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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/456-0.txt b/456-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f4f071d --- /dev/null +++ b/456-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5028 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Door in the Wall And Other Stories, by H. G. Wells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Door in the Wall And Other Stories + +Author: H. G. Wells + +Release Date: March, 1996 [eBook #456] +[Most recently updated: April 12, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Judith Boss + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOOR IN THE WALL AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +The Door in the Wall + +And Other Stories + +by H. G. Wells + + +Contents + + THE DOOR IN THE WALL + THE STAR + A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON + THE CONE + A MOONLIGHT FABLE + THE DIAMOND MAKER + THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS + THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND + + + + +THE DOOR IN THE WALL + +I + +One confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace told me +this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thought that so +far as he was concerned it was a true story. + +He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction that I could +not do otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning, in my own +flat, I woke to a different atmosphere, and as I lay in bed and +recalled the things he had told me, stripped of the glamour of his +earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed shaded table light, the +shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and the pleasant bright +things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the dinner we had shared, +making them for the time a bright little world quite cut off from +every-day realities, I saw it all as frankly incredible. “He was +mystifying!” I said, and then: “How well he did it!. . . . . It isn’t +quite the thing I should have expected him, of all people, to do well.” + +Afterwards, as I sat up in bed and sipped my morning tea, I found +myself trying to account for the flavour of reality that perplexed me +in his impossible reminiscences, by supposing they did in some way +suggest, present, convey—I hardly know which word to use—experiences it +was otherwise impossible to tell. + +Well, I don’t resort to that explanation now. I have got over my +intervening doubts. I believe now, as I believed at the moment of +telling, that Wallace did to the very best of his ability strip the +truth of his secret for me. But whether he himself saw, or only thought +he saw, whether he himself was the possessor of an inestimable +privilege, or the victim of a fantastic dream, I cannot pretend to +guess. Even the facts of his death, which ended my doubts forever, +throw no light on that. That much the reader must judge for himself. + +I forget now what chance comment or criticism of mine moved so reticent +a man to confide in me. He was, I think, defending himself against an +imputation of slackness and unreliability I had made in relation to a +great public movement in which he had disappointed me. But he plunged +suddenly. “I have” he said, “a preoccupation—” + +“I know,” he went on, after a pause that he devoted to the study of his +cigar ash, “I have been negligent. The fact is—it isn’t a case of +ghosts or apparitions—but—it’s an odd thing to tell of, Redmond—I am +haunted. I am haunted by something—that rather takes the light out of +things, that fills me with longings . . . . .” + +He paused, checked by that English shyness that so often overcomes us +when we would speak of moving or grave or beautiful things. “You were +at Saint Athelstan’s all through,” he said, and for a moment that +seemed to me quite irrelevant. “Well”—and he paused. Then very +haltingly at first, but afterwards more easily, he began to tell of the +thing that was hidden in his life, the haunting memory of a beauty and +a happiness that filled his heart with insatiable longings that made +all the interests and spectacle of worldly life seem dull and tedious +and vain to him. + +Now that I have the clue to it, the thing seems written visibly in his +face. I have a photograph in which that look of detachment has been +caught and intensified. It reminds me of what a woman once said of +him—a woman who had loved him greatly. “Suddenly,” she said, “the +interest goes out of him. He forgets you. He doesn’t care a rap for +you—under his very nose . . . . .” + +Yet the interest was not always out of him, and when he was holding his +attention to a thing Wallace could contrive to be an extremely +successful man. His career, indeed, is set with successes. He left me +behind him long ago; he soared up over my head, and cut a figure in the +world that I couldn’t cut—anyhow. He was still a year short of forty, +and they say now that he would have been in office and very probably in +the new Cabinet if he had lived. At school he always beat me without +effort—as it were by nature. We were at school together at Saint +Athelstan’s College in West Kensington for almost all our school time. +He came into the school as my co-equal, but he left far above me, in a +blaze of scholarships and brilliant performance. Yet I think I made a +fair average running. And it was at