I shall one day leave Alan behind.”</p> + + <p> + “But when you turn back, you’ll find him just the same, don’t forget; + and you may be glad that he did not come with you. You may be glad that + from his slowness you can find an indication of the road that I’m sure + you yourself will one day try to take. Alan will travel by it all his + life. You’ll travel by it ultimately. Alan will never really + <a name="page_413" id="page_413"></a> + appreciate + its beauty. You will. That will be your recompense for what you suffer + before you find it.” + </p> + + <p>Mrs. Ross, as if to conceal emotion, turned quickly to romp with her + son. Then she looked at Michael:</p> + + <p>“And haven’t you already once or twice left Alan behind?”</p> + + <p>Suddenly to Michael her grey eyes seemed accusing.</p> + + <p>“Yes, I suppose I have,” he granted. “But isn’t that the reason why my + personality affects more people than his? You said just now that + experience was only the setting, but I’m sure in my case it’s more than + a mere setting.”</p> + + <p>And even as he spoke all his experience seemed to cloud his brow, + knitting and lining it with perplexed wrinkles.</p> + + <p>“Mrs. Ross, you won’t think me very rude if I say you always remind me + of Pallas Athene? You always have, you know. At first it was just a + vague outward resemblance, because you’re tall and sort of cool-looking, + and I really think your nose is rather Greek, if you don’t mind my + saying so.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, Michael,” Mrs. Ross smiled. “I think you’re even more unalterable + than Alan. I seem to see you as a little boy again, when you talk like + that.”</p> + + <p>Michael, however, was too keen on the scent of his comparison to be put + off by smiles, and he went on eagerly:</p> + + <p>“Now I realize that you actually are like Athene. You’re one of those + people who seem to have sprung into the world fully armed. I can’t + imagine that you were ever young.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Ross laughed outright at this.</p> + + <p>“Wait a minute,” cried Michael. “Or ever old for that matter. And you + know all about me. No, you needn’t shake your head like that. Because + you do.”</p> + + <p> + Young Kenneth was so much roused by Michael’s triumphant asseverations + that he began to shout and kick in delighted tune and fling the apples + from him with a vigour that he had never yet reached. + <a name="page_414" id="page_414"></a> + </p> + + <p>“You know,” Michael continued breathlessly, while the boy on the grass + gurgled his endorsement of every word. “You know that I’m old for my + age, that I’ve already done things that other chaps at school only + whisper about.”</p> + + <p>He stopped suddenly, for the grey eyes had become like rocks, and though + the baby still panted ecstatically, there fell a chill.</p> + + <p>“I’m very sorry to hear it,” said Mrs. Ross.</p> + + <p>“Well, why did you lead me on to confide in you?” said Michael sullenly. + “I thought you would sympathize.”</p> + + <p>“Michael, I apologize,” she said, melting. “I didn’t mean to hurt your + feelings. I dare say—ah, Michael, you see how easily all my shining + armour falls to pieces.”</p> + + <p>“Another broken bottle,” Michael muttered.</p> + + <p>He got up abruptly and, though there were tears in his eyes, she could + not win him back.</p> + + <p>“Dear old boy, do tell me. Don’t make the mistake of going back into + yourself, because I failed you for a moment.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Ross held out her hand, but Michael walked away.</p> + + <p>“You don’t understand,” he turned to say. “You couldn’t understand. And + I don’t want you to be able to understand. You mustn’t think I’m + sulking, or being rude, and really I’d rather you didn’t understand. + That boy of yours won’t ever want you to understand. I don’t think he’ll + ever do anything that isn’t perfectly comprehensible.”</p> + + <p>“Michael,” said Mrs. Ross, “don’t be so bitter. You’ll be sorry soon.”</p> + + <p>“Soon?” asked Michael fiercely. “Soon? Why soon? What’s going to happen + to make me sorry soon? Something is going to happen. I know. I feel it.”</p> + + <p> + He fled through the wind-frayed orchard up the hill-side. With his back + against the tower called Grogg’s Folly + <a name="page_415" id="page_415"></a> + he looked over four counties and + vowed he would go heedless of everything that stood between him and + experience. He would deny himself nothing; he would prove to the hilt + everything. + </p> + + <p>“I must know,” he wrung out of himself. “Everything that has happened + must have happened for some reason. I will believe that. I can’t believe + in God, until I can believe in myself. And how can I believe in myself + yet?”</p> + + <p>The four counties under September’s munificence mocked him with their + calm.</p> + + <p> + “I know that all these people at Cobble Place are all right,” he + groaned. “I know that, just as I know Virgil is a great poet. But I + never knew Virgil was great until I read Swinburne. Oh, I want to be + calm and splendid and proud of myself, but I want to understand life + while I’m alive. I want to believe in immortality, but in case I never + can be convinced of it, I want to be convinced of something. Everything + seems to be tumbling down nowadays. What’s so absurd is that nobody can + understand anybody else, let alone the universe. Mrs. Ross can + understand why I like Alan, but she can’t understand why I want love. + Viner can understand why I get depressed, but he can’t understand why I + can’t be cured immediately. Wilmot could understand why I wanted to read + his rotten books, but he can’t understand why the South African War + upset me. And so on with everybody. I’m determined to understand + everybody,” Michael vowed, “even if I can’t have faith,” he sighed to + the four counties. + <a name="page_416" id="page_416"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XVI_Blue_Eyes" id="Chapter_XVI_Blue_Eyes"></a> + Chapter XVI: + <i>Blue Eyes</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + ICHAEL managed to avoid during the rest of the week any reference, + direct or indirect, to his interrupted conversation with Mrs. Ross, + though he fancied a reproachfulness in her manner towards him, + especially at the moment of saying good-bye. He was not therefore much + surprized to receive a letter from her soon after he was back in + Carlington Road. + </p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + <span class="smcap">Cobble Place</span> + , + <br/> + <i>September 18th.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>My dear Michael,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>I have blamed myself entirely for what happened the other day. I + should have been honoured by your confidence, and I cannot think + why a wretched old-fashioned priggishness should have shown itself + just when I least wished it would. I confess I was shocked for a + moment, and perhaps I horridly imagined more than you meant to + imply. If I had paused to think, I should have known that your + desire to confide in me was alone enough to prove that you were + fully conscious of the effect of anything you may have done. And + after all in any sin—forgive me if I’m using too strong a word + under a misapprehension—it is the effect which counts most + deeply.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i> + I’m inclined to think that in all you do through life, you will + chiefly have to think of the effect of it on other people. I + believe that you yourself are one of those characters that never + radically deteriorate. This is rather a dangerous statement to make + to anyone so young as you are. But I’m sure you are wise enough not + to use it in justification of any wrong impulse. Do always + <a name="page_417" id="page_417"></a> + + remember, my dear boy, that however unscathed you feel yourself to + be, you must never assume that to be the case with anyone else. I + am really dreadfully distressed to think that by my own want of + sympathy on a crucial occasion I have had to try to put into a + letter what could only have been hammered out in a long talk. And + we did hammer out something the other day. Or am I too optimistic? + Write to me some time and reassure me a little, for I’m truly + worried about you, and so indignant with my stupid self. Best love + from us all, + </i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Your affectionate</i> + + <br/> + <i>Maud Ross.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>Michael merely pondered this letter coldly. He was still under the + influence of the disappointment, and when he answered Mrs. Ross he + answered her without regard to any wound he might inflict.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + 64 + <span class="smcap">Carlington Road</span> + , + <br/> + <i>Sunday.</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Dear Mrs. Ross,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>Please don’t bother any more about it. I ought to have known + better. I don’t think it was such a very crucial occasion. The + weather is frightfully hot, and I don’t feel much like playing + footer this term. I’m reading Dante, not in Italian, of course. + London is as near the Inferno as anything, I should think. It’s + horribly hot. Excuse this short letter, but I’ve nothing to say.</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Yours affectionately,</i> + + <br/> + <i>Michael.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p> + Mrs. Ross made one more brief attempt to recapture him, but Michael put + her off with the most superficial gossip of school-life, and she did not + try again. He meant to play football, notwithstanding the hot weather, + but finding that his boots were worn out, he continually put off buying + another pair and let himself drift into October before he + <a name="page_418" id="page_418"></a> + began. Then + he hurt his leg, and had to stop for a while. This spoiled his faint + chance for the First Fifteen, and in the end he gave up football + altogether without much regret. + </p> + + <p>Games were a great impediment after all, when October’s thin blue skies + and sheen of pearl-soft airs led him on to dream along the autumnal + streets. Sometimes he would wander by himself through the groves of Hyde + Park and Kensington Gardens, or on some secluded green chair he would + sit reading Verlaine, while continuously about him the slow leaves of + the great planes swooped and fluttered down ambiguously like silent + birds.</p> + + <p>One Saturday afternoon he was sitting thus, when through the silver fog + that on every side wrought the ultimate dissolution of the view Michael + saw the slim figure of a girl walking among the trees. His mind was gay + with Verlaine’s delicate and fantastic songs, and this slim girl, as she + moved wraith-like over the ground marbled with fallen leaves, seemed to + express the cadence of the verse which had been sighing across the + printed page.</p> + + <p> + The girl with downcast glance walked on, seeming to follow her path + softly as one might follow through embroidery a thread of silk, and as + she drew nearer to Michael out of the fog’s enchantment she lost none of + her indefinite charm; but she seemed still exquisite and silver-dewed. + There was no one else in sight, and now already Michael could hear the + lisping of her steps; then a breath of air among the tree-tops more + remote sent floating, swaying, fluttering about her a flight of leaves. + She paused, startled by the sudden shower, and at that moment the + down-going autumnal sun glanced wanly through the glades and lighted her + gossamer-gold hair with kindred gleams. The girl resumed her dreaming + progress, and Michael now frankly stared in a rapture. She was dressed + in deepest green box-cloth, and the heavy folds that clung to that + lissome form made her ankles behind great pompons of black silk seem + <a name="page_419" id="page_419"></a> + + astonishingly slender. One hand was masked by a small muff of astrakhan; + the other curled behind to gather close her skirt. Her hair tied back + with a black bow sprayed her tall neck with its beaten gold. She came + along downcast until she was within a few feet of Michael; then she + looked at him. He smiled, and her mouth when she answered him with + answering smile was like a flower whose petals have been faintly + stirred. Indeed, it was scarcely a smile, scarcely more than a tremor, + but her eyes deepened suddenly, and Michael drawn into their dusky blue + exclaimed simply: + </p> + + <p>“I say, I’ve been watching you for a long time.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t think you ought to talk to me like this in Kensington Gardens. + Why, there’s not a soul in sight. And I oughtn’t to let you talk.”</p> + + <p>Her voice was low with a provocative indolence of tone, and while she + spoke her lips scarcely moved, so that their shape was never for an + instant lost, and the words seemed to escape like unwilling fugitives.</p> + + <p>“What are you reading?” she idly asked, tapping Michael’s book with her + muff.</p> + + <p>“Verlaine.”</p> + + <p>“French?”</p> + + <p>He nodded, and she pouted in delicious disapproval of his learned + choice.</p> + + <p>“Fancy reading French unless you’ve got to.”</p> + + <p>“But I enjoy these poems,” Michael declared. “As a matter of fact you’re + just like them. At least you were when I saw you first in the distance. + Now you’re more real somehow.”</p> + + <p>Her gaze had wandered during his comparison and Michael, a little hurt + by her inattention, asked if she were expecting somebody.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, no. I just came out for a walk. I get a headache if I stay in all + the afternoon. Now I must go on. Good-bye.” + <a name="page_420" id="page_420"></a> + </p> + + <p>She scattered with a light kick the little heap of leaves that during + their conversation she had been amassing, and with a half-mocking wave + of her muff prepared to leave him.</p> + + <p>“I say, don’t tear off,” Michael begged. “Where do you live?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, a long way from here,” she said.</p> + + <p>“But where?”</p> + + <p>“West Kensington.”</p> + + <p>“So do I,” cried Michael, thinking to himself that all the gods of luck + and love were fighting on his side this afternoon. “We’ll walk home + together.”</p> + + <p>“Shall we?” murmured the girl, poised on bent toes as if she were minded + to flee from him in a breath.</p> + + <p>“Oh, we must,” vowed Michael.</p> + + <p>“But I mustn’t dawdle,” she protested.</p> + + <p>“Of course not,” he affirmed with almost an inflexion of puritanical + rigour.</p> + + <p>“You’re leaving your book, stupid,” she laughed, as he rose to take his + place by her side.</p> + + <p>“I wouldn’t have minded, because all that’s in that book is in you,” he + declared. “I think I’ll leave it behind for a lark.”</p> + + <p>She ran back lightly and opened it to see whether his name were on the + front page.</p> + + <p>“Michael Fane,” she murmured. “What does ‘ex libris’ mean?” Yet even as + she asked the question her concentration failed, and she seemed not to + hear his answer.</p> + + <p>“You didn’t really want to know, you funny girl,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Know what?” she echoed, blinking round at him over her shoulder as they + walked on.</p> + + <p>“The meaning of ‘ex libris.’”</p> + + <p> + “But I found out your name,” she challenged. “And you don’t know mine.” + <a name="page_421" id="page_421"></a> + </p> + + <p>“What is it?” Michael dutifully asked.</p> + + <p>“I don’t think I’ll tell you.”</p> + + <p>“Ah, do.”</p> + + <p>“Well, then, it’s Lily—and I’ve got a sister called Doris.”</p> + + <p>“How old are you?”</p> + + <p>“How old do you think?”</p> + + <p>“Seventeen?” Michael hazarded.</p> + + <p>She nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to claim kinship on the + score of their similar years, but discretion defeated honesty, and he + said aloofly, gazing up at the sky:</p> + + <p>“I’m nineteen and a half.”</p> + + <p>She told him more as they mingled with the crowds in Kensington High + Street, that her mother was Mrs. Haden, who recited in public sometimes, + that her sister Doris wanted to go on the stage, and that they lived in + Trelawny Road.</p> + + <p> + “I know Trelawny Road,” Michael interjected, and in the gathering crowds + she was perforce closer to him, so that he was fain to guide her gently + past the glittering shops, immensely conscious of the texture of her + dress. They emerged into wider, emptier pavements, and the wind came + chilly down from Camden Hill, so that she held her muff against her + cheek, framing its faint rose. Twilight drew them closer, and Michael + wishful of an even less frequented pavement suggested they should cross + the road by Holland Park. A moment she paused while a scarlet omnibus + clattered past, then she ran swiftly to where the trees overhung the + railings. It was exhilarating to follow her over the wooden road that + answered to his footsteps like castanets, and as he caught up with her + to fondle her bent arm. Their walk died away to a saunter, while the + street-lamps beamed upon them with longer intervals of dark between each + succeeding lampshine. More slowly still they moved towards West + Kensington and parting. Her arm was twined round his like ivy, and + <a name="page_422" id="page_422"></a> + + their two hands came together like leaves. At last the turning she must + take appeared on the other side of the road, and again she ran and again + he caught her arm. But this time it was still warm with long contact and + divinely familiar, since but for a moment had it been relinquished. The + dim side-street enfolded them, and no dismaying passers-by startled + their intercourse. + </p> + + <p>“But soon it will be Trelawny Road,” she whispered.</p> + + <p>“Then kiss me quickly,” said Michael. “Lily, you must.”</p> + + <p>It was in the midmost gloom between two lamps that they kissed first.</p> + + <p>“Lily, once again.”</p> + + <p>“No, no,” she whispered.</p> + + <p>“But you’re mine,” he called exultantly. “You are. You know you are.”</p> + + <p>“Perhaps,” she whispered, but even as his arms drew her towards him, she + slipped from his embrace, laughed very low and sweet, bounded forward, + waved her muff, ran swiftly to the next lamp-post, paused and blew him + kisses, then vanished round the corner of her road.</p> + + <p>But a long time ago they had said they would meet to-morrow, and as + Michael stood in a maze all the clocks in the world ding-donged in his + ears the hour of their tryst.</p> + + <p>There was only one thing to do for the expression of his joy, and that + was to run as hard as he could. So he ran, and when he saw two + coal-holes, he would jump from one to the other, rejoicing in the ring + of their metal covers. And all the time out of breath he kept saying, + “I’m in love, in love, in love.”</p> + + <p> + Every passer-by into whose eyes he looked seemed to have the most + beautiful expression; every poor man seemed to demand that he should + stay awhile from his own joy to comfort him. The lamp-posts bloomed like + tropic flowers, swaying and nodding languorously. Every house took on a + <a name="page_423" id="page_423"></a> + + look of the most unutterable completeness; the horses galloped like + Arabian barbs; policemen expanded like beneficent genii; errand boys + whistled like nightingales; all familiarity was enchanted, and + seven-leagued boots took him forward as easily as if he travelled a + world subdued to the effortless transitions of sleep. Carlington Road + stretched before him bright, kindly, beckoning to his ingress. Against + the lighted entrance-hall of Number 64 Michael saw the red and amber + sparrows like humming-birds, ruby-throated, topaz-winged. The + parlour-maid’s cap and apron were of snow, and the banisters of + sandalwood. + </p> + + <p>Michael went to bed early that he might meet her in dreams, but still + for a long time he sat by his window peering at the tawny moon, while at + intervals trains went quickly past sparkling and swift as lighted fuses. + The scent of the leaves lying in the gardens all along Carlington Road + was vital with the airs from which she had been evoked that afternoon, + and his only regret was that his bedroom looked out on precisely the + opposite direction from that where now she was sleeping. Then he himself + became envious of sleep, and undressed quickly like one who stands + hot-footed by a lake’s edge, eager for the water’s cool.</p> + + <p> + Michael met Lily next day by the dusky corner of a street whose gradual + loss of outline he had watched occur through a patient hour. It was not + that Lily was late, but that Michael was so early. Yet in his present + mood of elation he could enjoy communion even with bricks and mortar. He + used every guileful ruse to cheat time of his determined moment. He + would walk along with closed eyes for ten paces and with open eyes for + ten paces, the convention with himself, almost the wager, being that + Lily should appear while his eyes were closed. It would have been truly + disappointing had she swung round the corner while his eyes were open. + But as it still lacked half an hour of her + <a name="page_424" id="page_424"></a> + appointment, there was not + much fear of that. Then, as really her time drew near, a tenser game was + played, by which Lily was to appear when his left foot was advanced. + This match between odd and even lasted until in all its straightness of + perfect division six o’clock was inscribed upon his watch. No other hour + could so well have suited her form. + </p> + + <p>Now began the best game of all, since it was played less with himself + than with fortune. Michael went to the next turning, and, hiding himself + from the view of Trelawny Road, only allowed himself to peep at each + decade. At a hundred and sixty-three he said “She’s in sight,” one + hundred and sixty-four, “She’s coming.” The century was eliminated, too + cumbersome for his fiery enumeration. Sixty-five, “I know she is.” + Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine! One hundred and seventy + was said slowly with an exquisite dragging deliberation. Then Michael + could look, and there she was with muff signalling through the azure + mists of twilight.</p> + + <p>“I say, I told mother about you,” murmured Lily. “And she said, ‘Why + didn’t you ask him to come in to tea?’ But of course she doesn’t know + I’m meeting you this evening. I’m supposed to be going to church.”</p> + + <p>Michael’s heart leaped at the thought that soon he would be able to see + her in her own home among her own belongings, so that in future no + conjured picture of her would be incomplete.</p> + + <p>“Rather decent of your mother,” he said.</p> + + <p>“Oh, well, she’s got to be very easy-going and all that, though of + course she doesn’t like us to get talked about. What shall we do now?”</p> + + <p> + “Walk about, I suppose,” said Michael. “Unless we get on top of a bus + and ride somewhere? Why not ride up to Hammersmith Broadway and then + walk along the towing-path?” + <a name="page_425" id="page_425"></a> + </p> + + <p>They found a seat full in the frore wind’s face, but yet the ride was + all too short, and almost by the time Michael had finished securing the + waterproof rug in which they sat incapable of movement, so tightly were + they braced in, it was time to undo it again and dismount. While the + church bells were ringing, they crossed Hammersmith Suspension Bridge + ethereal in the creeping river-mist and faintly motionable like a ship + at anchor. Then they wandered by the river that lapped the dead reeds + and gurgled along the base of the shelving clay bank. The wind drearily + stirred the osier-beds, and from time to time the dull tread of + indefinite passing forms was heard upon the sodden path. Michael could + feel the humid fog lying upon Lily’s sleeve, and when he drew her cheek + to his own it was bedewed with the falling night. But when their lips + met, the moisture and October chill were all consumed, and like a + burning rose she flamed upon his vision. Words to express his adoration + tumbled around him like nightmare speech, evasive, mocking, grotesquely + inadequate.</p> + + <p>“There are no words to say how much I love to hold you, Lily,” he + complained. “It’s like holding a flower. And even in the dark I can see + your eyes.”</p> + + <p>“I can’t see yours,” she murmured, and therefore nestled closer, “I like + you to kiss me,” she sighed.</p> + + <p>“Oh, why do you?” Michael asked. “Why me?”</p> + + <p>“You’re nice,” she less than whispered.</p> + + <p>“Lily, I do love you.”</p> + + <p>And Michael bit his lip at the close of “love” for the sweet pain of + making the foolish word more powerful, more long.</p> + + <p>“What a funny husky voice,” she murmured in her own deep indolent tones.</p> + + <p>“Do you like me to call you ‘darling’ or ‘dearest’ best?” he asked.</p> + + <p> + “Both.” + <a name="page_426" id="page_426"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Ah, but which do you like best?”</p> + + <p>To Michael the two words were like melodies which he had lately learned + to play. Indeed, they seemed to him his own melodies never played + before, and he was eager for Lily to pronounce judgment.</p> + + <p>“Why do you ask questions?” she wondered.</p> + + <p>“Say ‘dearest’ to me,” Michael begged.</p> + + <p>“No, no,” she blushed against his heart.</p> + + <p>“But say which you like best,” he urged. “Darling or dearest?”</p> + + <p>“Well, darling,” she pouted.</p> + + <p>“You’ve said it,” cried Michael rapturously. “Now you can say it of your + own accord. Oh, Lily, say it when you kiss me.”</p> + + <p>“But supposing I never kiss you ever again?” asked Lily, pulling away + from his arms. “And besides we must go back.”</p> + + <p>“Well, we needn’t hurry.”</p> + + <p>“Not if you come at once,” she agreed.</p> + + <p>One more kiss, one more gliding dreaming walk, one more pause to bid the + river farewell from the towering bridge, one more wrestle with the + waterproof-rug, one more slow lingering and then suddenly swift escaping + finger, one more wave of the muff, one last aerial salutation, and she + was gone till Wednesday.</p> + + <p> + Michael was left alone between the tall thin houses of Kensington, but + beneath his feet he seemed to feel the world swing round through space; + and all the tall thin houses, all the fluted lamp-posts, all the + clustering chimney-pots reeled about him in the ecstasy of his aroused + existence. + <a name="page_427" id="page_427"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XVII_Lily" id="Chapter_XVII_Lily"></a> + Chapter XVII: Lily + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">W</span> + HEN Michael came into the dining-room after he had left Lily, his + mother said: “Dearest boy, what have you been doing? Your eyes are + shining like stars.” + </p> + + <p>Here was the opportunity to tell her about Lily, but Michael could not + avail himself of it. These last two days seemed as yet too incomplete + for revelation. Somehow he felt that he was creating a work of art, and + that to tell his mother of conception or progress would be to spoil the + perfection of his impulse. There was only one person on earth to whom he + could confide this cataclysmic experience, and that was Alan. He and + Alan had dreamed enough together in the past to make him unashamed to + announce at last his foothold on reality. But supposing Alan were to + laugh, as he had laughed over the absurdity of Kathleen? Such a + reception of his news would ruin their friendship; and yet if their + friendship could not endure the tale of true love, was it not already + ruined? He must tell Alan, at whatever cost. And where should he tell + him? Such a secret must not be lightly entrusted. Time and place must + come harmoniously, befalling with that rare felicity which salutes the + inevitable hours of a human life.</p> + + <p>“Mother,” said Michael, “would you mind if I stayed the night over at + Richmond?”</p> + + <p>“To-night?” Mrs. Fane echoed in astonishment.</p> + + <p>“Well, perhaps not to-night,” conceded Michael unwillingly. “But + to-morrow night?”</p> + + <p> + “To-morrow night by all means,” Mrs. Fane agreed. + <a name="page_428" id="page_428"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Nothing has happened?” she asked anxiously. “You seem so flushed and + strange.”</p> + + <p>“I’m just the same as usual,” Michael declared. “It’s hot in this room. + I think I’ll take a short walk.”</p> + + <p>“But you’ve been out all the afternoon,” Mrs. Fane protested.</p> + + <p>“Oh, well, I’ve nothing to do at home.”</p> + + <p>“You’re not feverish?”</p> + + <p>“No, no, mother,” Michael affirmed, disengaging his parched hand from + her solicitous touch. “But you know I often feel restless.”</p> + + <p>She released him, tenderly smiling; and for one moment he nearly threw + himself down beside her, covetous of childhood’s petting. But the + impulse spent itself before he acted upon it, and soon he was wandering + towards Trelawny Road. How empty the corner of it looked, how stark and + melancholy soared the grey houses guarding its consecrated entrance, how + solitary shone the lamp-posts, and how sadly echoed the footsteps of + people going home. Yet only three hours ago they had met on this very + flagstone that must almost have palpitated to the pressure of her shoes.</p> + + <p> + Michael walked on until he stood opposite her house. There was a light + in the bay-window by the front door; perhaps she would come out to post + a letter. O breathless thought! Surely he heard the sound of a turning + handle. Ah, why had he not begged her to draw aside the blind at a fixed + time that he could be cured of his longing by the vision of her darling + form against the pane? How bitter was the irony of her sitting behind + that brooding window-pane, unconscious of him. Two days must crawl past + before she would meet him again, before he would touch her hand, look + actually into her eyes, watch every quiver and curve of her mouth. + Places would be enriched with the sight of her, while he ached with the + torment of love. School must drag through ten intolerable hours; he must + chatter with + <a name="page_429" id="page_429"></a> + people unaware of her; and she must live two days apart + from his life, two days whose irresponsible minutes and loveless + occupations made him burn with jealousy of time itself. + </p> + + <p>Suddenly the door of Lily’s house opened, and Michael felt the blood + course through his body, flooding his heart, swaying his very soul. + There was a voice in the glimmering hall, but not her voice. Nor was it + her form that hurried down the steps. It was only the infinitely + fortunate maidservant whose progress to the letter-box he watched with a + sickening disappointment. There went one who every day could see Lily. + Every morning she was privileged to wake her from her rose-fired sleep. + Every night she could gossip with her outside the magical door of her + room. Lily must sometimes descend into the kitchen, and there they must + talk. And yet the idiotic creature was staring curiously at some + unutterably dull policeman, and wasting moments she did not appreciate. + Then a leaping thought came to Michael, that if she wasted enough time + Lily might look round the front-door in search of her. But too soon for + such an event the maidservant pattered back; the door slammed; and only + the window-panes of dull gold brooded immutably. How long before Lily + went up to bed? And did she sleep in a room that fronted the road? + Michael could bear it no longer and turned away from the exasperation of + her withheld presence; and he made up his mind that he must know every + detail of her daily life before he again came sighing ineffectively like + this in the night-time.</p> + + <p> + Michael was vexed to find that he could not even conjure Lily to his + side in sleep, but that even there he must be surrounded by the tiresome + people of ordinary life. However, there was always a delicious moment, + just before he lost complete consciousness, when the image of her + dissolved and materialized elusively above the nebulous confines of + semi-reality; while always at the very instant of awakening he + <a name="page_430" id="page_430"></a> + was + aware of her moth-winged kisses trembling upon the first liquid flash of + daylight. + </p> + + <p>In the ‘quarter’ Michael suggested to Alan that he should come back to + Richmond with him, and when Alan looked a little astonished at this + Monday night proposal, he explained that he had a lot to talk over.</p> + + <p>“I nearly came over at nine o’clock last night,” Michael announced.</p> + + <p>Alan seemed to realize that it must indeed be something of importance + and could scarcely wait for the time when they should be fast alone and + primed for confidences.</p> + + <p>After dinner Michael proposed a walk up Richmond Hill, and without any + appearance of strategy managed to persuade Alan to rest awhile on one of + the seats along the Terrace. In this late autumnal time there was no + view of the Thames gleaming beneath the sorcery of a summer night. There + was nothing now but a vast airiness of mist damascening the blades of + light with which the street-lamps pierced the darkness.</p> + + <p>“Pretty wet,” said Alan distastefully patting the seat.</p> + + <p>“We needn’t stay long, but it’s rather ripping, don’t you think?” + Michael urged. “Alan, do you remember once we sat here on a night before + exams at the end of a summer term?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, but it was a jolly sight warmer than it is now,” said Alan.</p> + + <p> + “I know. We were in ‘whites,’” said Michael pensively. “Alan, I’m in + love. I am really. You mustn’t laugh. I was a fool over that first girl, + but now I am in love. Alan, she’s only seventeen, and she has hair the + colour of that rather thick honey you get at chemists. Only it isn’t + thick, but as foamy as a lemon-sponge. And her mouth is truly a bow and + her voice is gloriously deep and exciting, and her eyes are the most + extraordinary blue—as blue as ink in a bottle when you hold it up to + the light—and her + <a name="page_431" id="page_431"></a> + chin is in two pieces rather like yours, and her + ankles—well—her ankles are absolutely divine. The extraordinary luck + is that she loves me, and I want you to meet her. I’m describing her + very accurately like this because I don’t want you to think I’m raving + or quoting poetry. You see, you don’t appreciate poetry, or I could + describe her much better.” + </p> + + <p>“I do appreciate poetry,” protested Alan.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I know you like Kipling and Adam Lindsay Gordon, but I mean real + poetry. Well, I’m not going to argue about that. But, Alan, you must be + sympathetic and believe that I really am in love. She has a sister + called Doris. I haven’t met her yet, but she’s sure to be lovely, and I + think you ought to fall in love with her. Now wouldn’t that be splendid? + Alan, you do believe I’m in love this time?”</p> + + <p>Michael paused anxiously.</p> + + <p>“I suppose you must be,” said Alan slowly.</p> + + <p>“And you’re glad?” asked Michael a little wistfully.</p> + + <p>“What’s going to happen?” Alan wondered.</p> + + <p>“Well, of course not much can happen just now. Not much can happen while + one is still at school,” Michael went on. “But don’t let’s talk about + what is going to be. Let’s talk about what is now.”</p> + + <p>Alan looked at him reproachfully.</p> + + <p>“You used to enjoy talking about the future.”</p> + + <p>“Because it used always to be more interesting,” Michael explained.</p> + + <p>Alan rose from the seat and taking Michael’s arm drew him down the hill.</p> + + <p>“And will you come and meet her sister?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“I expect so,” said Alan.</p> + + <p>“Hurrah!” cried the lover.</p> + + <p> + “I suppose this means the end of football, the end of cricket, in fact + the end of school as far as you’re concerned,” Alan complained. “I wish + you’d waited a little.” + <a name="page_432" id="page_432"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I told you I was years older than you,” Michael pointed out, + involuntarily making excuses.</p> + + <p>“Only because you would encourage yourself to think so. Well, I hope + everything will go well. I hope you won’t take it into your head to + think you’ve got to marry her immediately, or any rot like that.”</p> + + <p>“Don’t be an ass,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Well, you’re such an impulsive devil. By Jove, the fellow that first + called you ‘Bangs’ was a bit of a spotter.”</p> + + <p>“It was Abercrombie,” Michael reminded him.</p> + + <p>“I should think that was the only clever thing he ever did in his life,” + said Alan.</p> + + <p>“Why, I thought you considered him no end of a good man.”</p> + + <p>“He was a good forward and a good deep field,” Alan granted. “But that + doesn’t make him Shakespeare.”</p> + + <p>Thence onwards war, or rather sport the schoolboys’ substitute, ousted + love from the conversation, and very soon solo whist with Mr. and Mrs. + Merivale disposed of both.</p> + + <p>On Tuesday night Michael in a fever of enthusiasm for Wednesday’s + approach wrote a letter to Stella.</p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + 64 + <span class="smcap">CARLINGTON ROAD</span> + , + <br/> + <i>October</i> + , 1900. + </p> + + <p> + <i>My dear Stella,</i> + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>After this you needn’t grouse about my letters being dull, and you + can consider yourself jolly honoured because I’m writing to tell + you that I’m in love. Her name is Lily Haden. Only, of course, + please don’t go shouting this all over Germany, and don’t write a + gushing letter to mother, who doesn’t know anything about it. I + shouldn’t tell you if you were in London, and don’t write back and + tell me that you’re in love with some long-haired dancing-master or + one-eyed banjo-player, because I</i> + know + <i>now what love is, and it’s + nothing like what you think it is.</i> + <a name="page_433" id="page_433"></a> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Lily is fair—not just fair like a doll, but</i> + frightfully + <i>fair. + In fact, her hair is like bubbling champagne, I met her in + Kensington Gardens. It was truly romantic, not a silly, giggling, + gone-on-a-girl sort of meeting. I hope you’re getting on with your + music. I shall introduce Lily to you just before your first + concert, and then if you can’t play, well, you never will. You + might write me a letter and say what you think of my news. Not a + gushing letter, of course, but as sensible as you can make it.</i> + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Your loving brother,</i> + + <br/> + <i>Michael.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p>Michael had meant to say much more to Stella, but ink and paper seemed + to violate the secluded airs in which Lily had her being. However, + Stella would understand by his writing at all that he was in deadly + earnest, and she was unearthly enough to supply what was missing from + his account.</p> + + <p>Meanwhile to-morrow was Wednesday, the mate of Saturday and certainly of + all the days in the week his second favourite. Monday, of course, was + vile. Tuesday was colourless. Thursday was nearly as bad as Monday. + Friday was irksome and only a little less insipid than Tuesday. Sunday + had many disadvantages. Saturday was without doubt the best day, and + Wednesday was next best, for though it was not a half-holiday, as long + ago it had been at Randell House, still it had never quite lost its + suggestion of holiday. Wednesday—the very word said slowly had a rich + individuality. Wednesday—how promptly it sprang to the lips for any + occasion of festivity that did not require full-blown reckless Saturday. + Monday was dull red. Tuesday was cream-coloured. Thursday was dingy + purple. Friday was a harsh scarlet, but Wednesday was vivid apple-green, + or was it a clear cool blue? One or the other.</p> + + <p> + So, tantalizing himself by not allowing a single thought of Lily while + he was undressing, Michael achieved bed very + <a name="page_434" id="page_434"></a> + easily. Here all + trivialities were dismissed, and like one who falls asleep when a star + is shining through his window-pane Michael fell asleep, with Lily + radiant above the horizon. + </p> + + <p>It was rather a disappointing Wednesday, for Lily said she could not + stay out more than a minute, since her mother was indoors and would + wonder what she was doing. However on Saturday she would see Michael + again, and announce to her mother that she was going to see him, so that + on Sunday Michael could be invited to tea.</p> + + <p>“And then if mother likes you, why, you can often come in,” Lily pointed + out. “That is, if you want to.”</p> + + <p>“Saturday,” sighed Michael.</p> + + <p>“Well, don’t spoil the few minutes we’ve got by being miserable.”</p> + + <p>“But I can’t kiss you.”</p> + + <p>“Think how much nicer it will be when we can kiss,” said Lily + philosophically.</p> + + <p>“I don’t believe you care a damn whether we kiss or not,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Don’t I?” murmured Lily, quickly touching his hand and as quickly + withdrawing it to the prison of the muff.</p> + + <p>“Ah, do you, Lily?” Michael throbbed out.</p> + + <p>“Of course. Now I must go. Good-bye. Don’t forget Saturday in the + Gardens, where we met last time. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye!” She was + running from him backwards, forbidding with a wave his sudden step + towards her. “No, if you dare to move, I shan’t meet you on Saturday. Be + good, be good.”</p> + + <p>By her corner she paused, stood on tiptoe for one provocative instant, + blew a kiss, laughed her elfin laugh and vanished more swift than any + Ariel.</p> + + <p> + “Damn!” cried Michael sorely, and forthwith set out to walk round West + Kensington at five miles an hour, until his chagrin, his disappointment + and his heartsick emptiness + <a name="page_435" id="page_435"></a> + were conquered, or at any rate sufficiently + humbled to make him secure against unmanly tears. + </p> + + <p>When Saturday finally did arrive, Michael did not sit reading Verlaine, + but wandered from tree-trunk to tree-trunk like Orlando in despair. Then + Lily came at last sedately, and brought the good news that to-morrow + Michael should come to tea at her house.</p> + + <p>“But where does your mother think we met?” he asked in perplexity.</p> + + <p>“Oh, I told her it was in Kensington Gardens,” said Lily carelessly.</p> + + <p>“But doesn’t she think I must be an awful bounder?”</p> + + <p>“Why, you silly, I told her you were at St. James’ School.”</p> + + <p>“But I never told you I was at school,” exclaimed Michael, somewhat + aghast.</p> + + <p>“I know you didn’t, and you never told me that you weren’t eighteen + yet.”</p> + + <p>“I am in a month or two,” said Michael. “But, good Lord, who have you + been talking to?”</p> + + <p>“Ah, that’s the greatest secret in the world,” laughed Lily.</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, do tell me.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I know a boy called Drake who knows you.”</p> + + <p>“That beast!” cried Michael.</p> + + <p>“I think he’s quite a nice boy. He lives next door to us and——”</p> + + <p>Michael kicked angrily the dead leaves lying about his feet, and almost + choked with astonished fury.