school I heard first of the Door in +the Wall—that I was to hear of a second time only a month before his +death. + +To him at least the Door in the Wall was a real door leading through a +real wall to immortal realities. Of that I am now quite assured. + +And it came into his life early, when he was a little fellow between +five and six. I remember how, as he sat making his confession to me +with a slow gravity, he reasoned and reckoned the date of it. “There +was,” he said, “a crimson Virginia creeper in it—all one bright uniform +crimson in a clear amber sunshine against a white wall. That came into +the impression somehow, though I don’t clearly remember how, and there +were horse-chestnut leaves upon the clean pavement outside the green +door. They were blotched yellow and green, you know, not brown nor +dirty, so that they must have been new fallen. I take it that means +October. I look out for horse-chestnut leaves every year, and I ought +to know. + +“If I’m right in that, I was about five years and four months old.” + +He was, he said, rather a precocious little boy—he learned to talk at +an abnormally early age, and he was so sane and “old-fashioned,” as +people say, that he was permitted an amount of initiative that most +children scarcely attain by seven or eight. His mother died when he was +born, and he was under the less vigilant and authoritative care of a +nursery governess. His father was a stern, preoccupied lawyer, who gave +him little attention, and expected great things of him. For all his +brightness he found life a little grey and dull I think. And one day he +wandered. + +He could not recall the particular neglect that enabled him to get +away, nor the course he took among the West Kensington roads. All that +had faded among the incurable blurs of memory. But the white wall and +the green door stood out quite distinctly. + +As his memory of that remote childish experience ran, he did at the +very first sight of that door experience a peculiar emotion, an +attraction, a desire to get to the door and open it and walk in. And at +the same time he had the clearest conviction that either it was unwise +or it was wrong of him—he could not tell which—to yield to this +attraction. He insisted upon it as a curious thing that he knew from +the very beginning—unless memory has played him the queerest trick—that +the door was unfastened, and that he could go in as he chose. + +I seem to see the figure of that little boy, drawn and repelled. And it +was very clear in his mind, too, though why it should be so was never +explained, that his father would be very angry if he went through that +door. + +Wallace described all these moments of hesitation to me with the utmost +particularity. He went right past the door, and then, with his hands in +his pockets, and making an infantile attempt to whistle, strolled right +along beyond the end of the wall. There he recalls a number of mean, +dirty shops, and particularly that of a plumber and decorator, with a +dusty disorder of earthenware pipes, sheet lead ball taps, pattern +books of wall paper, and tins of enamel. He stood pretending to examine +these things, and coveting, passionately desiring the green door. + +Then, he said, he had a gust of emotion. He made a run for it, lest +hesitation should grip him again, he went plump with outstretched hand +through the green door and let it slam behind him. And so, in a trice, +he came into the garden that has haunted all his life. + +It was very difficult for Wallace to give me his full sense of that +garden into which he came. + +There was something in the very air of it that exhilarated, that gave +one a sense of lightness and good happening and well being; there was +something in the sight of it that made all its colour clean and perfect +and subtly luminous. In the instant of coming into it one was +exquisitely glad—as only in rare moments and when one is young and +joyful one can be glad in this world. And everything was beautiful +there . . . . . + +Wallace mused before he went on telling me. “You see,” he said, with +the doubtful inflection of a man who pauses at incredible things, +“there were two great panthers there . . . Yes, spotted panthers. And I +was not afraid. There was a long wide path with marble-edged flower +borders on either side, and these two huge velvety beasts were playing +there with a ball. One looked up and came towards me, a little curious +as it seemed. It came right up to me, rubbed its soft round ear very +gently against the small hand I held out and purred. It was, I tell +you, an enchanted garden. I know. And the size? Oh! it stretched far +and wide, this way and that. I believe there were hills far away. +Heaven knows where West Kensington had suddenly got to. And somehow it +was just like coming home. + +“You know, in the very moment the door swung to behind me, I forgot the +road with its fallen chestnut leaves, its cabs and tradesmen’s carts, I +forgot the sort of gravitational pull back to the discipline and +obedience of home, I forgot all hesitations and fear, forgot +discretion, forgot all the intimate realities of this life. I became in +a moment a very glad and wonder-happy little boy—in another world. It +was a world with a different quality, a warmer, more penetrating and +mellower light, with a faint clear gladness in its air, and wisps of +sun-touched cloud in the blueness of its sky. And before