</p> + + <p>“Why, my dear girl, he’s absolutely barred. He’s as unpopular as anybody + I know. I hope you won’t discuss me with that hulking brute. What the + deuce right has he got to tell you anything about me?”</p> + + <p> + “Because I asked him, and you needn’t look so enraged, because if you + want to know why you’re coming to tea, it’s because I asked Arthur——” + <a name="page_436" id="page_436"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Who’s Arthur?” growled Michael.</p> + + <p>“Arthur Drake.”</p> + + <p>“Go on,” said Michael icily.</p> + + <p>“I shan’t go on, if you look like that.”</p> + + <p>“I can’t help how I look. I don’t carry a glass round with me,” said + Michael. “So I suppose this worm Drake had the cheek to tell your mother + I was all right. Drake! Wait till I see the brute on Monday morning.”</p> + + <p>“Well, if you take my advice,” said Lily, “you’ll be nice to him, + because he’s supposed to have introduced us.”</p> + + <p>“What lies! What lies!” Michael stamped.</p> + + <p>“You told me a lie about your age,” Lily retorted. “And I’ve told mother + a lie on your account, so you needn’t be so particular. And if you think + you’re going to make me cry, you’re not.”</p> + + <p>She sat down on a seat and looked out at the bare woodland with sullen + eyes.</p> + + <p>“Has Drake ever dared to make love to you?” demanded Michael.</p> + + <p>“That’s my business,” said Lily. “You’ve no right to ask me questions + like that.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked at her so adorable even now, and suddenly throwing his + dignity to the dead leaves, he sat close beside her caressingly.</p> + + <p>“Darling Lily,” he whispered, “it was my fault. I lied first. I don’t + care how much you talked about me. I don’t care about anything but you. + I’ll even say Drake is a decent chap—though he really isn’t even + moderately decent. Lily, we had such a rotten Wednesday, and to-day + ought to be perfect. Will you forgive me? Will you?”</p> + + <p>And the quarrel was over.</p> + + <p>“But you don’t care anything about Drake?” Michael asked, when half an + hour had dreamed itself away.</p> + + <p> + “Of course not,” she reassured him. “Arthur likes Doris better than + me.” + <a name="page_437" id="page_437"></a> + </p> + + <p>“But he mustn’t like Doris,” said Michael eagerly. “At least she mustn’t + like him. Because I’ve got a friend—at least three million times as + decent as Drake—who wants to be in love with Doris, or rather he will + want to be when he sees her.”</p> + + <p>“Why, you haven’t seen Doris yourself yet,” laughed Lily.</p> + + <p>“Oh, of course my plan may all come to nothing,” Michael admitted. “But + look here, I vote we don’t bother about anybody else in the world but + ourselves for the rest of the afternoon.”</p> + + <p>Nor did they.</p> + + <p>“Shall I wear a top-hat to-morrow?” Michael asked even in the very + poignancy of farewell. “I mean—will your mother prefer it?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, the people who come to tea with us on Sunday are mostly artists + and actors,” decided Lily judicially.</p> + + <p>“Do lots of people come then?” asked Michael, quickly jealous.</p> + + <p>“A good many.”</p> + + <p>“I might as well have fallen in love with one of the Royal Family,” + sighed Michael in despair.</p> + + <p>“What do you mean?”</p> + + <p>“Well, I never can see you alone,” he declared.</p> + + <p>“Why, we’ve had the whole of this afternoon,” she told him.</p> + + <p>“Do you call sitting in the middle of Kensington Gardens being alone? + Why, it was crammed with people,” he ejaculated in disgust.</p> + + <p>“I must go, I must go, I must go,” Lily whispered and almost seemed to + be preening her wings in the lamplight before she flew away.</p> + + <p>“I say, what number is Drake’s house?” Michael asked, with a consummate + affectation of casual enquiry.</p> + + <p> + She told him laughingly, and in a most malicious hurry + <a name="page_438" id="page_438"></a> + would not even + linger a moment to ask him why he wanted to know. Coldly and + deliberately Michael after dinner rang the bell of Drake’s house. + </p> + + <p>“Is—er—Master Arthur at home?” he asked the maid.</p> + + <p>“Master Arthur,” she cried. “Someone to see you.”</p> + + <p>“Hullo, Bangs,” shouted Drake, emerging effusively from a doorway.</p> + + <p>“Oh, hullo,” said Michael loftily. “I thought I’d call to see if you + felt like coming out.”</p> + + <p>“Right-o,” said Drake. “Wait half a tick while I tell my mater. Come in, + and meet my people.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no,” said Michael. “I’m beastly untidy.”</p> + + <p>He would condescend to Drake for the sake of his love, but he did not + think that love demanded the sacrifice of condescending to a possibly + more expansive acquaintance with Drake’s family.</p> + + <p>“So you’ve met the fair Lily,” Drake said, as they strolled along. + “Pretty smart, what, my boy?”</p> + + <p>“I’m going to tea with them to-morrow,” Michael informed him.</p> + + <p>“Mrs. Haden’s a bit thick,” said Drake confidentially. “And Doris is of + a very coming-on disposition.”</p> + + <p>Michael thought of Alan and sighed; then he thought of himself listening + to this and he was humiliated.</p> + + <p>“But Lily is a bit stand-offish,” said Drake. “Of course I never could + stand very fair girls, myself. I say, talking of girls, there’s a girl + in Sherringham Road, well—she’s an actress’s French maid, as a matter + of fact, but, my gad, if you like cayenne, you ought to come along with + me, and I’ll introduce you. She’ll be alone now. Are you on?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, thanks very much,” said Michael. “But I must get back. Good-night, + Drake.”</p> + + <p>“Well, you’re a nice chap to ask a fellow to come out. Come on, don’t be + an ass. Her name’s Marie.”</p> + + <p> + “I don’t care if her name’s Marie or Mabel or what it is,” + <a name="page_439" id="page_439"></a> + Michael + declared in exasperation. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go home. Thanks for + coming out.” + </p> + + <p>He turned abruptly and walked off, leaving Drake to apostrophize his + eccentricity and seek consolation with Marie.</p> + + <p>On Sunday afternoon Michael, torn between a desire to arrive before the + crowd of artists and actors who thronged the house and an unwillingness + to obtrude upon the Sabbath lethargy of half-past three o’clock, set out + with beating heart to invade Lily’s home. Love made him reckless and + luck rewarded him, for when he enquired for Mrs. Haden the maid told him + that only Miss Lily was in.</p> + + <p>“Who shall I say?” she asked.</p> + + <p>“Mr. Fane.”</p> + + <p>“Step this way, please. Miss Lily’s down in the morning-room.”</p> + + <p>And this so brief and so bald a colloquy danced in letters of fire + across the darkling descent of the enclosed stairs down to the + ground-floor.</p> + + <p>“Someone to see you, Miss Lily.”</p> + + <p>Not Iris could have delivered a richer message.</p> + + <p>Deep in a wicker chair by a dull red fire sat Lily with open book upon + her delicate dress of lavender. The door closed; the daylight of the + grey October afternoon seemed already to have fled this room. Dusky in a + corner stood a great dolls’ house, somewhat sad like a real house that + has been left long untenanted.</p> + + <p>“Well, now we’re alone enough,” murmured Lily.</p> + + <p>He knelt beside her chair and let his head fall upon her silken + shoulder.</p> + + <p>“I’m glad you’re in your own room,” Michael sighed in answer.</p> + + <p> + Outside, a muffin-man went ringing through the sombre Sabbath chill; and + sometimes, disturbing the monotonous railings above the area, absurd + legs were seen hurrying to + <a name="page_440" id="page_440"></a> + their social tasks. No other sign was given + of a life that went on unaware of these two on whom time showered twenty + golden minutes. + </p> + + <p>“Mother and Doris will be back at four,” Lily said. “Is my face + flushed?”</p> + + <p>Fresh carnations would have seemed faded near her, when she looked at + Michael for an answer.</p> + + <p>“Only very slightly,” he reassured her.</p> + + <p>“Come up to the drawing-room,” she commanded.</p> + + <p>“Can I look at your dolls’ house?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p>“That old thing,” said Lily scornfully.</p> + + <p>Reverently he pulled aside the front of the battered dwelling-place, and + saw the minute furniture higgledy-piggledy.</p> + + <p>“I wonder if anyone has ever thought of burning an old dolls’ house,” + said Michael thoughtfully. “It would be rather a rag. I’ve got an old + toy fire-engine somewhere at home.”</p> + + <p>“You baby,” said Lily.</p> + + <p>“Well, it depresses me to see that dolls’ house all disused and upside + down and no good any more. My kiddy sister gave hers to a hospital. What + a pity I never thought of burning that,” sighed Michael regretfully. “I + say, some time we must explore this room. It reminds me of all sorts of + things.”</p> + + <p>“What sort of things?” asked Lily indifferently.</p> + + <p>“Oh, being a kid.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t want to be reminded of that,” said Lily. “I wish I was + older than I am.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, so do I,” said Michael. “I don’t want to be a kid again.”</p> + + <p> + Upstairs in the drawing-room it was still fairly light, but the backs of + the grey houses opposite and the groups of ghostly trees that filmed the + leaden air seemed to call for curtains to be drawn across the + contemplation of their + <a name="page_441" id="page_441"></a> + melancholy. Yet before they sat down by the + crackling fire, Michael and Lily stood with their cheeks against the + cold window-panes in a luxury of bodeful silence. + </p> + + <p>“No, you’re not to sit so close now,” Lily ordained, when by a joint + impulse they turned to inhabit the room in which they had been standing. + Michael saw a large photograph album and seized it.</p> + + <p>“No, you’re not to look in that,” Lily cried.</p> + + <p>“Why not?” he asked, holding it high above his head.</p> + + <p>“Because I don’t want you to,” said Lily. “Put it down.”</p> + + <p>“I want to see if there are any photographs of you when you were a kid.”</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t want you to see them,” Lily persisted.</p> + + <p>In the middle of a struggle for possession of the album, Mrs. Haden and + Doris came in, and Michael felt rather foolish.</p> + + <p>“What a dreadfully noisy girl you are, Lily,” said Mrs. Haden. “And is + this your friend Mr. Fane? How d’ye do?”</p> + + <p>“I’m afraid it was my fault,” said Michael. “I was trying to bag the + photograph album.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, Lily hates anyone to see that picture of her,” Doris interposed. + “She’s so conceited, and just because——”</p> + + <p>“Shut up, you beast,” cried Lily.</p> + + <p>“Her legs——”</p> + + <p>“Doris!” interposed Mrs. Haden. “You must remember you’re grown up now.”</p> + + <p>“Mother, can’t I burn the photograph?” said Lily.</p> + + <p>“No, she’s not to, mother,” Doris interrupted. “She’s not to, is she? + You jealous thing. You’d love to burn it because it’s good of me.”</p> + + <p> + “Well, really,” said Mrs. Haden, “what Mr. Fane can be thinking of you + two girls, I shouldn’t like to guess.” + <a name="page_442" id="page_442"></a> + </p> + + <p>The quarrel over the album died down as easily as it had begun, and the + entrance of the tea adjusted the conversation to a less excited plane.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Haden was a woman whom Michael could not help liking for her open + breezy manner and a certain large-handed toleration which suited her + loud deep voice. But he was inclined to deprecate her obviously dyed + hair and the plentifulness of pink powder; nor could he at first detect + in her any likeness to Lily who, though Mrs. Haden persistently + reproached her as a noisy girl, stood for Michael as the slim embodiment + of a subtle and easy tranquillity. Gradually, however, during the + afternoon he perceived slight resemblances between the mother and + daughter that showed them vaguely alike, as much alike at any rate as an + elk and a roedeer.</p> + + <p>Doris Haden was much less fair than Lily, though she could only have + been called dark in comparison with her sister. She had a high + complexion, wide almond-shaped eyes of a very mutable hazel, and a ripe, + sanguine mouth. She was dressed in a coat and skirt of + crushed-strawberry frieze, whose cool folds seemed to enhance her + slightly exotic air. Michael could not help doubting whether she and + Alan were perfectly suited to one another. He could not imagine that she + would not care for him, but he wondered about Alan’s feelings; and + Drake’s overnight description stuck unpleasantly in his mind with a + sensation of disloyalty to Lily whose sister after all Doris was.</p> + + <p> + They were not left very long without visitors, for one by one young men + came in with a self-possession and an assumption of familiarity that + Michael resented very much, and all the more deeply because he felt + himself at a disadvantage. He wondered if Lily were despising him, and + wished that she would not catch hold of these detestable young men by + the lapels of their coats, or submit to their throaty persiflage. Once + when the most absolutely self-possessed of all, + <a name="page_443" id="page_443"></a> + a tall thin creature + with black fuzzy hair and stilted joints, pulled Lily on to his knee to + talk to him, Michael nearly dived through the window in a fury of + resentment. + </p> + + <p>All these young men seemed to him to revel in their bad taste, and their + conversation, half-theatrical, half-artistic, was of a character that he + could not enter into. Mrs. Haden’s loud laugh rang out over the clatter + of tea-cups; Doris walked about the room smoking a cigarette and humming + songs; Lily moved from group to group with a nonchalance that seriously + perturbed Michael, who retired more and more deeply behind a spreading + palm in the darkest corner of the room. Yet he could not tear himself + away from the fascination of watching Lily’s grace; he could not + surrender her to these marionettes of vulgar fashion; he could not go + coldly out into the Sabbath night without the consolation of first + hustling these intruders before him.</p> + + <p> + The afternoon drew on to real dusk; the gas was lighted; songs were sung + and music was played. All these young men seemed accomplished performers + of insignificant arts. Mrs. Haden recited, and in this drawing-room her + heightened air and accentuated voice made Michael blush. Doris went + upstairs for a moment and presently came down in a Spanish + dancing-dress, in which she swayed about and rattled castanets and + banged a tambourine, while the young men sat round and applauded through + the smoke of their cigarettes. These cigarettes began to affect + Michael’s nerves. Wherever he looked he could see their flattened + corpses occupying nooks. They were in the flower-pots; they littered the + grate; they were strewn on brass ash-trays; and even here and there on + uninflammable and level spots they stood up like little rakish mummies + slowly and acridly cremating themselves. Michael wondered uneasily what + Lily was going to do to entertain these voracious listeners. He hoped + she would not debase her beauty by + <a name="page_444" id="page_444"></a> + dancing on the hearthrug like her + sister. In the end, Lily was persuaded to sing, and her voice very low + and sweet singing some bygone coon song, was tremendously applauded. + </p> + + <p>Supper-time drew on, and at last the parlour-maid came in and enquired + with a martyred air how many she should lay for.</p> + + <p>“You must all stay to supper,” cried Mrs. Haden in deafening + hospitality. “Everybody. Mr. Fane, you’ll stay, won’t you?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, thanks very much,” said Michael shyly, and wished that these + confounded young men would not all look at him as if they had perceived + him suddenly for the first time. Everybody seemed as a matter of course + to help to get supper ready, and Michael found himself being bumped + about and handed plates and knives and glasses and salad-bowls. Even at + supper he found himself as far as it was possible to be from Lily, and + he thought that never in his life had food tasted so absolutely of + nothing. But the evening came to an end, and Michael was consoled for + his purgatory by Mrs. Haden’s invitation to call whenever he liked. In + the hall too Lily came out to see him off, and he besought her anxiously + to assure him truthfully that to all these young men she was + indifferent.</p> + + <p>“Of course, I don’t care for any of them. Why, you silly, they all think + I’m still a little girl.”</p> + + <p>Then since a friendly draught had closed the drawing-room door, she + kissed him; and he forgot all that had happened before, and sailed home + on thoughts that carried him high above the iron-bound sadness of the + Sunday night.</p> + + <p> + Some time early in the week came a letter from Stella in answer to his, + and when Michael read it he wished that Stella would come home, since + only she seemed to appreciate what love meant. Yet Stella was even + younger than Lily. + <a name="page_445" id="page_445"></a> + </p> + + <div class="blockquot"> + <p class="r"> + S + <small>TUTTGART</small> + , + <br/> + <i>Sunday</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>Darling Michael</i> + , + </p> + + <p class="indt"> + <i>I’m writing a sonata about Lily. It’s not very good unfortunately, + so you’ll never be able to hear it. But after all, as you don’t + understand music, perhaps I will let you hear it. I wish you had + told me more about Lily. I think she’s lucky. You must be simply a + perfect person to be in love with. Most boys are so silly. That’s + why only men of at</i> + <i>least thirty attract me. But of course if I + could find someone younger who would be content to love me and not + mind whether I loved him, I should prefer that. You say I don’t + know what love is. How silly you are, Michael. Now</i> + isn’t + <i>it + thrilling to take Lily’s hand? I</i> + do + <i>know what love is. But don’t + look shocked, because if you can still look shocked, you don’t know + what love is. Don’t forget I’m seventeen next month, and don’t + forget I’m a girl as well as Lily. Lily is a good name for her, if + she is very fair. I expect she really has cendré hair. I hope she’s + rather tall and delicate-looking. I hope she’s a violin sort of + girl, or like those notes half-way up the treble. It must have been + perfect when you met her. I can just imagine you, especially if you + like October as much as I do. Did the leaves come falling down all + round you, when you kissed her? Oh, Michael, it must have been + enchanting. I want to come back soon, soon, soon, and see this Lily + of yours. Will she like me? Is she fond of music?</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>I must have my first concert next summer. Mother must</i> + not + <i>put me + off. Why doesn’t she let me come home now? There’s some reason for + it, I believe. Thank goodness, you’ll have left school soon. You + must be sick of it, especially since you’ve fallen in love</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>I think of you meeting Lily when I play Schumann, and when I play + Chopin I think of you walking about underneath her window, and when + I play Beethoven I think of you kissing her</i> + . + <a name="page_446" id="page_446"></a> + </p> + + <p> + <i>Darling Michael, I love you more than ever. Be interested in me + still, because I’m not interested in anybody but you, except, of + course, myself and my music</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>Oh, do bring Lily to my first concert, and I’ll see you two alone + of all the people in the Hall and play you so close together that + you’ll nearly faint. Now you think I’m gushing, I suppose, so I’ll + shut up</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + <i>With a most tremendous amount of love</i> + , + </p> + + <p class="r"> + <i>Your delightful sister</i> + , + <br/> + <i>Stella</i> + . + </p> + </div> + + <p>“I wonder if she ought to write like that,” said Michael to himself. + “Oh, well, I don’t see why she shouldn’t.”</p> + + <p> + Certainly as one grew older a sister became a most valuable property. + <a name="page_447" id="page_447"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XVIII_Eighteen_Years_Old" id="Chapter_XVIII_Eighteen_Years_Old"></a> + Chapter XVIII: + <i>Eighteen Years Old</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + O Michael it seemed almost incredible that school should be able to + continue as the great background against which his love stood out like a + delicate scene carved by the artist’s caprice in an obscure corner of a + strenuous and heroic decoration. Michael was hardly less conscious of + school on Lily’s account, and in class he dreamed neither more nor less + than formerly; but his dreams partook more of ecstasy than those + nebulous pictures inspired by the ambitions and ideals and books of + youth’s progress. Nevertheless in the most ultimate refinement of + meditation school weighed down his spirit. It is true that games had + finally departed from the realm of his consideration, but equally with + games much extravagance of intellect and many morbid pleasures had gone + out of cultivation. Balancing loss with gain, he found himself at the + close of his last autumn term with a surer foothold on the rock-hewn + foundations of truth. + </p> + + <p> + Michael called truth whatever of emotion or action or reaction or reason + or contemplation survived the destruction he was dealing out to the + litter of idols that were beginning to encumber his passage, many of + which he thought he had already destroyed when he had merely covered + them with a new coat of gilt. During this period he began to enjoy + Wordsworth, to whom he came by way of Matthew Arnold, like a wayfarer + who crosses green fields and finds that mountains are faint upon the + horizon. A successful lover, as he called himself, he began to despise + anything in his reading of poetry that could not measure its power with + the great commonplaces of human thought. + <a name="page_448" id="page_448"></a> + </p> + + <p>The Christmas holidays came as a relief from the burden of spending so + much of his time in an atmosphere from which he was sure he had drained + the last draught of health-giving breath. Michael no longer regarded, + save in a contemptuous aside, the microcosm of school; the pleasures of + seniority had staled; the whole business was now a tedious sort of + mental quarantine. If he had not had Lily to occupy his leisure, he + would have expired of restless inanition; and he wondered that the world + went on allowing youth’s load of education to be encumbered by a + dead-weight of superfluous information. Alan, for instance, had managed + to obtain a scholarship some time in late December, and would henceforth + devote himself to meditating on cricket for one term and playing it hard + for another term. It would be nine months before he went to Oxford, and + for nine months he would live in a state of mental catalepsy fed + despairingly by the masters of the Upper Sixth with the few poor last + facts they could scrape together from their own time-impoverished store. + Michael, in view of Alan’s necessity for gaining this scholarship, had + never tried to lure him towards Doris and a share in his own fortune. + But he resolved that during the following term he would do his best to + galvanize Alan out of the catalepsy that he woefully foresaw was + imminent.</p> + + <p>Meanwhile the Christmas holidays were here, and Michael on their first + night vowed all their leisure to Lily.</p> + + <p>There was time now for expeditions farther afield than Kensington + Gardens, which in winter seemed to have lost some of their pastoral air. + The naked trees no longer veiled the houses, and the city with its dingy + railings and dingy people and mud-splashed omnibuses was always an + intrusion. Moreover, fellow-Jacobeans used to haunt their privacy; and + often when it was foggy in London, out in the country there was winter + sunlight.</p> + + <p> + These were days whose clarity and silence seemed to call + <a name="page_449" id="page_449"></a> + for love’s + fearless analysis, and under a sky of turquoise so faintly blue that + scarcely even at the zenith could it survive the silver dazzle of the + low January sun, Michael and Lily would swing from Barnet into Finchley + with Michael talking all the way. + </p> + + <p>“Why do you love me?” he would flash.</p> + + <p>“Because I do.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, can’t you think of any better reason than that?”</p> + + <p>“Because—because—oh, Michael, I don’t want to think of reasons,” Lily + would declare.</p> + + <p> + “You + <i>are</i> + determined to marry me?” Michael would flash again. + </p> + + <p>“Yes, some day.”</p> + + <p>“You don’t think you’ll fall in love with anybody else?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t suppose so.”</p> + + <p>“Only suppose?” Michael would echo on a fierce pause.</p> + + <p>“Well, no, I won’t.”</p> + + <p>“You promise?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, yes, I promise,” Lily would pout.</p> + + <p>Then the rhythm of their walk would be renewed, and arm-in-arm they + would travel on, until the next foolish perplexity demanded solution. + Twilight would often find them still on the road, and when some lofty + avenue engulphed their path, the uneasy warmth of the overarching trees + would draw them very close, while hushed endearments took them slowly + into lampshine.</p> + + <p>When the dripping January rains came down, Michael spent many afternoons + in the morning-room of Lily’s house. Here, subject only to Doris’s + exaggerated hesitation to enter, Michael would build up for himself and + Lily the indissoluble ties of a childhood that, though actually it was + spent in ignorance of each other’s existence, possessed many links of + sentimental communion.</p> + + <p> + For instance, on the wall hung Cherry Ripe—the same girl in white frock + and pink sash who nearly fourteen years + <a name="page_450" id="page_450"></a> + ago had conjured for Michael + the first hazy intimations of romance. Here she hung, staring down at + them as demurely if not quite so sheerly beautiful as of old. Lily + observed that the picture was not unlike Doris at the same age, and + Michael felt at once that such a resemblance gave it a permanent value. + Certainly his etchings of Montmartre and views of the Sussex Downs would + never be hallowed by the associations that made sacred this oleograph of + a Christmas Annual. + </p> + + <p>There were the picture-books of Randolph Caldecott tattered identically + with his own, and Michael pointed out to Lily that often they must have + sat by the fire reading the same verse at the same moment. Was not this + thought almost as fine as the actual knowledge of each other’s daily + life would have been? There were other books whose pages, scrawled and + dog-eared, were softened by innumerable porings to the texture of + Japanese fairy-books. In a condition practically indistinguishable all + of these could be found both in Carlington Road and Trelawny Road.</p> + + <p>There were the mutilated games that commemorated Christmas after + Christmas of the past. Here was the pack of Happy Families with Mrs. + Chip now a widow, Mr. Block the Barber a widower, and the two young + Grits grotesque orphans of the grocery. There were Ludo and Lotto and + Tiddledy-Winks whose counters, though terribly depleted, were still + eloquent with the undetermined squabbles and favourite colours of + childhood.</p> + + <p>Michael was glad that Lily should spring like a lovely ghost from the + dust of familiar and forgotten relics. It had been romantic to snatch + her on a dying cadence of Verlaine out of the opalescent vistas of + October trees; but his perdurable love for her rested on these + immemorial affections whose history they shared.</p> + + <p> + Lily herself was not so sensitive to this aroma of the past as Michael. + She was indeed apt to consider his enthusiasm + <a name="page_451" id="page_451"></a> + a little foolish, and + would wonder why he dragged from the depths of untidy cupboards so much + rubbish that only owed its preservation to the general carelessness of + the household. Lily cared very little either for the past or the future, + and though she was inclined to envy Doris her dancing-lessons and + likelihood of appearing some time next year on the stage, she did not + seem really to desire any activity of career for herself. This was a + relief to Michael, who frankly feared what the stage might wreak upon + their love. + </p> + + <p>“But I wish you’d read a little more,” he protested. “You like such + rotten books.”</p> + + <p>“I feel lazy when I’m not with you,” she explained. “And, anyway, I hate + reading.”</p> + + <p>“Do you think of me all the time I’m away from you?” Michael asked.</p> + + <p> + Lily told him she thought of nothing else, and his pride in her + admission led him to excuse her laziness, and even made him encourage + it. There was, however, about the atmosphere of Lily’s home a laxity + which would have overcome more forcible exhortations than Michael’s. He + was too much in love with Lily’s kisses to do more than vaguely + criticize her surroundings. He did not like Mrs. Haden’s pink powder, + but nevertheless the pink powder made him less sensitive than he might + have been to Mrs. Haden’s opinion of his daily visits and his long + unchaperoned expeditions with Lily. The general laxity tended to obscure + his own outlook, and he had no desire to state even to himself his + intentions. He felt himself tremendously old when he thought of kisses, + but when he tried to visualize Lily and himself even four years hence, + he felt hopelessly young. Mrs. Haden evidently regarded him as a boy, + and since that fact seemed to relieve her of the slightest anxiety, + Michael had no desire to impress upon her his precocity. The only bann + that Mrs. Haden laid on his intercourse with Lily + <a name="page_452" id="page_452"></a> + was her refusal to + allow him to take her out alone at night, but she had no objection to + him escorting Doris and Lily together to the theatre; nor did she oppose + Michael’s plan to celebrate the last night of the holidays by inviting + Alan to make a quartette for the Drury Lane pantomime. Alan had only + just come back from skating in Switzerland with his father, and he could + not refuse to join Michael’s party, although he said he was “off girls” + at the moment. + </p> + + <p>“You always are,” Michael protested.</p> + + <p>“And I’m not going to fall in love, even to please you,” Alan added.</p> + + <p>“All right,” Michael protested. “Just because you’ve been freezing + yourself to death all the holidays, you needn’t come back and throw cold + water over me.”</p> + + <p>They all dined with Mrs. Haden, and Michael could not help laughing to + see how seriously and how shyly Alan took the harum-scarum feast at + which, between every course, one of the girls would rush upstairs to + fetch down a fan or a handkerchief or a ribbon.</p> + + <p>“I think your friend is charming,” said Mrs. Haden loudly, when she and + Michael were alone for a minute in the final confusion of not being + late. Michael wondered why something in her tone made him resent this + compliment. But there was no opportunity to puzzle over his momentary + distaste, because it was time to start for the occupation of the box + which Mrs. Haden had been given by one of her friends.</p> + + <p>“I vote we drive home in two hansoms,” suggested Michael as they stood + in the vestibule when the pantomime was over.</p> + + <p>Alan looked at him quickly and made a grimace. But Michael was + determined to enjoy Lily’s company during a long uninterrupted drive, + and at the same time to give Alan the opportunity of finding out whether + he could possibly attach himself to Doris.</p> + + <p> + Michael’s own drive enthralled him. The hot theatre + <a name="page_453" id="page_453"></a> + and the glittering + performance had made Lily exquisitely tired and languorous, and Michael + thought she had never surrendered herself so breathlessly before, that + never before had her flowerlike kisses been so intangible and her eyes + so drowsily passionate. Lulled by the regularity of the motion, Lily lay + along his bended arm as if asleep, and, as he held her, Michael’s sense + of responsibility became more and more dreamily indistinct. The + sensuousness of her abandonment drugged all but the sweet present and + the poignant ecstasy of possession. + </p> + + <p>“I adore you,” he whispered. “Lily, are you asleep? Lily! Lily, you are + asleep, asleep in my arms, you lovely girl. Can you hear me talking to + you?”</p> + + <p>She stirred in his embrace like a ruffling bird; she sighed and threw a + fevered hand upon his shoulder.</p> + + <p>“Michael, why do you make me love you so?” she murmured, and fell again + into her warm trance.</p> + + <p>“Are you speaking to me from dreams?” he whispered. “Lily, you almost + frighten me. I don’t think I knew I loved you so much. The whole world + seems to be galloping past. Wake up, wake up. We’re nearly home.”</p> + + <p>She stretched herself in a rebellious shudder against consciousness and + looked at Michael wide-eyed.</p> + + <p>“I thought you were going to faint or something,” he said.</p> + + <p>Hardly another word they spoke, but sat upright staring before them at + the oncoming lamp-posts. Soon Trelawny Road was reached, and in that + last good night was a sense of nearness that never before had Michael + imagined.</p> + + <p> + By her house they waited for a minute in the empty street, silent, + hand-in-hand, until the other cab swung round the corner. Alan and + Michael watched the two girls disappear through the flickering doorway, + and then they strolled back towards Carlington Road, where Alan was + spending the night. + <a name="page_454" id="page_454"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Well?” asked Michael. “What do you think of Lily?”</p> + + <p>“I think she’s very pretty.”</p> + + <p>“And Doris?”</p> + + <p>“I didn’t care very much for her really,” said Alan apologetically, + “She’s pretty, not so pretty as Lily, of course; but, I say, Michael, I + suppose you’ll be offended, but I’d better ask right out ... who are + they?”</p> + + <p>“The Hadens?”</p> + + <p>“Yes. I thought Mrs. Haden rather awful. What’s Mr. Haden? or isn’t + there a Mr. Haden?”</p> + + <p>“I believe he’s in Burmah,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Burmah?”</p> + + <p>“Why shouldn’t he be?”</p> + + <p>“No reason at all,” Alan admitted, “but ... well ... I thought there was + something funny about that family.”</p> + + <p>“You think everything’s funny that’s just a little bit different from + the deadly average,” said Michael. “What exactly was funny, may I ask?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t think Mrs. Haden is a lady, for one thing,” Alan blurted out.</p> + + <p>“I do,” said Michael shortly, “And, anyway, if she weren’t, I don’t see + that that makes any difference to me and Lily.”</p> + + <p>“But what are you going to do?” Alan asked. “Do you think you’re going + to marry her?”</p> + + <p>“Some day. Life isn’t a cricket-match, you know,” said Michael + sententiously. “You can’t set your field just as you would like to have + it at the moment.”</p> + + <p>“You know best what’s good for you,” Alan sighed.</p> + + <p>“Yes ... I think I do. I think it’s better to live than to stagnate as + you’re doing.”</p> + + <p>“What does your mother say?” Alan asked.</p> + + <p>“I haven’t told her anything about Lily.”</p> + + <p> + “No, because you’re not in earnest. And if you’re in earnest, Lily + isn’t.” + <a name="page_455" id="page_455"></a> + </p> + + <p>“What the devil do you know about her?” Michael angrily demanded.</p> + + <p>“I know enough to see you’re both behaving like a couple of reckless + kids,” Alan retorted.</p> + + <p>“Damn you!” cried Michael in exasperation. “I wish to god you wouldn’t + try to interfere with what doesn’t after all concern you very much.”</p> + + <p>“You insisted on introducing me,” Alan pointed out.</p> + + <p> + “Because I thought it would be a rag if we were both in love with + sisters. But you’re turning into a machine. Since you’ve swotted up into + the Upper Sixth, you’ve turned into a very good imitation of the prigs + you associate with. Everybody isn’t like you. Some people develop.... I + could have been just like you if I had cared to be. I could have been + Captain of the School and Scholar of Balliol with my nose ground down to + <span title="Greek: ei">εἱ</span> + and + <span title="Greek: ean">ἑἁν</span> + , hammering out tenth-rate Latin + lyrics and reading Theocritus with the amusing parts left out. But + what’s the good of arguing with you? You’re perfectly content and you + think you can be as priggish as you like, as long as you conceal it by + making fifty runs in the Dulford match. I suppose you consider my + behaviour unwholesome at eighteen. Well, I dare say it is by your + standards. But are your standards worth anything? I doubt it. I think + they’re fine up to a point. I’m perfectly willing to admit that we + behaved like a pair of little blighters with those girls at Eastbourne. + But this is something altogether different.” + </p> + + <p>“We shall see,” said Alan simply. “I’m not going to quarrel with you. So + shut up.”</p> + + <p>Michael walked along in silence, angry with himself for having caused + this ill-feeling by his obstinacy in making an unsuitable introduction, + and angry with Alan because he would accentuate by his attitude the + mistake.</p> + + <p> + By the steps of his house Michael stopped and looked at Alan severely. + <a name="page_456" id="page_456"></a> + </p> + + <p>“This is the last time I shall attempt to cure you,” he announced.</p> + + <p>“All right,” said Alan with perfect equanimity. “You can do anything you + like but quarrel. You needn’t talk to me or look at me or think about me + until you want to. I shall feel a bit bored, of course, but, oh, my dear + old chap, do get over this love-sickness soon.”</p> + + <p>“This isn’t like that silly affair at Bournemouth last Easter,” Michael + challenged.</p> + + <p>“I know that, my dear chap. I wish it was.”</p> + + <p>With the subject of love finally sealed between him and Alan, Michael + receded farther and farther from the world of school. He condescended + indeed to occupy a distinguished position by the hot-water pipes of the + entrance-hall, where his aloofness and ability to judge men and gods + made him a popular, if slightly incomprehensible, figure. Towards all + the masters he emanated a compassion which he really felt very deeply. + Those whom he liked he conversed with as equals; those whom he disliked + he talked to as inferiors. But he pitied both sections. In class he was + polite, but somewhat remote, though he missed very few opportunities of + implicitly deriding the Liberal views of Mr. Kirkham. The whole school + with its ant-like energy, whose ultimate object and obvious result were + alike inscrutable to Michael, just idly amused him, and he reserved for + Lily all his zest in life.</p> + + <p> + The Lent term passed away with parsimonious February sunlight, with + March lying grey upon the houses until it proclaimed itself suddenly in + a booming London gale. The Easter holidays arrived, and Mrs. Fane + determined to go to Germany and see Stella. Would Michael come? Michael + pleaded many disturbed plans of cricket-practice; of Matriculation at + St. Mary’s College, Oxford; of working for the English Literature Prize; + of anything indeed but his desire to see with Lily April break to May. + In the end + <a name="page_457" id="page_457"></a> + he had his own way, and Mrs. Fane went to the continent + without his escort. + </p> + + <p>Lily was never eager for the discussions and the contingencies and the + doubts of love; in all their walks it had been Michael who flashed the + questions, she who let slip her answers. The strange fatigue of spring + made much less difference to her than to him, and however insistent he + was for her kisses, she never denied him. Michael tried to feel that the + acquiescence of the hard, the reasonable, the intellectual side of him + to April’s passionate indulgence merely showed that he was more surely + and more sanely growing deeper in love with Lily every day. Sometimes he + had slight tremors of malaise, a sensation of weakening fibres, and dim + stirrings of responsibility; but too strong for them was his + heart’s-ease, too precious was Lily’s rose-bloomed grace of submission. + The more sharply imminent her form became upon his thought, the more + surely deathless did he suppose his love. Michael’s mind was always + framing moments in eternity, and of all these moments the sight of her + lying upon the vivid grass, the slim, the pastoral, the fair immortal + girl stood unparagoned by any. There was no landscape that Lily did not + make more inevitably composed. There was no place of which she did not + become tutelary, whether she lay among the primroses that starred the + steep brown banks of woodland or whether she fronted the great sunshine + of the open country; but most of all when she sat in cowslips, looking + over arched knees at the wind.</p> + + <p>Michael fell into the way of talking to her as if he were playing upon + Dorian pipes the tale of his love:</p> + + <p> + “I must buy you a ring, Lily. What ring shall I buy for you? Rings are + all so dull. Perhaps your hands would look wrong with a ring, unless I + could find a star-sapphire set in silver. I thought you were lovely in + autumn, but I think you are more lovely in spring. How the days are + <a name="page_458" id="page_458"></a> + + going by; it will soon be May. Lily, if you had the choice of everything + in the world, what would you choose?” + </p> + + <p>“I would choose to do nothing.”</p> + + <p>“If you had the choice of all the people in the world, would you choose + me?”</p> + + <p>“Yes. Of course.”</p> + + <p>“Lily, you make me curiously lazy. I want never again to do anything but + sit in the sun with you. Why can’t we stay like this for ever?”</p> + + <p>“I shouldn’t mind.”</p> + + <p>“I wish that you could be turned into a primrose, and that I could be + turned into a hazel-bush looking down at you for ever. Or I wish you + could be a cowslip and I could be a plume of grass. Lily, why is it that + the longer I know you, the less you say?”</p> + + <p>“You talk enough for both,” said Lily.</p> + + <p>“I talk less to you than to anyone. I really only want to look at you, + you lovely thing.”</p> + + <p>But the Easter holidays were almost over, and Michael had to go to + Oxford for his Matriculation. On their last long day together, Lily and + he went to Hampton Court and dreamed the sad time away. When twilight + was falling Michael said he had a sovereign to spend on whatever they + liked best to do. Why should they not have dinner on a balcony over the + river, and after dinner drive all the way home in a hansom cab?</p> + + <p>So they sat grandly on the chilly balcony and had dinner, until Lily in + her thin frock was cold.</p> + + <p>“But never mind,” said Michael. “I’ll hold you close to me all the way + to London.”