me ran this +long wide path, invitingly, with weedless beds on either side, rich +with untended flowers, and these two great panthers. I put my little +hands fearlessly on their soft fur, and caressed their round ears and +the sensitive corners under their ears, and played with them, and it +was as though they welcomed me home. There was a keen sense of +home-coming in my mind, and when presently a tall, fair girl appeared +in the pathway and came to meet me, smiling, and said Well?’ to me, and +lifted me, and kissed me, and put me down, and led me by the hand, +there was no amazement, but only an impression of delightful rightness, +of being reminded of happy things that had in some strange way been +overlooked. There were broad steps, I remember, that came into view +between spikes of delphinium, and up these we went to a great avenue +between very old and shady dark trees. All down this avenue, you know, +between the red chapped stems, were marble seats of honour and +statuary, and very tame and friendly white doves . . . . . + +“And along this avenue my girl-friend led me, looking down—I recall the +pleasant lines, the finely-modelled chin of her sweet kind face—asking +me questions in a soft, agreeable voice, and telling me things, +pleasant things I know, though what they were I was never able to +recall . . . And presently a little Capuchin monkey, very clean, with a +fur of ruddy brown and kindly hazel eyes, came down a tree to us and +ran beside me, looking up at me and grinning, and presently leapt to my +shoulder. So we went on our way in great happiness . . . .” + +He paused. + +“Go on,” I said. + +“I remember little things. We passed an old man musing among laurels, I +remember, and a place gay with paroquets, and came through a broad +shaded colonnade to a spacious cool palace, full of pleasant fountains, +full of beautiful things, full of the quality and promise of heart’s +desire. And there were many things and many people, some that still +seem to stand out clearly and some that are a little vague, but all +these people were beautiful and kind. In some way—I don’t know how—it +was conveyed to me that they all were kind to me, glad to have me +there, and filling me with gladness by their gestures, by the touch of +their hands, by the welcome and love in their eyes. Yes—” + +He mused for awhile. “Playmates I found there. That was very much to +me, because I was a lonely little boy. They played delightful games in +a grass-covered court where there was a sun-dial set about with +flowers. And as one played one loved . . . . + +“But—it’s odd—there’s a gap in my memory. I don’t remember the games we +played. I never remembered. Afterwards, as a child, I spent long hours +trying, even with tears, to recall the form of that happiness. I wanted +to play it all over again—in my nursery—by myself. No! All I remember +is the happiness and two dear playfellows who were most with me . . . . +Then presently came a sombre dark woman, with a grave, pale face and +dreamy eyes, a sombre woman wearing a soft long robe of pale purple, +who carried a book and beckoned and took me aside with her into a +gallery above a hall—though my playmates were loth to have me go, and +ceased their game and stood watching as I was carried away. ‘Come back +to us!’ they cried. ‘Come back to us soon!’ I looked up at her face, +but she heeded them not at all. Her face was very gentle and grave. She +took me to a seat in the gallery, and I stood beside her, ready to look +at her book as she opened it upon her knee. The pages fell open. She +pointed, and I looked, marvelling, for in the living pages of that book +I saw myself; it was a story about myself, and in it were all the +things that had happened to me since ever I was born . . . . + +“It was wonderful to me, because the pages of that book were not +pictures, you understand, but realities.” + +Wallace paused gravely—looked at me doubtfully. + +“Go on,” I said. “I understand.” + +“They were realities—yes, they must have been; people moved and things +came and went in them; my dear mother, whom I had near forgotten; then +my father, stern and upright, the servants, the nursery, all the +familiar things of home. Then the front door and the busy streets, with +traffic to and fro: I looked and marvelled, and looked half doubtfully +again into the woman’s face and turned the pages over, skipping this +and that, to see more of this book, and more, and so at last I came to +myself hovering and hesitating outside the green door in the long white +wall, and felt again the conflict and the fear. + +“‘And next?’ I cried, and would have turned on, but the cool hand of +the grave woman delayed me. + +“‘Next?’ I insisted, and struggled gently with her hand, pulling up her +fingers with all my childish strength, and as she yielded and the page +came over she bent down upon me like a shadow and kissed my brow. + +“But the page did not show the enchanted garden, nor the panthers, nor +the girl who had led me by the hand, nor the playfellows who had been +so loth to let me go. It showed a long grey street in West Kensington, +on that chill hour of afternoon before the lamps are lit, and I was +there, a wretched little figure, weeping aloud, for all that I could do +to restrain myself, and I was weeping because I could not return to my +dear play-fellows who had called after me, ‘Come back to us! Come back +to us soon!’ I was there. This was no page in a book, but harsh +reality; that enchanted place and the restraining hand of the grave +mother at whose knee I stood had gone—whither have they gone?” + +He halted again, and remained for a time, staring into the fire. + +“Oh! the wretchedness of that return!” he murmured. + +“Well?” I said after a minute or so. + +“Poor little wretch I was—brought back to this grey world again! As I +realised the fulness of what had happened to me, I gave way to quite +ungovernable grief. And the shame and humiliation of that public +weeping and my disgraceful homecoming remain with me still. I see again +the benevolent-looking old gentleman in gold spectacles who stopped and +spoke to me—prodding me first with his umbrella. ‘Poor little chap,’ +said he; ‘and are you lost then?’—and me a London boy of five and more! +And he must needs bring in a kindly young policeman and make a crowd of +me, and so march me home. Sobbing, conspicuous and frightened, I came +from the enchanted garden to the steps of my father’s house. + +“That is as well as I can remember my vision of that garden—the garden +that haunts me still. Of course, I can convey nothing of that +indescribable quality of translucent unreality, that difference from +the common things of experience that hung about it all; but that—that +is what happened. If it was a dream, I am sure it was a day-time and +altogether extraordinary dream . . . . . . H’m!—naturally there +followed a terrible questioning, by my aunt, my father, the nurse, the +governess—everyone . . . . . . + +“I tried to tell them, and my father gave me my first thrashing for +telling lies. When afterwards I tried to tell my aunt, she punished me +again for my wicked persistence. Then, as I said, everyone was +forbidden to listen to me, to hear a word about it. Even my fairy tale +books were taken away from me for a time—because I was ‘too +imaginative.’ Eh? Yes, they did that! My father belonged to the old +school . . . . . And my story was driven back upon myself. I whispered +it to my pillow—my pillow that was often damp and salt to my whispering +lips with childish tears. And I added always to my official and less +fervent prayers this one heartfelt request: ‘Please God I may dream of +the garden. Oh! take me back to my garden! Take me back to my garden!’ + +“I dreamt often of the garden. I may have added to it, I may have +changed it; I do not know . . . . . All this you understand is an +attempt to reconstruct from fragmentary memories a very early +experience. Between that and the other consecutive memories of my +boyhood there is a gulf. A time came when it seemed impossible I should +ever speak of that wonder glimpse again.” + +I asked an obvious question. + +“No,” he said. “I don’t remember that I ever attempted to find my way +back to the garden in those early years. This seems odd to me now, but +I think that very probably a closer watch was kept on my movements +after this misadventure to prevent my going astray. No, it wasn’t until +you knew me that I tried for the garden again. And I believe there was +a period—incredible as it seems now—when I forgot the garden +altogether—when I was about eight or nine it may have been. Do you +remember me as a kid at Saint Athelstan’s?” + +“Rather!” + +“I didn’t show any signs did I in those days of having a secret dream?” + +II + +He looked up with a sudden smile. + +“Did you ever play North-West Passage with me? . . . . . No, of course +you didn’t come my way!” + +“It was the sort of game,” he went on, “that every imaginative child +plays all day. The idea was the discovery of a North-West Passage to +school. The way to school was plain enough; the game consisted in +finding some way that wasn’t plain, starting off ten minutes early in +some almost hopeless direction, and working one’s way round through +unaccustomed streets to my goal. And one day I got entangled among some +rather low-class streets on the other side of Campden Hill, and I began +to think that for once the game would be against me and that I should +get to school late. I tried rather desperately a street that seemed a +_cul de sac_, and found a passage at the end. I hurried through that +with renewed hope. ‘I shall do it yet,’ I said, and passed a row of +frowsy little shops that were inexplicably familiar to me, and behold! +there was my long white wall and the green door that led to the +enchanted garden! + +“The thing whacked upon me suddenly. Then, after all, that garden, that +wonderful garden, wasn’t a dream!” . . . . + +He paused. + +“I suppose my second experience with the green door marks the world of +difference there is between the busy life of a schoolboy and the +infinite leisure of a child. Anyhow, this second time I didn’t for a +moment think of going in straight away. You see . . . For one thing my +mind was full of the idea of getting to school in time—set on not +breaking my record for punctuality. I must surely have felt _some_ +little desire at least to try the door—yes, I must have felt that . . . +. . But I seem to remember the attraction of the door mainly as another +obstacle to my overmastering determination to get to school. I was +immediately interested by this discovery I had made, of course—I went +on with my mind full of it—but I went on. It didn’t check me. I ran +past tugging out my watch, found I had ten minutes still to spare, and +then I was going downhill