</p> + + <p>They found their driver and told him where to go. The man was very much + pleased to think he had a fare all the way to London, and asked Michael + if he wanted to drive fast.</p> + + <p>“No, rather slow, if anything,” said Michael.</p> + + <p> + The fragrant miles went slowly past, and all the way + <a name="page_459" id="page_459"></a> + they drove between + the white orchards, and all the way like a spray of bloom Lily was his. + Past the orchards they went, past the twinkling roadside houses, past + the gates where the shadows of lovers fell across the road, past the + breaking limes and lilac, past the tulips stiff and dark in the + moonlight, through the high narrow street of Brentford, past Kew Bridge + and the slow trams with their dim people nodding, through Chiswick and + into Hammersmith where a piano-organ was playing and the golden streets + were noisy. It was Doris who opened the door. + </p> + + <p>“Eleven o’clock,” she said. “Mother’s rather angry.”</p> + + <p>“You’d better not come in,” said Lily to Michael. “She’ll be all right + again by next week, when you come back.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no, I’ll come in,” he insisted. “I’d rather explain why we’re so + late.”</p> + + <p>“It’s no use arguing with mother when she’s unreasonable,” said Lily. “I + shall go up to bed; I don’t want to have a row.”</p> + + <p>“That’s right,” Doris sneered. “Always take the shortest and easiest + way. You are a coward.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, shut up,” said Lily, and without another word went upstairs.</p> + + <p>“You’ve spoilt her,” said Doris. “Well, are you going to see mother? She + isn’t in a very pleasant mood, I warn you.”</p> + + <p>“She’s never been angry before,” said Michael hopelessly.</p> + + <p>“Well, she has really,” Doris explained. “Only she’s vented it on me.”</p> + + <p>“I say, I’m awfully sorry. I had no idea—” Michael began.</p> + + <p> + “Oh, don’t apologize,” said Doris. “I’m used to it. Thank god, I’m going + on the stage next year; and then Lily and mother will be able to + squabble to their heart’s content.” + <a name="page_460" id="page_460"></a> + </p> + + <p>Mrs. Haden was sitting in what was called The Cosy Corner; and she + treated Michael’s entrance with exaggerated politeness.</p> + + <p>“Won’t you sit down? It’s rather late, but do sit down.”</p> + + <p>All the time she was speaking the plate-rack above The Cosy Corner was + catching the back of her hair, and Michael wondered how long it would be + before she noticed this.</p> + + <p>“Really, I think it’s very wrong of you to bring my daughter home at + this hour,” Mrs. Haden clattered. “I’m sure nobody likes young people to + enjoy themselves more than I do. But eleven o’clock! Where is Lily now?”</p> + + <p>“Gone to bed,” said Doris, who seized the opportunity to depart also.</p> + + <p>“I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Haden,” said Michael awkwardly “But as it was + my last night, I suggested driving back from Hampton Court. It was all + my fault; I do hope you won’t be angry with Lily.”</p> + + <p>“But I am angry with Lily,” said Mrs. Haden. “Very angry. She’s old + enough to know better, and you’re old enough to know better. How will + people think I’m bringing up my daughters, if they return at midnight + with young men in hansoms? I never heard of such a thing. You’re + presuming on your age. You’ve no business to compromise a girl like + this.”</p> + + <p>“Compromise?” stammered Michael.</p> + + <p>“None of the young people but you has ever ventured to behave like + this,” Mrs. Haden went on with sharply metallic voice. “Not one of them. + And, goodness knows, every Sunday the house is full of them.”</p> + + <p>“But they don’t come to see Lily,” Michael pointed out. “They come to + see you.”</p> + + <p>“Are you trying to be rude to me?” Mrs. Haden asked.</p> + + <p> + “No, no,” Michael assured her. “And, honestly, Mrs. Haden, I didn’t + think you minded me taking Lily out.” + <a name="page_461" id="page_461"></a> + </p> + + <p>“But what’s going to happen?” Mrs. Haden demanded.</p> + + <p>“Well—I—I suppose I want to marry Lily.”</p> + + <p>Michael wondered if this statement sounded as absurd to Mrs. Haden as it + sounded to himself.</p> + + <p>“What nonsense!” she snapped. “What utter nonsense! A schoolboy talking + such nonsense. Marriage indeed! You know as well as I do that you’ve + never thought about such a step.”</p> + + <p>“But I have,” said Michael. “Very often, as it happens.”</p> + + <p>“Then you mustn’t go out with Lily again. Why, it’s worse than I + thought. I’m horrified.”</p> + + <p>“Do you mean I’m never to come here again?” Michael asked in despair.</p> + + <p>“Come occasionally,” said Mrs. Haden. “But only occasionally.”</p> + + <p>“All right. Thanks,” said Michael, feeling stunned by this unexpected + rebuke. “Good night, Mrs. Haden.”</p> + + <p>In the hall he found Doris.</p> + + <p>“Well?” she asked.</p> + + <p>“Your mother says I’m only to come occasionally.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, that won’t last,” said Doris encouragingly.</p> + + <p>“Yes, but I’m not sure that she isn’t right,” said Michael. “Oh, Doris, + damn. I wish I couldn’t always see other people’s point of view.”</p> + + <p>“Mother often has fits of violent morality,” said Doris. “And then we + always catch it. But really they don’t last.”</p> + + <p>“Doris, you don’t understand. It isn’t your mother’s disapproval I’m + worrying over. It’s myself. Lily might have waited to say good-night,” + Michael murmured miserably.</p> + + <p>But straight upon his complaint he saw Lily leaning over from the + landing above and blowing kisses, and he felt more calm.</p> + + <p>“Don’t worry too much about Lily,” whispered Doris, as she held the door + open for him.</p> + + <p> + “Why?” + <a name="page_462" id="page_462"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I shouldn’t, that’s all,” she said enigmatically, and closed the door + very gently.</p> + + <p>At the time Michael was not conscious of any deep impression made by the + visit to Oxford for his Matriculation; he was too much worried by the + puzzle of his future conduct with regard to Lily. He felt dull in the + rooms where he spent two nights alone; he felt shy among the forty or + fifty boys from other public-schools; he was glad to go back to London. + Vaguely the tall grey tower remained in his mind, and vaguely the cool + Gothic seemed to offer a shelter from the problems of behaviour, but + that was all.</p> + + <p>When he returned, the torment of Lily’s desired presence became more + acute. His mother wrote to say that she would not be back for three + days, and the only consolation was the hint that most probably Stella + would come back with her.</p> + + <p>Meanwhile this was Saturday, and school did not begin until Tuesday. + Time after time Michael set out towards Trelawny Road; time after time + he checked himself and fought his way home again. Mrs. Haden had been + right; he had behaved badly. Lily was too young to bear the burden of + their passionate love. And was she happy without him? Was she sighing + for him? Or would she forget him and resume an existence undisturbed by + him? But the thought of wasted time, of her hours again unoccupied, of + her footsteps walking to places ignorant of him was intolerable.</p> + + <p>Sunday came round, and Michael thought that he would fling himself into + the stream of callers; but the idea of doing so became humiliating, and + instead he circled drearily round the neighbouring roads, circled in + wide curves, and sometimes even swooped into the forbidden diameter of + Trelawny Road. But always before he could bring himself to pass her very + door, he would turn back into his circle and the melancholy Sabbath + sunlight of May.</p> + + <p> + Twilight no more entranced him, and the lovers leaning + <a name="page_463" id="page_463"></a> + over to one + another languorously in their endearments, moving with intertwined arms + and measured steps between the wine-dark houses, annoyed him with their + fatuous complacency and their bland eyes. He wanted her, his slim and + silent Lily, who blossomed in the night-time like a flower. Her wrists + were cool as porcelain and the contact of her form swaying to his + progress was light as silk. Everyone else had their contentment, and he + must endure wretchedly without the visible expression of his beauty. It + was not yet too late to see her; and Michael circled nearer to Trelawny + Road. This time he came to Lily’s house; he paused within sound of + laughter upon the easeful step; and then again he turned away and walked + furiously on through the empty Sabbath streets. + </p> + + <p>In his room, when it was now too late to think of calling, Michael + laughed at himself for being so sensitive to Mrs. Haden’s reproaches. He + told himself that all she said was due to the irritation of the moment, + that to-morrow he must go again as if nothing had happened, that people + had no right to interfere between lovers. But then, in all its florid + bulk, St. James’ School rose up, and Michael admitted to himself that to + the world he was merely a foolish schoolboy. He, the dauntless lover, + must be chained to a desk for five hours every day. A boy and girl + affair! Michael ground his teeth with exasperation. He must simply prove + by renouncing for a term his part in Lily’s life that he was a schoolboy + by an accident of time. A man is as old as he feels! He would see Lily + once more, and tell her that for the sake of their ultimate happiness, + he would give her up for the term of his bondage. Other great and + romantic lovers had done the same; they may not have gone to school, but + they had accepted menial tasks for the sake of their love.</p> + + <p> + Yet in the very middle of the night when the thickest darkness seemed to + stifle self-deception, Michael knew that + <a name="page_464" id="page_464"></a> + he had bowed to authority so + easily because his conscience had already told him what Mrs. Haden so + crudely hinted. When he was independent of school it would be different. + Michael made up his mind that the utmost magnanimity would be possible, + if he could see Lily once to tell her of his resolution. But on the next + day Lily was out, and Mrs. Haden talked to him instead. + </p> + + <p>“I’ve forbidden Lily to go out with you alone,” she said. “And I would + prefer that you only came here when I am in the house.”</p> + + <p>“I was going to suggest that I shouldn’t come at all until July—until + after I had left school, in fact,” answered Michael.</p> + + <p>“Perhaps that would be best. Then you and Lily will be more sensible.”</p> + + <p>“Good-bye,” said Michael hurriedly, for he felt that he must get out of + this stifling room, away from this overwhelming woman with her loud + voice and dyed hair and worldly-wise morality. Then he had a sudden + conception of himself as part of a scene, perceiving himself in the rôle + of the banished lover nobly renouncing all. “I won’t write to her. I + won’t make any attempt to see her,” he offered.</p> + + <p>“You’ll understand,” said Mrs. Haden, “that I’m afraid of—that I + think,” she corrected, “it is quite likely that Lily is just as bad for + you as you are for Lily. But of course the real reason I feel I ought to + interfere is on account of what people say. If Mr. Haden were not in + Burmah ... it would be different.”</p> + + <p>Michael pitied himself profoundly for the rest of that day; but after a + long luxury of noble grief the image of Lily came to agitate and + disconcert his acquiescence, and the insurgent fevers of love goaded his + solitude.</p> + + <p> + Mrs. Fane and Stella returned during the first week of school. The great + Steinway Grand that came laboriously + <a name="page_465" id="page_465"></a> + in through the unsashed window of + the third story gave Michael, as it lay like a boulder over Carlington + Road, a wonderful sense of Stella’s establishment at home. Stella’s + music-room was next to his bedroom, and when in her nightgown she came + to practise in the six o’clock sunshine Michael thought her music seemed + the very voice of day. So joyously did the rills and ripples and + fountains of her harmony rouse him from sleep that he refrained from + criticizing her apparel, and sat contented in the sunlight to listen. + </p> + + <p>Suddenly Stella wheeled round and said:</p> + + <p>“Do tell me about Lily.”</p> + + <p>“Well, there’s been rather a row,” Michael began. “You see, I took her + to Hampton Court and we drove....” Michael stopped, and for the first + time he obtained a cold clear view of his behaviour, when he found he + was hesitating to tell Stella lest he might set her a bad example.</p> + + <p>“Go on,” she urged. “Don’t stop.”</p> + + <p>“Well, we were rather late. But of course it was the first time, and I + hope you won’t think you can drive back at eleven o’clock with somebody + because I did once—only once.”</p> + + <p>“Why, was there any harm in it?” asked Stella quickly, and, as if to + allay Michael’s fear by so direct a question, one hand went trilling in + scale towards the airy unrealities of the treble.</p> + + <p>“No, of course there was no harm in it,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Then why shouldn’t I drive back at eleven o’clock if I wanted to?” + asked Stella, striking elfin discords as she spoke.</p> + + <p>“It’s a question of what people think,” said Michael, falling back upon + Mrs. Haden’s line of defence.</p> + + <p>“Bother people!” cried Stella, and immediately she put them in their + place somewhere very far down in the bass.</p> + + <p> + “Well, anyway,” said Michael, “I understood what + <a name="page_466" id="page_466"></a> + Mrs. Haden meant, and + I’ve agreed not to see Lily until after I leave school.” + </p> + + <p>“And then?”</p> + + <p>“Well, then I shall see her,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“And drive back at eleven o’clock in hansoms?”</p> + + <p>“Not unless I can be engaged,” Michael surrendered to convention.</p> + + <p>“And don’t you mind?”</p> + + <p>“Of course I mind,” he confessed gloomily.</p> + + <p>“Why did you agree, then?” Stella asked.</p> + + <p>“I had to think about Lily, just as I should have to think about you,” + he challenged.</p> + + <p>“Darling Michael, I love you dreadfully, but I really should not pay the + least little tiny bit of attention to you—or anybody else, if that’s + any consolation,” she added. “As it happens, I’ve never yet met anybody + with whom I’d care to drive about in a hansom at eleven o’clock, but if + I did, three o’clock in the morning would be the same as three o’clock + in the afternoon.”</p> + + <p>“Stella, you ought not to talk like that,” Michael said earnestly. “You + don’t realize what people would suppose. And really I don’t think you + ought to practise in your nightgown.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, Michael, if I practised in my chemise, I shouldn’t expect you to + mind.”</p> + + <p>“Stella! Really, you know!”</p> + + <p>“Listen,” she said, swinging away from him back to the keyboard. “This + is the Lily Sonata.”</p> + + <p>Michael listened, and as he listened he could not help owning to himself + that in her white nightgown, straight-backed against the shimmering + ebony instrument, little indeed would matter very much among those + dancing black and white notes.</p> + + <p>“Or in nothing at all,” said Stella, stopping suddenly.</p> + + <p> + Then she ran across to Michael and, after kissing him + <a name="page_467" id="page_467"></a> + on the top of his + head, waltzed very slowly out of the room. + </p> + + <p>But not even Stella could for long take away from Michael the torment of + Lily’s withheld presence. As a month went by, the image of her gained in + elusive beauty, and the desire to see became a madness. He tried to + evade his promise by haunting the places she would be likely to + frequent, but he never saw her. He wondered if she could be in London, + and he nearly wrote to ask. There was no consolation to be gained from + books; there was no sentiment to be culled from the spots they had known + together. He wanted herself, her fragility, her swooning kisses, + herself, herself. She was the consummation of idyllic life, the life he + longed for, the passionate life of beauty expressed in her. Stella had + her music; Alan had his cricket; Mrs. Ross had her son; and he must have + Lily. How damnable were these silver nights of June, how their fragrance + musk-like even here in London fretted him with the imagination of wasted + beauty. These summer nights demanded love; they enraged him with their + uselessness.</p> + + <p>“Isn’t Chopin wonderful?” cried Stella. “Just when the window-boxes are + dripping and the earth’s warm and damp and the air is all turning into + velvet.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, very wonderful,” said Michael bitterly.</p> + + <p>And he would go out on the dreaming balcony and, looking down on the + motionless lamps, he would hear the murmur and rustle of people. But he + was starving amid this rich plenitude of colour and scent; he was idle + upon these maddening, these music-haunted, these royal nights that + mocked his surrender.</p> + + <p> + And in the silent heart of the night when the sheets were fibrous and + the mattress was jagged, when the pillow seared him and his eyes were + like sand, what resolutions he made to carry her away from Kensington; + but in the morning how coldly impossible it was to do so at eighteen. + <a name="page_468" id="page_468"></a> + </p> + + <p>One afternoon coming out of school, Michael met Drake.</p> + + <p>“Hullo!” said Drake. “How’s the fair Lily? I haven’t seen you around + lately.”</p> + + <p>“Haven’t you?” said Michael. “No, I haven’t been round so much lately.”</p> + + <p>He spoke as if he had suddenly noticed he had forgotten something.</p> + + <p>“I asked her about you—over the garden-wall; so don’t get jealous,” + Drake said with his look of wise rakishness. “And she didn’t seem + particularly keen on helping out the conversation. So I supposed you’d + had a quarrel. Funny girl, Lily,” Drake went on. “I suppose she’s all + right when you know her. Why don’t you come in to my place?”</p> + + <p>“Thanks,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>He felt that fate had given him this opportunity. He had not sought it. + He might be able to speak to Lily, and if he could, he would ask her to + meet him, and promises could go to the devil. He determined that no more + of summer’s treasure should be wasted.</p> + + <p>He had a thrill in Drake’s dull drawing-room from the sense of nearness + to Lily, and from the looking-glass room it was back to back with the + more vital drawing-room next door.</p> + + <p>Michael could hardly bear to look out of the window into the oblong + gardens; two months away from Lily made almost unendurable the thought + that in one tremulous instant he might be imparadised in the vision of + her reality.</p> + + <p>“Hullo! She’s there,” said Drake from the window. “With another chap.”</p> + + <p>Michael with thudding heart and flaming cheeks stood close to Drake.</p> + + <p>“Naughty girl!” said Drake. “She’s flirting.”</p> + + <p> + “I don’t think she was,” said Michael, but, even as he spoke, the + knowledge that she was tore him to pieces. + <a name="page_469" id="page_469"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XIX_Parents" id="Chapter_XIX_Parents"></a> + Chapter XIX: + <i>Parents</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HE brazen sun lighted savagely the barren streets, as Michael left + Trelawny Road behind him. His hopeless footsteps rasped upon the + pavement. His humiliation was complete. Not even was his personality + strong enough to retain the love of a girl for six weeks. Yet he + experienced a morbid sympathy with Lily, so unutterably beneath the rest + of mankind was he already inclined to estimate himself. Stella opened + wide her grey eyes when she greeted his pale disheartened return. + </p> + + <p>“Feeling ill?” she asked.</p> + + <p>“I’m feeling a worthless brute,” said Michael, plunging into a dejected + acquiescence in the worst that could be said about him.</p> + + <p>“Tell me,” whispered Stella. “Ah, do.”</p> + + <p>“I’ve found out that Lily is quite ready to flirt with anybody. With + anybody!”</p> + + <p>“What a beastly girl!” Stella flamed.</p> + + <p>“Well, you can’t expect her to remain true to a creature like me,” said + Michael, declaring his self-abasement.</p> + + <p> + “A creature like you?” cried Stella. “Why, Michael, how can you be so + absurd? If you speak of yourself like that, I shall begin to think you + <i>are</i> + ‘a creature’ as you call yourself. Ah, no, but you’re not, + Michael. It’s this Lily who is the creature. Oh, don’t I know her, the + insipid puss! A silly little doll that lets everybody pull her about. I + hate weak girls. How I despise them!” + </p> + + <p> + “But you despise boys, Stella,” Michael reminded her. + <a name="page_470" id="page_470"></a> + “And this chap + she was flirting with was much older than me. Perhaps Lily is like you, + and prefers older men.” + </p> + + <p>Michael had no heart left even to maintain his stand against Stella’s + alarming opinions and prejudices so frankly expressed.</p> + + <p>“Like me,” Stella cried, stamping her foot. “Like me! How dare you + compare her with me? I’m not a doll. Do you think anyone has ever dared + to kiss me?”</p> + + <p>“I’m sorry,” said Michael. “But you talk so very daringly that I + shouldn’t be surprized by anything you told me. At the same time I can’t + help sympathizing with Lily. It must have been dull to be in love with a + schoolboy—an awkward lout of eighteen.”</p> + + <p>“Michael! I will not hear you speak of yourself like that. I’m ashamed + of you. How can you be so weak? Be proud. Oh, Michael, do be proud—it’s + the only thing on earth worth being.”</p> + + <p>Stella stood dominant before him. Her grey eyes flashed; her proud, + upcurving mouth was slightly curled: her chin was like the chin of a + marble goddess, and yet with that brown hair lapping her wide shoulders, + with those long legs, lean-flanked and supple, she was more like some + heroic boy.</p> + + <p>“Yes, you can be proud enough,” said Michael. “But you’ve got something + to be proud of. What have I got?”</p> + + <p>“You’ve got me,” said Stella fiercely.</p> + + <p>“Why, yes, I suppose I have,” Michael softly agreed. “Let’s talk about + your first appearance.”</p> + + <p>“I was talking about it to mother when a man called Prescott came.”</p> + + <p>“Prescott?” said Michael. “I seem to have heard mother speak about him. + I wonder when it was. A long time ago, though.”</p> + + <p> + “Well, whoever he was,” said Stella, “he brought mother bad news.” + <a name="page_471" id="page_471"></a> + </p> + + <p>“How do you know?”</p> + + <p>“Have you ever seen mother cry?”</p> + + <p>“Yes, once,” said Michael. “It was when I was talking through my hat + about the war.”</p> + + <p>“I’ve never seen her cry,” said Stella pensively. “Until to-day.”</p> + + <p>Michael forgot about his own distress in the thought of his mother, and + he sat hushed all through the evening, while Stella played in the + darkness. Mrs. Fane went up to her own room immediately she came in that + night, and the next morning, which was Saturday, Michael listlessly took + the paper out to read in the garden, while he waited for Stella to dress + herself so that they could go out together and avoid the house over + which seemed to impend calamity.</p> + + <p>Opening the paper, Michael saw an obituary notice of the Earl of Saxby. + He scanned the news, only half absorbing it:</p> + + <p>“In another column will be found the details—enteric—adds another + famous name to the lamentable toll of this war—the late nobleman did + not go into society much of late years—formerly Captain in the Welsh + Guards—born 1860—married Lady Emmeline MacDonald, daughter of the Earl + of Skye, K.T.—raised corps of Mounted Infantry (Saxby’s Horse)—great + traveller—unfortunately no heir to the title which becomes extinct.”</p> + + <p>Michael guessed the cause of his mother’s unhappiness of yesterday. He + went upstairs and told Stella.</p> + + <p>“I suppose mother was in love with him,” she said.</p> + + <p>“I suppose she was,” Michael agreed. “I wish I hadn’t refused to say + good-bye to him. It seems rather horrible now.”</p> + + <p> + Mrs. Fane had left word that she would not be home until after dinner, + and Michael and Stella sat apprehensive and silent in the drawing-room. + Sometimes they would toss backwards and forwards to each other + reassuring words, while outside the livid evening of ochreous oppressive + clouds + <a name="page_472" id="page_472"></a> + and ashen pavements slowly dislustred into a night swollen with + undelivered rain and baffled thunders. + </p> + + <p>About nine o’clock Mrs. Fane came home. She stood for a moment in the + doorway of the room, palely regarding her children. She seemed undecided + about something, but after a long pause she sat down between them and + began to speak:</p> + + <p>“Something has happened, dear children, that I think you ought to know + about before you grow any older.”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane paused again and stared before her, seeming to be reaching out + for strength to continue. Michael and Stella sat breathless as the air + of the night. Mrs. Fane’s white kid gloves fell to the floor softly like + the petals of a blown rose, and as if she missed their companionship in + the stress of explication, she went on more rapidly.</p> + + <p>“Lord Saxby has died in the Transvaal of enteric fever, and I think you + both ought to know that Lord Saxby was your father.”</p> + + <p>When his mother said this, the blood rushed to Michael’s face and then + immediately receded, so that his eyelids as they closed over his eyes to + shield them from the room’s suddenly intense light glowed greenly; and + when he looked again anywhere save directly at his mother, his heart + seemed to have been crushed between ice. The room itself went swinging + up in loops out of reach of his intelligence, that vainly strove to + bring it back to familiar conditions. The nightmare passed: the + drawing-room regained its shape and orderly tranquillity: the story went + on.</p> + + <p> + “I have often wished to tell you, Michael, in particular,” said his + mother, looking at him with great grey eyes whose lustrous intensity + cooled his first pained sensation of shamefulness, “Years ago, when you + were the dearest little boy, and when I was young and rather lonely + sometimes, I longed to tell you. But it would not have been fair to + weigh you down with knowledge that you certainly could not have + <a name="page_473" id="page_473"></a> + grasped + then. I thought it was kinder to escape from your questions, even when + you said that your father looked like a prince.” + </p> + + <p>“Did I?” Michael asked, and he fell to wondering why he had spoken and + why his voice sounded so exactly the same as usual.</p> + + <p>“You see ... of course ... I was never married to your father. You must + not blame him, because he wanted to marry me always, but Lady Saxby + wouldn’t divorce him. I dare say she had a right to nurse her injury. + She is still alive. She lives in an old Scottish castle. Your father + gave up nearly all his time to me. That was why you were both alone so + much. You must forgive me for that, if you can. But I knew, as time went + on that we should never be married, and.... Your father only saw you + once, dearest Stella, when you were very tiny. You remember, Michael, + when you saw him. He loved you so much, for of course, except in name, + you were his heir. He wanted to have you to live with him. He loved + you.”</p> + + <p>“I suppose that’s why I liked him so tremendously,” said Michael.</p> + + <p>“Did you, dearest boy?” said Mrs. Fane, and the tears were in her grey + eyes. “Ah, how dear it is of you to say that.”</p> + + <p>“Mother, I can’t tell you how sorry I am I never went to say good-bye. I + shall never forgive myself,” said Michael. “I shall never forgive + myself.”</p> + + <p>“But you must. It was my fault,” said his mother. “I dare say I asked + you tactlessly. I was so much upset at the time that I only thought + about myself.”</p> + + <p>“Why did he go?” asked Stella suddenly.</p> + + <p> + “Well, that was my fault. I was always so dreadfully worried over the + way in which I had spoilt his life that when he thought he ought to go + and fight for his country, I could not bear to dissuade him. You see, + having no heir, he was + <a name="page_474" id="page_474"></a> + always fretting and fretting about the + extinction of his family, and he had a fancy that the last of his name + should do something for his country. He had given up his country for me, + and I knew that if he went to the war he would feel that he had paid the + debt. I never minded so much that we weren’t married, but I always + minded the feeling that I had robbed him by my love. He was such a very + dear fellow. He was always so good and patient, when I begged him not to + see you both. That was his greatest sorrow. But it wouldn’t have been + fair to you, dear children. You must not blame me for that. I knew it + was better that you should be brought up in ignorance. It was, wasn’t + it?” she asked wistfully. + </p> + + <p>“Better,” Michael murmured.</p> + + <p>“Better,” Stella echoed.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane stood up, and Michael beheld her tall, tragical form with a + reverence he had never felt for anything.</p> + + <p>“Children, you must forgive me,” she said.</p> + + <p>And then simply, with repose and exquisite fitness she left Michael and + Stella to themselves. By the door Stella overtook her.</p> + + <p>“Mother darling,” she cried. “You know we adore you. You do, don’t you?”</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane smiled, and Michael thought he would cherish that smile to the + end of his life.</p> + + <p>“Well?” said Michael, when Stella and he were sitting alone again.</p> + + <p>“Of course I’ve known for years it was something like this,” said + Stella.</p> + + <p>“I can’t think why I never guessed. I ought to have guessed easily,” + Michael said. “But somehow one never thinks of anything like this in + connection with one’s own mother.”</p> + + <p> + “Or sister,” murmured Stella, looking up at a spot on the ceiling. + <a name="page_475" id="page_475"></a> + </p> + + <p>“I wish I could kick myself for not having said good-bye to him,” + Michael declared. “That comes of talking too much. I talked much too + much then. Talking destroys action. What a beast I was. Lily and I look + rather small now, don’t we?” he went on. “When you think of the amount + that mother must have suffered all these years, it just makes Lily and + me look like illustrations in a book. It’s a curious thing that this + business about mother and ... Lord Saxby ought, I suppose, to make me + feel more of a worm than ever, but it doesn’t. Ever since the first + shock, I’ve been feeling prouder and prouder. I can’t make it out.”</p> + + <p>Then suddenly Michael flushed.</p> + + <p>“I say, I wonder how many of our friends have known all the time? Mrs. + Carthew and Mrs. Ross both know. I feel sure by what they’ve said. And + yet I wonder if Mrs. Ross does know. She’s so strict in her notions that + ... I wonder ... and yet I suppose she isn’t so strict as I thought she + was. Perhaps I was wrong.”</p> + + <p>“What are you talking about?” Stella asked.</p> + + <p>“Oh, something that happened at Cobble Place. It’s not important enough + to tell you.”</p> + + <p>“What I’m wondering,” said Stella, “is what mother was like when she was + my age. She didn’t say anything about her family. But I suppose we can + ask her some time. I’m really rather glad I’m not ‘Lady Stella Fane.’ It + would be ridiculous for a great pianist to be ‘Lady Something.’”</p> + + <p>“You wouldn’t have been Lady Stella Fane,” Michael contradicted. “You + would have been Lady Stella Cunningham. Cunningham was the family name. + I remember reading about it all when I was interested in Legitimists.”</p> + + <p>“What are they?” Stella asked. “The opposite of illegitimate?”</p> + + <p> + Michael explained the difference, and he was glad that the word + ‘illegitimate’ should first occur like this. The + <a name="page_476" id="page_476"></a> + pain of its utterance + seemed mitigated somehow by the explanation. + </p> + + <p>“It’s an extraordinary thing,” Michael began, “but, do you know, Stella, + that all the agony of seeing Lily flirting seems to have died away, and + I feel a sort of contempt ... for myself, I mean. Flirting sounds such a + loathsome word after what we’ve just listened to. Alan was right, I + believe. I shall have to tell Alan about all this. I wonder if it will + make any difference to him. But of course it won’t. Nothing makes any + difference to Alan.”</p> + + <p>“It’s about time I met him,” said Stella.</p> + + <p>“Why, haven’t you?” Michael exclaimed. “Nor you have. Great Scott! I’ve + been so desperately miserable over Lily that I’ve never asked Alan here + once. Oh, I will, though.”</p> + + <p>“I say, oughtn’t we to go up to mother?” said Stella.</p> + + <p>“Would she like us to?” Michael wondered.</p> + + <p>“Oh, yes, I’m sure she would.”</p> + + <p>“But I can’t express what I feel,” Michael complained. “And it will be + absurd to go and stand in front of her like two dummies.”</p> + + <p>“I’ll say something,” Stella promised; and, “Mother,” she said, “come + and hear me play to you.”</p> + + <p>The music-room, with its spare and austere decoration, seemed to Michael + a fit place for the quiet contemplation of the tale of love he had + lately heard.</p> + + <p>Whatever of false shame, of self-consciousness, of shock remained was + driven away by Stella’s triumphant music. It was as if he were sitting + beneath a mountain waterfall that, graceful and unsubstantial as + wind-blown tresses, was yet most incomparably strong, and wrought an + ice-cold, a stern purification.</p> + + <p> + Then Stella played with healing gentleness, and Michael in the darkness + kissed his mother and stole away to bed, not to dream of Lily that + night, not to toss enfevered, but + <a name="page_477" id="page_477"></a> + quietly to lie awake, devising how to + show his mother that he loved her as much now as he had loved her in the + dim sunlight of most early childhood. + </p> + + <p>About ten days later Mrs. Fane came to Michael and Stella with a letter.</p> + + <p>“I want to read you something,” she said. “Your father’s last letter has + come.”</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + “ + <i>We are in Pretoria now, and I think the war will soon be over. + But of course there’s a lot to be done yet. I’m feeling seedy + to-night, and I’m rather sighing for England. I wonder if I’m going + to be ill. I have a presentiment that things are going wrong with + me—at least not wrong, because in a way I would be glad. No, I + wouldn’t, that reads as if I were afraid to keep going</i> + . + </p> + + <p> + “ + <i>I keep thinking of Michael and Stella. Michael must be told soon. + He must forgive me for leaving him no name. I keep thinking of + those Siamese stamps he asked for when I last saw him. I wish I’d + seen him again before I went. But I dare say you were right. He + would have guessed who I was, and he might have gone away + resentful</i> + .” + </p> + </div> + + <p>Michael looked at his mother, and thanked her implicitly for excusing + him. He was glad that his father had not known he had declined to see + him.</p> + + <div class="blockquottt"> + <p> + “ + <i> + I don’t worry so much over Stella. If she really has the stuff in + her to make the name you think she will, she does not need any name + but her own. But it maddens me to think that Michael is cut out of + everything. I can scarcely bear to realize that I am the last. I’m + glad he’s going to Oxford, and I’m very glad that he chose St. + Mary’s. I was only up at Christ Church a year, and St. Mary’s was a + much smaller college in those days. Now of course it’s absolutely + one of the best. Whatever Michael wants to do he will be able to + do, thank God. I don’t expect, from what you tell me of him, he’ll + choose the + <a name="page_478" id="page_478"></a> + Service. However, he’ll do what he likes. When I come + back, I must see him and I shall be able to explain what will + perhaps strike him at first as the injustice of his position. I + dare say he’ll think less hardly of me when I’ve told him all the + circumstances. Poor old chap! I feel that I’ve been selfish, and + yet + </i> + .... + </p> + + <p> + “ + <i>I wonder if I’m going to be ill. I feel rotten. But don’t worry. + Only, if by any chance I can’t write again, will you give my love + to the children, and say I hope they’ll not hate the thought of me? + That piano was the best Prescott could get. I hope Stella is + pleased with it</i> + .” + </p> + </div> + + <p> + “Thanks awfully for reading us that,” said Michael. + <a name="page_479" id="page_479"></a> + </p> + + <h3> + <a name="Chapter_XX_Music" id="Chapter_XX_Music"></a> + Chapter XX: + <i>Music</i> + </h3> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + RS. FANE, having momentarily lifted the veil that all these years had + hidden her personality from Michael and Stella, dropped it very swiftly + again. Only the greatest emotion could have given her the courage to + make that avowal of her life. During the days that elapsed between the + revelation and the reading of Lord Saxby’s last letter, she had lived + very much apart from her children, so that the spectacle of her solitary + grief had been deeply impressed upon their sensibility. + </p> + + <p> + Michael was reminded by her attitude of those long vigils formerly + sustained by ladies of noble birth before they departed into a convent + to pray, eternally remote from the world. He himself became endowed with + a strange courage by the contemplation of his mother’s tragical + immobility. He found in her the expression of those most voiceless + ideals of austere conduct that until this vision of resignation had + always seemed doomed to sink broken-winged to earth. The thought of Lily + in this mood became an intrusion, and he told himself that, even if it + were possible to seek the sweet unrest of her presence, beneath the + sombre spell of this more classic sorrow he would have shunned that + lovely and romantic girl. Michael’s own realization of the circumstances + of his birth occupied a very small part of his thoughts. His mind was + fixed upon the aspect of his mother mute and heavy-lidded from the + remembrance of that soldier dead in Africa. Michael felt no outrage of + fate in these events. He was glad that death should have brought to his + father the contentment + <a name="page_480" id="page_480"></a> + of his country’s honour, that in the grace of + reconciliation he should be healed of his thwarted life. Nor could + Michael resent that news of death which could ennoble his mother with + this placidity of comprehension, this staid and haughty mien of sorrow. + And he was grateful, too, that death should upon his own brow dry the + fever dew of passion. + </p> + + <p>But when she had read that last letter, Mrs. Fane strangely resumed her + ordinary self. She was always so finely invested with dignity, so + exquisitely sheathed, in her repose, Michael scarcely realized that now, + after she had read the letter, the vision of her grief was once more + veiled against him by that faintly discouraging, tenderly deliberate + withdrawal of her personality, and that she was still as seclusive as + when from his childhood she had concealed the sight of her love, living + in her own rose-misted and impenetrable privacy.</p> + + <p>It was Stella who by a sudden request first roused Michael to the + realization that his mother was herself again.</p> + + <p>“Mother,” she said, “what about my first concert? The season is getting + late.”</p> + + <p>“Dearest Stella,” Mrs. Fane replied, “I think you can scarcely make your + appearance so soon after your father’s death.”</p> + + <p>“But, mother, I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded. And after all very few + people would know,” Stella persisted.</p> + + <p>“But I should prefer that you waited for a while,” said Mrs. Fane, + gently reproachful. “You forget that we are in mourning.”</p> + + <p>For Michael somehow the conventional expression seemed to disturb the + divinity of his mother’s carven woe. The world suddenly intervened.</p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t think I ought to wait for ever,” said Stella.</p> + + <p> + “Darling child, I wonder why you should think it necessary to exaggerate + so foolishly,” said Mrs. Fane. + <a name="page_481" id="page_481"></a> + </p> + + <p>“But I’m so longing to begin,” Stella went on.</p> + + <p>“I don’t know that anybody has ever suggested you shouldn’t begin,” Mrs. + Fane observed. “But there is a difference between your recklessness and + my more carefully considered plans.”</p> + + <p>“Mother, will you agree to a definite date?” Stella demanded.</p> + + <p>“By all means, dear child, if you will try to be a little less + boisterous and impetuous. For one thing, I never knew you were ready to + begin at once like this.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, mother, after all these years and years of practising!” Stella + protested.</p> + + <p>“But are you ready?” Mrs. Fane enquired in soft surprize. “Really ready? + Then why not this autumn? Why not October?”</p> + + <p>“Before I go up to Oxford,” said Michael quickly.</p> + + <p>Stella was immediately and vividly alert with plans for her concert.</p> + + <p>“I don’t think any of the smaller halls. Couldn’t I appear first at one + of the big orchestral concerts at King’s Hall? I would like to play a + Concerto ... Chopin, I think, and nothing else. Then later on I could + have a concert all to myself, and play Schumann, and perhaps some + Brahms.”</p> + + <p>So in the end it was settled after numberless interviews, letters, + fixtures, cancellations, and all the fuming impediments of art’s first + presentation at the court of the world.</p> + + <p>The affairs and arrangements connected with Stella’s career seemed to + Michael the proper distraction for his mother and sister during his last + two or three weeks of school, before they could leave London. Mrs. Fane + had suggested they should go to Switzerland in August, staying at + Lucerne, so that Stella would not be hindered in her steady practice.</p> + + <p> + Michael’s last week at school was a curiously unreal experience. As fast + as he marshalled the correct sentiments + <a name="page_482" id="page_482"></a> + with which to approach the last + hours of a routine that had continued for ten years, so fast did they + break up in futile disorder. He had really passed beyond the domain of + school some time ago when he was always with Lily. It was impossible + after that gradual secession, all the more final because it had been so + gradual, to gather together now a crowd of associations for the sole + purpose of effecting a violent and summary wrench. Indeed, the one + action that gave him the expected pang of sentiment was when he went to + surrender across the counter of the book-room the key of his locker. The + number was seventy-five. In very early days Michael had been proud of + possessing, through a happy accident, a locker on the ground-floor very + close to the entrance-hall. His junior contemporaries were usually + banished to remote corridors in the six-hundreds, waiting eagerly to + inherit from departed seniors the more convenient lockers downstairs. + But Michael from the day he first heard by the cast of the Laocoön the + shuffle of quick feet along the corridor had owned the most convenient + locker in all the school. At the last moment Michael thought he would + forfeit the half-crown long ago deposited and keep the key, but in the + end he, with the rest of his departing contemporaries, callously + accepted the more useful half-crown. + </p> + + <p>School broke up in a sudden heartless confusion, and Michael for the + last time stood gossiping outside the school-doors at five o’clock. For + a minute he felt an absurd desire to pick up a stone and fling it + through the window of the nearest class-room, not from any spirit of + indignation, but merely to assure himself of a physical freedom that he + had not yet realized.