into familiar surroundings. I got to school, +breathless, it is true, and wet with perspiration, but in time. I can +remember hanging up my coat and hat . . . Went right by it and left it +behind me. Odd, eh?” + +He looked at me thoughtfully. “Of course, I didn’t know then that it +wouldn’t always be there. School boys have limited imaginations. I +suppose I thought it was an awfully jolly thing to have it there, to +know my way back to it, but there was the school tugging at me. I +expect I was a good deal distraught and inattentive that morning, +recalling what I could of the beautiful strange people I should +presently see again. Oddly enough I had no doubt in my mind that they +would be glad to see me . . . Yes, I must have thought of the garden +that morning just as a jolly sort of place to which one might resort in +the interludes of a strenuous scholastic career. + +“I didn’t go that day at all. The next day was a half holiday, and that +may have weighed with me. Perhaps, too, my state of inattention brought +down impositions upon me and docked the margin of time necessary for +the detour. I don’t know. What I do know is that in the meantime the +enchanted garden was so much upon my mind that I could not keep it to +myself. + +“I told—What was his name?—a ferrety-looking youngster we used to call +Squiff.” + +“Young Hopkins,” said I. + +“Hopkins it was. I did not like telling him, I had a feeling that in +some way it was against the rules to tell him, but I did. He was +walking part of the way home with me; he was talkative, and if we had +not talked about the enchanted garden we should have talked of +something else, and it was intolerable to me to think about any other +subject. So I blabbed. + +“Well, he told my secret. The next day in the play interval I found +myself surrounded by half a dozen bigger boys, half teasing and wholly +curious to hear more of the enchanted garden. There was that big +Fawcett—you remember him?—and Carnaby and Morley Reynolds. You weren’t +there by any chance? No, I think I should have remembered if you were . +. . . . + +“A boy is a creature of odd feelings. I was, I really believe, in spite +of my secret self-disgust, a little flattered to have the attention of +these big fellows. I remember particularly a moment of pleasure caused +by the praise of Crawshaw—you remember Crawshaw major, the son of +Crawshaw the composer?—who said it was the best lie he had ever heard. +But at the same time there was a really painful undertow of shame at +telling what I felt was indeed a sacred secret. That beast Fawcett made +a joke about the girl in green—.” + +Wallace’s voice sank with the keen memory of that shame. “I pretended +not to hear,” he said. “Well, then Carnaby suddenly called me a young +liar and disputed with me when I said the thing was true. I said I knew +where to find the green door, could lead them all there in ten minutes. +Carnaby became outrageously virtuous, and said I’d have to—and bear out +my words or suffer. Did you ever have Carnaby twist your arm? Then +perhaps you’ll understand how it went with me. I swore my story was +true. There was nobody in the school then to save a chap from Carnaby +though Crawshaw put in a word or so. Carnaby had got his game. I grew +excited and red-eared, and a little frightened, I behaved altogether +like a silly little chap, and the outcome of it all was that instead of +starting alone for my enchanted garden, I led the way presently—cheeks +flushed, ears hot, eyes smarting, and my soul one burning misery and +shame—for a party of six mocking, curious and threatening +school-fellows. + +“We never found the white wall and the green door . . .” + +“You mean?—” + +“I mean I couldn’t find it. I would have found it if I could. + +“And afterwards when I could go alone I couldn’t find it. I never found +it. I seem now to have been always looking for it through my school-boy +days, but I’ve never come upon it again.” + +“Did the fellows—make it disagreeable?” + +“Beastly . . . . . Carnaby held a council over me for wanton lying. I +remember how I sneaked home and upstairs to hide the marks of my +blubbering. But when I cried myself to sleep at last it wasn’t for +Carnaby, but for the garden, for the beautiful afternoon I had hoped +for, for the sweet friendly women and the waiting playfellows and the +game I had hoped to learn again, that beautiful forgotten game . . . . +. + +“I believed firmly that if I had not told— . . . . . I had bad times +after that—crying at night and wool-gathering by day. For two terms I +slackened and had bad reports. Do you remember? Of course you would! It +was _you_—your beating me in mathematics that brought me back to the +grind again.” + +III + +For a time my friend stared silently into the red heart of the fire. +Then he said: “I never saw it again until I was seventeen. + +“It leapt upon me for the third time—as I was driving to Paddington on +my way to Oxford and a scholarship. I had just one momentary glimpse. I +was leaning over the apron of my hansom smoking a cigarette, and no +doubt thinking myself no end of a man of the world, and suddenly there +was the door, the wall, the dear sense of unforgettable and still +attainable things. + +“We clattered by—I too taken by surprise to stop my cab until we were +well past and round a corner. Then I had a queer moment, a double and +divergent movement of my will: I tapped the little door in the roof of +the cab, and brought my arm down to pull out my watch. ‘Yes, sir!’ said +the cabman, smartly. ‘Er—well—it’s nothing,’ I cried. ‘_My_ mistake! We +haven’t much time! Go on!’ and he went on . . . + +“I got my scholarship. And the night after I was told of that I sat +over my fire in my little upper room, my study, in my father’s house, +with his praise—his rare praise—and his sound counsels ringing in my +ears, and I smoked my favourite pipe—the formidable bulldog of +adolescence—and thought of that door in the long white wall. ‘If I had +stopped,’ I thought, ‘I should have missed my scholarship, I should +have missed Oxford—muddled all the fine career before me! I begin to +see things better!’ I fell musing deeply, but I did not doubt then this +career of mine was a thing that merited sacrifice. + +“Those dear friends and that clear atmosphere seemed very sweet to me, +very fine, but remote. My grip was fixing now upon the world. I saw +another door opening—the door of my career.” + +He stared again into the fire. Its red lights picked out a stubborn +strength in his face for just one flickering moment, and then it +vanished again. + +“Well”, he said and sighed, “I have served that career. I have +done—much work, much hard work. But I have dreamt of the enchanted +garden a thousand dreams, and seen its door, or at least glimpsed its +door, four times since then. Yes—four times. For a while this world was +so bright and interesting, seemed so full of meaning and opportunity +that the half-effaced charm of the garden was by comparison gentle and +remote. Who wants to pat panthers on the way to dinner with pretty +women and distinguished men? I came down to London from Oxford, a man +of bold promise that I have done something to redeem. Something—and yet +there have been disappointments . . . . . + +“Twice I have been in love—I will not dwell on that—but once, as I went +to someone who, I know, doubted whether I dared to come, I took a short +cut at a venture through an unfrequented road near Earl’s Court, and so +happened on a white wall and a familiar green door. ‘Odd!’ said I to +myself, ‘but I thought this place was on Campden Hill. It’s the place I +never could find somehow—like counting Stonehenge—the place of that +queer day dream of mine.’ And I went by it intent upon my purpose. It +had no appeal to me that afternoon. + +“I had just a moment’s impulse to try the door, three steps aside were +needed at the most—though I was sure enough in my heart that it would +open to me—and then I thought that doing so might delay me on the way +to that appointment in which I thought my honour was involved. +Afterwards I was sorry for my punctuality—I might at least have peeped +in I thought, and waved a hand to those panthers, but I knew enough by +this time not to seek again belatedly that which is not found by +seeking. Yes, that time made me very sorry . . . . . + +“Years of hard work after that and never a sight of the door. It’s only +recently it has come back to me. With it there has come a sense as +though some thin tarnish had spread itself over my world. I began to +think of it as a sorrowful and bitter thing that I should never see +that door again. Perhaps I was suffering a little from overwork—perhaps +it was what I’ve heard spoken of as the feeling of forty. I don’t know. +But certainly the keen brightness that makes effort easy has gone out +of things recently, and that just at a time with all these new +political developments—when I ought to be working. Odd, isn’t it? But I +do begin to find life toilsome, its rewards, as I come near them, +cheap. I began a little while ago to want the garden quite badly. +Yes—and I’ve seen it three times.” + +“The garden?” + +“No—the door! And I haven’t gone in!” + +He leaned over the table to me, with an enormous sorrow in his voice as +he spoke. “Thrice I have had my chance—_thrice!_ If ever that door +offers itself to me again, I swore, I will go in out of this dust and +heat, out of this dry glitter of vanity, out of these toilsome +futilities. I will go and never return. This time I will stay . . . . . +I swore it and when the time came—_I didn’t go_. + +“Three times in one year have I passed that door and failed to enter. +Three times in the last year. + +“The first time was on the night of the snatch division on the Tenants’ +Redemption Bill, on which the Government was saved by a majority of +three. You remember? No one on our side—perhaps very few on the +opposite side—expected the end that night. Then the debate collapsed +like eggshells. I and Hotchkiss were dining with his cousin at +Brentford, we were both unpaired, and we were called up by telephone, +and set off at once in his cousin’s motor. We got in barely in time, +and on the way we passed my wall and door—livid in the moonlight, +blotched with hot yellow as the glare of our lamps lit it, but +unmistakable. ‘My God!’ cried I. ‘What?’ said Hotchkiss. ‘Nothing!’ I +answered, and the moment passed. + +“‘I’ve made a great sacrifice,’ I told the whip as I got in. They all +have,’ he said, and hurried by. + +“I do not see how I could have done otherwise then. And the next +occasion was as I rushed to my father’s bedside to bid that stern old +man farewell. Then, too, the claims of life were imperative. But the +third time was different; it happened a week ago. It fills me with hot +remorse to recall it. I was with Gurker and Ralphs—it’s no secret now +you know that I’ve had my talk with Gurker. We had been dining at +Frobisher’s, and the talk had become intimate between us. The question +of my place in the reconstructed ministry lay always just over the +boundary of the discussion. Yes—yes. That’s all settled. It needn’t be +talked about yet, but there’s no reason to keep a secret from you . . . +. . Yes—thanks! thanks! But let me tell you my story. + +“Then, on that night things were very much in the air. My position was +a very delicate one. I was keenly anxious to get some definite word +from Gurker, but was hampered by Ralphs’ presence. I was using the best +power of my brain to keep that light and careless talk not too +obviously directed to the point that concerns me. I had to. Ralphs’ +behaviour since has more than justified my caution . . . . . Ralphs, I +knew, would leave us beyond the Kensington High Street, and then I +could surprise Gurker by a sudden frankness. One has sometimes to +resort to these little devices. . . . . And then it was that in the +margin of my field of vision I became aware once more of the white +wall, the green door before us down the road. + +“We passed it talking. I passed it. I can still see the shadow of +Gurker’s marked profile, his opera hat tilted forward over his +prominent nose, the many folds of his neck wrap going before my shadow +and Ralphs’ as we sauntered past. + +“I passed within twenty inches of the door. ‘If I say good-night to +them, and go in,’ I asked myself, ‘what will happen?’ And I was all +a-tingle for that word with Gurker. + +“I could not answer that question in the tangle of my other problems. +‘They will think me mad,’ I thought. ‘And suppose I vanish now!—Amazing +disappearance of a prominent politician!’ That weighed with me. A +thousand inconceivably petty worldlinesses weighed with me in that +crisis.” + +Then he turned on me with a sorrowful smile, and, speaking slowly; +“Here I am!” he said. + +“Here I am!” he repeated, “and my chance has gone from me. Three times +in one year the door has been offered me—the door that goes into peace, +into delight, into a beauty beyond dreaming, a kindness no man on earth +can know. And I have rejected it, Redmond, and it has gone—” + +“How do you know?” + +“I know. I know. I am left now to work it out, to stick to the tasks +that held me so strongly when my moments came. You say, I have +success—this vulgar, tawdry, irksome, envied thing. I have it.” He had +a walnut in his big hand. “If that was my success,” he said, and +crushed it, and held it out for me to see. + +“Let me tell you something, Redmond. This loss is destroying me. For +two months, for ten weeks nearly now, I have done no work at all, +except the most necessary and urgent duties. My soul is full of +inappeasable regrets. At nights—when it is less likely I shall be +recognised—I go out. I wander. Yes. I wonder what people would think of +that if they knew. A Cabinet Minister, the responsible head of that +most vital of all departments, wandering alone—grieving—sometimes near +audibly lamenting—for a door, for a garden!” + +IV + +I can see now his rather pallid face, and the unfamiliar sombre fire +that had come into his eyes. I see him very vividly to-night. I sit +recalling his words, his tones, and last evening’s _Westminster +Gazette_ still lies on my sofa, containing the notice of his death. At +lunch to-day the club was busy with him and the strange riddle of his +fate. + +They found his body very early yesterday morning in a deep excavation +near East Kensington Station. It is one of two shafts that have been +made in connection with an extension of the railway southward. It is +protected from the intrusion of the public by a hoarding upon the high +road, in which a small doorway has been cut for the convenience of some +of the workmen who live in that direction. The doorway was left +unfastened through a misunderstanding between two gangers, and through +it he made his way . . . . . + +My mind is darkened with questions and riddles. + +It would seem he walked all the way from the House that night—he has +frequently walked home during the past Session—and so it is I figure +his dark form coming along the late and empty streets, wrapped up, +intent. And then did the pale electric lights near the station cheat +the rough planking into a semblance of white? Did that fatal unfastened +door awaken some memory? + +Was there, after all, ever any green door in the wall at all? + +I do not know. I have told his story as he told it to me. There are +times when I believe that Wallace was no more than the victim of the +coincidence between a rare but not unprecedented type of hallucination +and a careless trap, but that indeed is not my profoundest belief. You +may think me superstitious if you will, and foolish; but, indeed, I am +more than half convinced that he had in truth, an abnormal gift, and a +sense, something—I know not what—that in the guise of wall and door +offered him an outlet, a secret and peculiar passage of escape into +another and altogether more beautiful world. At any rate, you will say, +it betrayed him in the end. But did it betray him? There you touch the +inmost mystery of these dreamers, these men of vision and the +imagination. We see our world fair and common, the hoarding and the +pit. By our daylight standard he walked out of security into darkness, +danger