</p> + + <p>“Where are you going for the holidays, Bangs?” someone asked.</p> + + <p>“Switzerland.”</p> + + <p> + “Hope you’ll have a good time. See you next—oh, by + <a name="page_483" id="page_483"></a> + Jove, I shan’t + though. Good-bye, hope you’ll have good luck.” + </p> + + <p>“Thanks,” said Michael, and he had a fleeting view of himself relegated + to the past, one of that scattered host—</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <i>In Vallombrosa</i> + — + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>Old Jacobeans, ghostly, innumerable, whose desks like tombstones would + bear for a little while the perishable ink of their own idle epitaphs.</p> + + <p class="top5">Lucerne was airless; the avenue of pollarded limes sheltered a depressed + bulk of dusty tourists; the atmosphere was impregnated with bourgeois + exclamations; the very surface of the lake was swarming with humanity, + noisy with the click of rowlocks, and with the gutturals that seemed to + praise fitly such a theatrical setting.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Fane wondered why they had come to Switzerland, but still she asked + Michael and Stella whether they would like to venture higher. Michael, + perceiving the hordes of Teutonic nomads who were sweeping up into the + heart of the mountains, thought that Switzerland in August would be + impossible whatever lonely height they gained. They moved to Geneva, + whose silverpointed beauty for a while deceived them, but soon both he + and Stella became restless and irritable.</p> + + <p>“Switzerland is like sitting in a train and travelling through glorious + country,” said Michael. “It’s all right for a journey, but it becomes + frightfully tiring. And, mother, I do hate the sensation that all these + people round are feeling compelled to enjoy themselves. It’s like a + hearty choral service.”</p> + + <p> + “It’s like an oratorio,” said Stella. “I can’t play a note here. The + very existence of these mobs is deafening.” + <a name="page_484" id="page_484"></a> + </p> + + <p>“Well, I don’t mind where we go,” said Mrs. Fane. “I’m not enjoying + these peculiar tourists myself. Shall we go to the Italian lakes? I used + to like them very much. I’ve spent many happy days there.”</p> + + <p>“I’d rather go to France,” said Michael. “Only don’t let’s go far. Let’s + go to Lyons and find out some small place in the country. I was talking + to a decent chap—not a tourist—who said there were delightful little + red-roofed towns in the Lyonnais.”</p> + + <p>So they left Switzerland and went to Lyons where, sitting under the + shade of trees by the tumbling blue Rhône, they settled with a polite + agent to take a small house near Châtillon.</p> + + <p>Hither a piano followed them, and here for seven weeks they lived, each + one lost in sun-dyed dreams.</p> + + <p>“I knew we should like this,” Michael said to Stella, as they leaned + against tubs of rosy oleanders on a lizard-streaked wall, and watched + some great white oxen go smoothly by. “I like this heart of France + better than Brittany or Normandy. But I hope mother won’t be bored + here.”</p> + + <p>“There are plenty of books,” said Stella. “And anyway she wants to lie + back and think, and it’s impossible to think except in the sun.”</p> + + <p>The oxen were still in sight along the road that wound upwards to where + Châtillon clustered red upon its rounded hill.</p> + + <p>“It doesn’t look like a real town,” said Michael. “It’s really not + different from the red sunbaked earth all about here. I feel it would be + almost a pity ever to walk up that road and find it is a town. I vote we + never go quite close, but just sit here and watch it changing colour all + through the day. I never want to move out of this garden.”</p> + + <p> + “I can’t walk about much,” said Stella. “Because I simply must practise + and practise and practise and practise.” + <a name="page_485" id="page_485"></a> + </p> + + <p>They always woke up early in the morning, and Michael used to watch + Châtillon purple-bloomed with the shadow of the fled night, then hazy + crimson for a few minutes until the sun came high enough to give it back + the rich burnt reds of the day. All through the morning Michael used to + sit among the peach trees of the garden, while Stella played. All + through the morning he used to read novel after novel of ephemeral fame + that here on the undisturbed shelves had acquired a certain permanence. + In the afternoon Stella and he used to wander through the vineyards down + to a shallow brown stream bordered by poplars and acacias, or in + sun-steeped oak woods idly chase the long lizards splendid with their + black and yellow lozenges and shimmering green mail.</p> + + <p>Once in a village at harvest-time, when the market-place was a fathom + deep in golden corn, they helped in the threshing, and once when the + grain had been stored, they danced here with joyful country-folk under + the moon.</p> + + <p>During tea-time they would sit with their mother beneath an almond tree, + while beyond in sunlit air vibrant with the glad cicadas butterflies + wantoned with the oleanders, or upon the wall preened their slow fans. + Later, they would pace a walk bordered by tawny tea-roses, and out of + the globed melons they would scent the garnered warmth of the day + floating forth to mingle with the sweet breath of eve. Now was the hour + to climb the small hill behind the peach trees. Here across the mighty + valley of the Saône they could see a hundred miles away the Alps riding + across the horizon, light as clouds. And on the other side over their + own little house lay Châtillon cherry-bright in the sunset, then + damson-dark for a while, until it turned to a velvet gloom pricked with + points of gold and slashed with orange stains.</p> + + <p> + Michael and Stella always went to bed when the landscape had faded out. + But often Michael would sit for a + <a name="page_486" id="page_486"></a> + long time and pore upon the rustling, + the dark, the moth-haunted night; or if the moon were up he would in + fancies swim out upon her buoyant watery sheen. + </p> + + <p>Sometimes, as he sat among the peach trees, a thought of Lily would come + to him; and he would imagine her form swinging round the corner. The + leaves and sunlight, while he dreamed of her, dappled the unread pages + of his book. He would picture himself with Lily on these sunny uplands + of the Lyonnais, and gradually she lost her urban actuality; gradually + the disillusionment of her behaviour was forgotten. With the + obliteration of Lily’s failure the anguish for her bodily form faded + out, and Michael began to mould her to an incorporeal idea of first + love. In this clear air she stood before him recreated, as if the + purifying sun, which was burning him to the likeness of the earth + around, had been able at the same time to burn that idea of young love + to a slim Etruscan shape which could thrill him for ever with its + beauty, but nevermore fret him with the urgency of desire. He was glad + he had not spoken to her again after that garden interlude; and though + his heart would have leapt to see her motionable and swaying to his + glances as she came delicately towards him through the peach trees, + Michael felt that somehow he would not kiss her, but that he would + rather lead her gravely to the hill-top and set her near him to stay for + ever still, for ever young, for ever fair.</p> + + <p>So all through that summer the sun burned Michael, while day by day the + white unhurried oxen moved, slow as clouds, up the hill towards the + town. But Michael never followed their shambling steps, and therefore he + never destroyed his dream of Châtillon.</p> + + <p> + As the time drew nearer and nearer for Stella’s concert, she practised + more incessantly. Nor would she walk now with Michael through the + vineyards down to the shallow poplar-shadowed stream. Michael was seized + with a reverence for her tireless concentration, and he never tried + <a name="page_487" id="page_487"></a> + to + make her break this rule of work, but would always wander away by + himself. + </p> + + <p>One day, when he was lying on a parched upland ridge, Michael had a + vision of Alan in green England. Suddenly he realized that in a few + weeks they would be setting out together for Oxford. The dazzling azure + sky of France lightened to the blown softness of an English April. + Cloistral he saw Oxford, and by the base of St. Mary’s Tower the people, + small as emmets, hurrying. The roofs and spires were wet with rain, and + bells were ringing. He saw the faces of all those who from various + schools would encounter with him the greyness and the grace of Oxford, + and among them was Alan.</p> + + <p>How familiar Oxford seemed after all!</p> + + <p class="top5">The principal fact that struck Michael about Stella in these days of + practising for her concert was her capacity for renouncing all + extravagance of speech and her steady withdrawal from everything that + did not bear directly on her work. She no longer talked of her + brilliance; she no longer tried to astonish Michael with predications of + genius; she became curiously and impressively diligent, and, without + conveying an idea of easy self-confidence, she managed to make Michael + feel perfectly sure of her success.</p> + + <p>During the latter half of September Michael went to stay with Alan at + Richmond, partly because with the nearness of Stella’s appearance he + began to feel nervous, and partly because he found speculation about + Oxford in Alan’s company a very diverting pursuit. From Richmond he went + up at the end of the month in order to pass Responsions without + difficulty. On the sixth of October was the concert at King’s Hall.</p> + + <p> + Michael had spent a good deal of time in sending letters to all the + friends he could think of, inviting their attendance + <a name="page_488" id="page_488"></a> + on this occasion + of importance. He even wrote to Wilmot and many of the people he had met + at Edwardes Square. Everyone must help in Stella’s triumph. + </p> + + <p>At the beginning of October Mrs. Ross arrived at the Merivales’ house, + and for the first time since their conversation in the orchard she and + Michael met. He was shy at first, but Mrs. Ross was so plainly anxious + to show that she regarded him as affectionately as ever that Michael + found himself able to resume his intimacy at once. However, since Stella + was always uppermost in his thoughts, he did not test Mrs. Ross with any + more surprizing admissions.</p> + + <p>On the night before the concert Mr. and Mrs. Merivale, Mrs. Ross, Alan + and Michael sat in the drawing-room, talking over the concert from every + point of view.</p> + + <p>“Of course she’ll be a success,” said Mr. Merivale, and managed to + implicate himself as usual in a network of bad puns that demanded the + heartiest reprobation from his listeners.</p> + + <p>“Dear little girl,” said Mrs. Merivale placidly. “How nice it is to see + children doing things.”</p> + + <p>“Of course she’ll be a success,” Alan vowed. “You’ve only got to look at + her to see that. By gad, what an off-drive she would have had, if she’d + only been a boy.”</p> + + <p>Michael looked at Alan quickly. This was the first time he had ever + heard him praise a girl of his own accord. He made up his mind to ask + Stella when her concert was over how Alan had impressed her.</p> + + <p>“Dear Michael,” said Mrs. Ross earnestly, “you must not worry about + Stella. Don’t you remember how years ago I said she would be a great + pianist? And you were so amusing about it, because you would insist that + you didn’t like her playing.”</p> + + <p> + “Nor I did,” said Michael in laughing defence of himself at eight years + old. “I used to think it was the most melancholy + <a name="page_489" id="page_489"></a> + noise on earth. + Sometimes I think so now, when Stella wraps herself up in endless + scales. By Jove,” he suddenly exclaimed, “what’s the time?” + </p> + + <p>“Half-past eight nearly. Why?” Alan asked.</p> + + <p>“I forgot to write and tell Viner to come. It’s not very late. I think + I’ll go over to Notting Hill now, and ask him. I haven’t been to see him + much lately, and he was always awfully decent to me.”</p> + + <p>Mr. Viner was reading in his smoke-hung room.</p> + + <p>“Hullo,” he said. “You’ve not been near me for almost a year.”</p> + + <p>“I know,” said Michael apologetically. “I feel rather a brute. Some time + I’ll tell you why.”</p> + + <p>Then suddenly Michael wondered if the priest knew about Lord Saxby, and + he felt shy of him. He felt that he could not talk intimately to him + until he had told him about the circumstances of his birth.</p> + + <p>“Is that what’s been keeping you away?” asked the priest. “Because, let + me tell you, I’ve known all about you for some years. And look here, + Michael, don’t get into your head that you’ve got to make this sort of + announcement every time you form a new friendship.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, that wasn’t the reason I kept away,” said Michael. “But I don’t + want to talk about myself. I want to talk about my sister. She’s going + to play at the King’s Hall concert to-morrow night. You will come, won’t + you?”</p> + + <p>“Of course I will,” said the priest.</p> + + <p>“Thanks, and—er—if you could think about her when you’re saying Mass + to-morrow morning, why, I’d rather like to serve you, if I may. I must + tear back now,” Michael added. “Good night.”</p> + + <p>“Good night,” said the priest, and as Michael turned in the doorway his + smile was like a benediction.</p> + + <p> + Very early on the next morning through the curdled October mists Michael + went over to Notting Hill again. + <a name="page_490" id="page_490"></a> + The Mission Church stood obscurely + amid a press of mean houses, and as Michael hurried along the fetid + narrow thoroughfare, the bell for Mass was clanging among the fog and + smoke. Here and there women were belabouring their doorsteps with mangy + mats or leaning with grimed elbows on their sills in depressed + anticipation of a day’s drudgery. From bed-ridden rooms came the sound + of children wailing and fighting over breakfast. Lean cats nosed in the + garbage strewn along the gutters. + </p> + + <p>The Mission Church smelt strongly of soap and stale incense, and in the + frore atmosphere the coloured pictures on the walls looked more than + usually crude and violent. It was the Octave of St. Michael and All + Angels, and the white chrysanthemums on the altar were beginning to turn + brown. There was not a large congregation—two sisters of mercy, three + or four pious and dowdy maiden ladies, and the sacristan. It was more + than two years since Michael had served at Mass, and he was glad and + grateful to find that every small ceremony still seemed sincere and fit + and inevitable. There was an exquisite morning stillness in this small + tawdry church, and Michael thought how strange it was that in this + festering corner of the city it was possible to create so profound a + sense of mystery. Whatever emotion he gained of peace and reconciliation + and brooding holiness he vowed to Stella and to her fame and to her joy.</p> + + <p> + After Mass Michael went back to breakfast with Mr. Viner, and as they + sat talking about Oxford, Michael thought how various Oxford was + compared with school, how many different kinds of people would be + appropriate to their surroundings, and he began with some of the ardour + that he had given hitherto to envy of life to covet all varieties of + intellectual experience. What a wonderfully suggestive word was + University, and how exciting it was to see Viner tabulating + introductions for his benefit. + <a name="page_491" id="page_491"></a> + </p> + + <p>Michael sat by himself at the concert. During the afternoon he had + talked to Stella for a few minutes, but she had seemed more than ever + immeasurably remote from conversation, and Michael had contented himself + with offering stock phrases of encouragement and exhortation. He went + early to King’s Hall and sat high up in the topmost corner looking down + on the orchestra. Gradually through the bluish mist the indefinite + audience thickened, and their accumulated voices echoed less and less. + The members of the orchestra had not yet entered, but their music-stands + stood about with a ridiculous likeness to human beings. In the middle + was Stella’s piano black and lifeless, a little ominous in its naked and + insistent and faintly shining ebon solemnity. One of the orchestra + threaded his way through the chairs to where the drums stood in a + bizarre group. From time to time this lonely human figure struck his + instruments to test their pitch, and the low boom sounded hollowly above + the murmurous audience.</p> + + <p>A general accession of light took place, and now suddenly the empty + platform was filled with nonchalant men who gossiped while they made + discordant sounds upon their instruments. The conductor came in and + bowed. The audience clapped. There was a momentary hush, followed by a + sharp rat-tat of the baton, and the Third Leonora Overture began.</p> + + <p> + To Michael the music was a blur. It was soundless beside his own beating + heart, his heart that thudded on and on, on and on, while the faces of + the audience receded farther and farther through the increasing haze. + The Overture was finished. From the hall that every moment seemed to + grow darker came a sound of ghostly applause. Michael looked at his + programme in a fever. What was this unpronounceable German composition, + this Tonic Poem that must be played before Stella’s turn would arrive? + It seemed to go on for ever in a most barbaric and amorphous din; with + <a name="page_492" id="page_492"></a> + + corybantic crashings, with brazen fanfares and stinging cymbals it flung + itself against the audience, while the woodwind howled and the violins + were harsh as cats. Michael brooded unreceptive; he had a sense of + monstrous loneliness; he could think of nothing. The noise overpowered + his beating heart, and he began to count absurdly, while he bit his + nails or shivered in alternations of fire and snow. Then his programme + fluttered down on to the head of a bald violoncellist, and the ensuing + shock of self-consciousness, that was mingled with a violent desire to + laugh very loudly, restored him to his normal calm. The Tonic Poem + shrieked and tore itself to death. The world became very quiet. + </p> + + <p> + There was a gradual flap of rising applause, and it was Stella who, tall + and white, was being handed across the platform. It was Stella who was + sitting white and rigid at the black piano that suddenly seemed to have + shrunk into a puny insignificance. It was Stella whose fingers were + causing those rills of melody to flow. She paused, while the orchestra + took up their part, and then again the rills began to flow, gently, + fiercely, madly, sadly, wildly. Now she seemed to contend against the + mighty odds of innumerable rival instruments; now her own frail + instrument seemed to flag; now she was gaining strength; her cool clear + harmonies were subduing this welter of violins, this tempest of horns + and clarionets, this menace of bass-viols and drums. The audience was + extinguished like a candle. The orchestra seemed inspired by the angry + forces of Nature herself. The bows of the violins whitened and flickered + like willows in a storm, and yet amid this almost intolerable movement + Stella sat still as a figure of eternal stone. A faint smile curved more + sharply her lips; the black bows in her hair trembled against her white + dress; her wonderful hands went galloping away to right and left of her + straight back. Plangent as music itself, serene as sculpture, with + smiling lips magically crimson, adorably human, she finished + <a name="page_493" id="page_493"></a> + her first + concerto. And while she bowed to the audience and to the orchestra and + the great shaggy conductor, Michael saw ridiculous teardrops bedewing + his sleeve, not because he had been moved by the music, but because he + was unable to shake by the hand every single person in King’s Hall who + was now applauding his sister. + </p> + + <p>It was not until Beethoven’s somber knock at the opening of the Fifth + Symphony that Michael began to dream upon the deeps of great music, that + his thoughts liberated from anxiety went straying into time. Stella, + when for a little while he had reveled in her success, was forgotten, + and the people in this hall, listening, listening, began to move him + with their unimaginable variety. Near him were lovers who in this + symphony were fast imparadised; their hands were interlaced; visibly + they swayed nearer to each other on the waves of melody. Old men were + near him, solitary old men listening, listening ... old men who at the + summons of these ringing notes were traversing their past that otherwise + might have stayed forever unvoyageable.</p> + + <p>Michael sometimes craved for Lily’s company, wished that he could clasp + her to him and swoon away upon these blinding chords. But she was + banished from this world of music, she who had betrayed the beauty of + love. There was something more noble in this music than the memory of a + slim and lovely girl and of her flower-soft kisses. The world itself + surely seemed to travel the faster for this urgent symphony. Michael was + spinning face to face with the spinning stars.</p> + + <p> + And then some thread of simple melody would bring him back to the green + world and the little memories of his boyhood. Now more than ever did it + seem worth while to live on earth. He recognized, as if suddenly he had + come down from incredible heights, familiar faces in the audience. He + saw his mother with Mrs. Ross beside her, two figures that amid all this + intoxication of speeding life must forever + <a name="page_494" id="page_494"></a> + mourn. Now while the flood + of music was sounding in his ears, he wished that he could fly down + through this dim hall, and tell them, as they sat there in black with + memories beside them, how well he loved them, how much he honoured them, + how eagerly he demanded from them pride in himself. + </p> + + <p> + After the first emotions of the mighty music had worn themselves out, + Michael’s imagination began to wander rapidly. At one point the bassoons + became very active, and he was somehow reminded of Mr. Neech. He was + puzzled for awhile to account for this association of an old form-master + with the noise of bassoons. ‘<i>For he heard the loud bassoon</i>.’ Out of + the past came the vision of old Neech wagging the tail of his gown as he + strode backward and forwards over the floor of the Shell class-room. + ‘<i>The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud + bassoon</i>.’ Out of the past came the shrill sound of boys ruining The + Ancient Mariner, and Michael heard again the outraged apostrophes of Mr. + Neech. He began to create from his fancy of Mr. Neech a grotesque symbol + of public-school education. Certainly he was the only master who had + taught him anything. Yet he had probably tried less earnestly to teach + than any other masters. Why did this image of Mr. Neech materialize + whenever his thoughts went back to school? Years had passed since he had + enjoyed the Shell. He had never talked intimately to Neech; indeed, he + had scarcely held any communication with him since he left his form. The + influence of Neech must have depended on a personality that demanded + from his pupils a stoic bearing, a sense of humour, a capacity for + inquisitiveness, an idea of continuity. He could not remember that any + of these qualities had been appreciated by himself until he had entered + the Shell. Michael regretted very deeply that on the day before he left + school he had not thanked Neech for his existence. How nebulous already + <a name="page_495" id="page_495"></a> + + most of his other masters seemed. Only Neech stood out clear-cut as the + intagliation of a sardonyx. + </p> + + <p>Meditation upon Neech took Michael off to Thackeray. He had been reading + Pendennis lately, and the book had given him much the same sensation of + finality as his old form-master, and as Michael thought of Thackeray, he + began to speculate upon the difference between Michael Fane and the + fourteenth Earl of Saxby. Yet he was rather glad that after all he was + not the fourteenth Earl of Saxby. It would be interesting to see how his + theories of good-breeding were carried out by himself as a nobody with + old blood in his veins. He would like to test the common talk that rank + was an accident, that old families, old faiths, old education, old + customs, old manners, old thoughts, old books were all so much + moonshine. Michael wondered whether it were so; whether indeed all men + if born with equal chances would not display equal qualities. He did not + believe it: he hated the doctrine. Yet people in all their variety + called to him still, and as he surveyed the audience he was aware from + time to time of a great longing to involve himself in the web of + humanity. He was glad that he had not removed himself from the world + like Chator. Chator! He must go down to Clere and see how Chator was + getting on as a monk. He had not even thought of Chator for a year. But + after all Oxford had a monastic intention, and Michael believed that + from Oxford he would gain as much austerity of attitude as Chator would + acquire from the rule of St. Benedict. And when he left Oxford, he would + explore humanity. He would travel through the world and through the + underworld and apply always his standard of ... of what? What was his + standard? A classic permanence, a classic simplicity and inevitableness?</p> + + <p> + The symphony stopped. He must hurry out and congratulate Stella. What a + possession she was; what an excitement her career would be. How he would + love to + <a name="page_496" id="page_496"></a> + control her extravagance, and even as he controlled it, how he + would admire it. And his mother had talked of taking a house in Chelsea. + What various interests were springing into existence. He must not forget + to ask Alan what train he was going by to Oxford. They must arrive + together. He had not yet bought his china. His china! His pictures! His + books! His rooms in college! Life was really astonishing. + </p> + + <p>The concert was over, and as Michael came swirling down the stairs on + the flood of people going home, he had a strange sensation of life + beginning all over again.</p> + + <p> </p> + + <p class="c"> + THE END OF THE + <br/> + FIRST VOLUME + </p> + + <p> </p> + + <p class="c"> + <i>NOTE</i> + </p> + + <div class="blockquott"> + <p> + <i>The second and final volume of</i> + S + <span class="smcap">INISTER</span> + S + <span class="smcap">TREET</span> + , + <i>containing Book III: + Dreaming Spires and Book IV: Romantic Education, will be published early + next year.</i> + </p> + </div> + + <p> </p> + + <p class="c"> + <small>WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PLYMOUTH</small> + </p> + + <div class="boxxx" style="margin:10% auto 10% auto;"> + <p class="cb" style="font-size:300%;letter-spacing:8px;"> + AUTUMN + <br/> + <span style="letter-spacing:15px;">BOOKS</span> + <br/> + MCMXIII + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="c"> + <big> + <b> + <span style="letter-spacing:5px;">MARTIN SECKER</span> + <br/> + <small>NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET</small> + <br/> + ADELPHI + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">LONDON</span> + </b> + </big> + </p> + </div> + + <div class="bboxxx"> + <p class="nind">The Books in this list should be obtainable from all Booksellers and + Libraries, and if any difficulty is experienced the Publisher will be + glad to be informed of the fact. He will also be glad if those + interested in receiving from time to time Announcement Lists, + Prospectuses, &c. of new and forthcoming books from Number Five John + Street, will send their names and addresses to him for this purpose. Any + book in this List may be obtained on approval through the booksellers, + or direct from the Publisher, on remitting him the published price, plus + the postage.</p> + + <p> </p> + + <p class="nind"> + Telephone 4779 City + <br/> + + Telegraphic Address: + <br/> + + Psophidian London. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="c"> + <b> + + The Complete Dramatic Works of + <br/> + <span class="letra">Gerhart Hauptmann</span> + <br/> + AUTHORISED EDITION + </b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + T is generally conceded that Gerhart Hauptmann is the most notable + dramatist of the present day. His work combines literary, psychological + and dramatic interest in greater measure than that of any other + contemporary writer, and the award of the Nobel prize in literature was + a public recognition of his genius. An authorised translation of his + dramas makes it possible at last for English people to study and enjoy + Hauptmann. Excellent translations of a few plays had already been made, + and these, by arrangement with the respective translators, will be + adapted to the present edition; but new translations will be made + whenever it seems necessary in order to maintain the highest standard. + The editor of the edition is Professor Ludwig Lewisohn. He supplies a + general introduction to Hauptmann’s works in Volume I, and a briefer + introduction to each succeeding volume. The contents of the volumes are + given on the next page. + </p> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="c"> + <b>The Dramatic Works of Gerhart Hauptmann</b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="c"> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr align="center"> + <td> + Volume I + <br/> + <i>Social Dramas</i> + </td> + <td> + Volume II + <br/> + <i>Social Dramas</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Before Dawn + <br/> + + The Weavers + <br/> + + The Beaver Coat + <br/> + + The Conflagration + </td> + <td> + Drayman Henschel + <br/> + + Rose Bernd + <br/> + + The Rats + </td> + </tr> + <tr align="center"> + <td> + Volume III + <br/> + <i>Domestic Dramas</i> + </td> + <td> + Volume IV + <br/> + <i>Symbolic and Legendary Dramas</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Reconciliation + <br/> + + Lonely Lives + <br/> + + Colleague Crampton + <br/> + + Michael Kramer + </td> + <td> + Hannele + <br/> + + The Sunken Bell + <br/> + + Henry of Aue + </td> + </tr> + <tr align="center"> + <td> + Volume V + <br/> + <i>Symbolic and Historical Dramas</i> + </td> + <td> + Volume VI + <br/> + <i>Later Dramas in Prose</i> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Schluck and Jau + <br/> + + And Pippa Dances + <br/> + + Charlemagne’s Hostage + </td> + <td> + The Maidens of the Mount + <br/> + + Griselda + <br/> + + Gabriel Schilling’s Flight + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p class="nind"> + Each Volume Crown 8vo. (7½ in. by 5 in.) + <br/> + Price 5s. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>Vie de Bohème:</b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b> + A Patch of Romantic Paris + <br/> + By ORLO WILLIAMS + </b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HE phrase “Vie de Bohème” is one in very frequent use, but few of its + users recognize its implication. At the time when the term originated in + French literature it had a very special meaning. That time was the + Romantic period, one of the most brilliant in all the history of French + artistic achievement, and the phrase denoted the life of an important + section of Parisian Society between the years of 1830 and 1848. It was + called into being by special circumstances and conditions in 1830; + reached its golden age in 1835, and slowly declined till the revolution + of 1848 reduced it to a mere excrescence on the life of art students, as + it now is. “La Bohème” was strictly Parisian, as Henri Murger said it + must be; it arose through the literary and social revolution of 1830; it + flourished because of the universality of the Romantic spirit of which + it was a flower; it declined because its second generation had neither + the enthusiasm nor the talent of its first. Mr. Orlo Williams surveys + the period very thoroughly, and his book is illustrated in colour and + half-tone, from contemporary pictures and prints. + </p> + + <p class="nind"> + Demy Octavo (9 in. by 5½ in.) + <br/> + Fully Illustrated. Price 15s. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b> + The + <br/> + Art of Silhouette + </b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b>By DESMOND COKE</b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + N the popular belief a silhouette is something snipped from black paper + on a pier for sixpence. Mr. Desmond Coke, as a fourteen-year collector + of the fine eighteenth century profiles painted upon chalk, glass or + paper, has set himself to correct this fallacy. The reproductions of + miniature likenesses in silhouette by Miers, Charles, Rosenberg, Mrs. + Beetham, and the other profilists who set Bath beaux and belles in black + outline for ever, will probably surprise most readers by their delicate + craftsmanship and life-like quality. The book is lightly planned: more + an essay than a history or treatise. The joys of collecting—the charm + of silhouette—the men who practised this short-lived art, including the + tragi-comic Edouart, a man whom Dickens would have loved—the humours of + their labels—the horrors of Victorian decadence—groups—some famous + silhouette collections—fancy subjects cut in paper—Cupid and this set + of shadows—a plea for austerity, addressed to modern artists—such are + a few points covered by a book which (to quote the author’s foreword) is + intended for “collectors, artists, lovers of the past, and all such as + think nothing human or curious alien from themselves.” + </p> + + <p class="nind"> + Demy Octavo (9 in. by 5½ in.) + <br/> + Fully Illustrated. Price 10s. 6d. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>Personality in Literature</b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b>By R. A. SCOTT-JAMES</b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">I</span> + N the third and longest part of this book, Mr. Scott-James estimates + the work of some of the more prominent modern authors. But he presents + these criticisms as the sequel to a general consideration of what it is + that readers at all times look for in the best literature, and secondly, + what are the special conditions of modern life that are having their + effect upon men of letters. + </p> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <p class="nind"> + Demy Octavo (9 in. by 5½ in.) + <br/> + Price 7s. 6d. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>Walter Pater</b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b> + A Critical Study + <br/> + By EDWARD THOMAS + </b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HIS is a combined character study and criticism. The man’s life is used + to elucidate his books, which in turn contribute many unquestionable + touches of character. All his published books and scattered essays are + considered from a practical and æsthetic standpoint. His fundamental + ideas and tendencies, his purpose and effect, his style and his theory + of style, are examined in a book for which there should be a distinct + demand. + </p> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <p class="nind"> + Demy Octavo (9 in. by 5½ in.) + <br/> + With Portrait. Price 7s. 6d. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>Walt Whitman</b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b> + A Critical Study + <br/> + By BASIL DE SELINCOURT + </b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">M</span> + R. DE SELINCOURT’S object has been to show that, when all deductions + have been made and elements of crudeness, reaction and extravagance + fully allowed for, Whitman’s contribution to literature has the + uniqueness and the solidity claimed for it by his admirers and by + himself. The book differs from others in endeavouring more explicitly to + exhibit the relation of Whitman’s form and style to those of + conventional literature and to justify his apparent anomalies. Whitman’s + peculiar use of language, his love of specification and cataloguing, + etc., are explained in reference to the underlying purposes of language + generally. His identification as a man with humanity, as an artist with + America, are shown to have been genuine forces in him, available for + expression and the real spring of his work. + </p> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <p class="nind"> + Demy Octavo (9 in. by 5½ in.) + <br/> + With Portrait. Price 7s. 6d. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>Dramatic Portraits</b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b>By P. P. HOWE</b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HROUGHOUT this book a particular point of view has been adhered to, + from which the drama is looked upon as a separate art from literature, + and from which especial attention is paid to the manner of its practice. + Thus nearly all the plays of the dramatists passed under review are to + be studied in book form, but they are spoken of here, as far as + possible, in terms of their actual presentation in the theatre. The + dramatists include Pinero, Henry Arthur Jones, Oscar Wilde, Henry James, + Bernard Shaw, Barrie, Granville Barker, Hankin, Galsworthy and + Masefield. It is a book for all playgoers who have done their playgoing + in the English theatre of the past twenty-five years. The portraits + which illustrate it are from camera studies by Mr. E. O. Hoppé, + reproduced by a new process which does full justice to his original + prints. + </p> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <p> + Crown Octavo (7½ in. by 5 in.) + <br/> + + Illustrated. Price 5s. net. + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>Speculative Dialogues</b> + </p> + + <p class="c"> + <b>By LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE</b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="nind"> + <span class="letra">T</span> + HESE dialogues are the work of a poet and critic who has rapidly + achieved distinction, and although their primary purpose is to suggest a + philosophic attitude towards modern metaphysical problems, they stand to + be judged as literature as well as philosophy. Mr. Abercrombie’s + attitude, one of individualism and Pyrrhonism, makes itself clear in the + course of a series of dialogues between such personified abstractions as + Famine and Pestilence, War and Murder, Science and the World; Philosophy + and an Angel. + </p> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <p>Wide Crown Octavo (7½ in. by 5 in.)</p> + + <p>Price 5s. net.</p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="letra c"> + <b>New Fiction</b> + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="c"> + <b>I.</b> + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <big> + <b>SINISTER STREET</b> + <br/> + <small>By COMPTON MACKENZIE</small> + </big> + </p> + + <p class="r">Author of “Carnival,”</p> + + <p class="c">Now in its 35th Thousand.</p> + + <p class="c"> + <b>II.</b> + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <big> + <b>THE STORY OF LOUIE</b> + <br/> + <small>By OLIVER ONIONS</small> + </big> + </p> + + <p class="r">Author of “The Debit Account.”</p> + + <p class="c"> + <b>III.</b> + </p> + + <p class="hangg"> + <big> + <b>HANDS UP!</b> + <br/> + <small>By FREDERICK NIVEN</small> + </big> + </p> + + <p class="r">Author of “The Porcelain Lady.”</p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx"> + <p class="cb letra"> + Martin Secker’s Series + <br/> + of Modern Monographs + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td align="left">J. M. SYNGE</td> + <td align="right">By P. P. Howe</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRIK IBSEN</td> + <td align="right">By R. Ellis Roberts</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WALTER PATER</td> + <td align="right">By Edward Thomas</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS HARDY</td> + <td align="right">By L. Abercrombie</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WALT WHITMAN </td> + <td align="right">By Basil de Selincourt</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">GEORGE GISSING</td> + <td align="right">By Frank Swinnerton</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM MORRIS</td> + <td align="right">By John Drinkwater</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">A. C. SWINBURNE</td> + <td align="right">By Edward Thomas</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <hr/> + + <p class="c"> + Each volume Demy Octavo, Cloth Gilt, with a + <br/> + Frontispiece in + Photogravure. Price 7s. 6d. net + </p> + + <hr/> + + <p> + <i>The Athenæum</i> + says: “We congratulate the publisher.” + </p> + + <p> + <i>The Spectator</i> + says: “Mr. Secker’s excellent series of critical + studies.” + </p> + + <p> + <i>The Yorkshire Observer</i> + says: “Mr. Secker’s admirable series.” + </p> + + <p> + <i>The Manchester Courier</i> + says: “This excellent series.” + </p> + + <p> + <i>The Illustrated London News</i> + says: “Mr. Martin Secker’s series of + critical studies does justice to the publisher’s sense of pleasant + format. The volumes are a delight to eye and hand, and make a welcome + addition to the bookshelf.” + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="c"> + <b> + MARTIN SECKER PUBLISHER + <br/> + Number Five John Street Adelphi + </b> + </p> + </div> + + <div class="boxxx" style="margin:10% auto 10% auto;"> + <p class="cb" style="font-size:300%;letter-spacing:8px;"> + AUTUMN + <br/> + <span style="letter-spacing:15px;">BOOKS</span> + <br/> + MCMXIII + </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="top25"> </p> + + <hr class="solid"/> + + <p class="c"> + <big> + <b> + <span style="letter-spacing:5px;">MARTIN SECKER</span> + <br/> + <small>NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET</small> + <br/> + ADELPHI + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">LONDON</span> + </b> + </big> + </p> + </div> + + <hr class="full"/> + + <pre> + + + + + End of Project Gutenberg's Sinister Street, vol. 1, by Compton Mackenzie + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SINISTER STREET, VOL. 1 *** + + ***** This file should be named 33797-h.htm or 33797-h.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/7/9/33797/ + + Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed + Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was + produced from scanned images of public domain material + from the Google Print project.) + + 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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