and death. But did he see like that? + + + + +THE STAR + + +It was on the first day of the New Year that the announcement was made, +almost simultaneously from three observatories, that the motion of the +planet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets that wheel about the +sun, had become very erratic. Ogilvy had already called attention to a +suspected retardation in its velocity in December. Such a piece of news +was scarcely calculated to interest a world the greater portion of +whose inhabitants were unaware of the existence of the planet Neptune, +nor outside the astronomical profession did the subsequent discovery of +a faint remote speck of light in the region of the perturbed planet +cause any very great excitement. Scientific people, however, found the +intelligence remarkable enough, even before it became known that the +new body was rapidly growing larger and brighter, that its motion was +quite different from the orderly progress of the planets, and that the +deflection of Neptune and its satellite was becoming now of an +unprecedented kind. + +Few people without a training in science can realise the huge isolation +of the solar system. The sun with its specks of planets, its dust of +planetoids, and its impalpable comets, swims in a vacant immensity that +almost defeats the imagination. Beyond the orbit of Neptune there is +space, vacant so far as human observation has penetrated, without +warmth or light or sound, blank emptiness, for twenty million times a +million miles. That is the smallest estimate of the distance to be +traversed before the very nearest of the stars is attained. And, saving +a few comets more unsubstantial than the thinnest flame, no matter had +ever to human knowledge crossed this gulf of space, until early in the +twentieth century this strange wanderer appeared. A vast mass of matter +it was, bulky, heavy, rushing without warning out of the black mystery +of the sky into the radiance of the sun. By the second day it was +clearly visible to any decent instrument, as a speck with a barely +sensible diameter, in the constellation Leo near Regulus. In a little +while an opera glass could attain it. + +On the third day of the new year the newspaper readers of two +hemispheres were made aware for the first time of the real importance +of this unusual apparition in the heavens. “A Planetary Collision,” one +London paper headed the news, and proclaimed Duchaine’s opinion that +this strange new planet would probably collide with Neptune. The leader +writers enlarged upon the topic; so that in most of the capitals of the +world, on January 3rd, there was an expectation, however vague of some +imminent phenomenon in the sky; and as the night followed the sunset +round the globe, thousands of men turned their eyes skyward to see—the +old familiar stars just as they had always been. + +Until it was dawn in London and Pollux setting and the stars overhead +grown pale. The Winter’s dawn it was, a sickly filtering accumulation +of daylight, and the light of gas and candles shone yellow in the +windows to show where people were astir. But the yawning policeman saw +the thing, the busy crowds in the markets stopped agape, workmen going +to their work betimes, milkmen, the drivers of news-carts, dissipation +going home jaded and pale, homeless wanderers, sentinels on their +beats, and in the country, labourers trudging afield, poachers slinking +home, all over the dusky quickening country it could be seen—and out at +sea by seamen watching for the day—a great white star, come suddenly +into the westward sky! + +Brighter it was than any star in our skies; brighter than the evening +star at its brightest. It still glowed out white and large, no mere +twinkling spot of light, but a small round clear shining disc, an hour +after the day had come. And where science has not reached, men stared +and feared, telling one another of the wars and pestilences that are +foreshadowed by these fiery signs in the Heavens. Sturdy Boers, dusky +Hottentots, Gold Coast Negroes, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, stood +in the warmth of the sunrise watching the setting of this strange new +star. + +And in a hundred observatories there had been suppressed excitement, +rising almost to shouting pitch, as the two remote bodies had rushed +together; and a hurrying to and fro, to gather photographic apparatus +and spectroscope, and this appliance and that, to record this novel +astonishing sight, the destruction of a world. For it was a world, a +sister planet of our earth, far greater than our earth indeed, that had +so suddenly flashed into flaming death. Neptune it was, had been +struck, fairly and squarely, by the strange planet from outer space and +the heat of the concussion had incontinently turned two solid globes +into one vast mass of incandescence. Round the world that day, two +hours before the dawn, went the pallid great white star, fading only as +it sank westward and the sun mounted above it. Everywhere men marvelled +at it, but of all those who saw it none could have marvelled more than +those sailors, habitual watchers of the stars, who far away at sea had +heard nothing of its advent and saw it now rise like a pigmy moon and +climb zenithward and hang overhead and sink westward with the passing +of the night. + +And when next it rose over Europe everywhere were crowds of watchers on +hilly slopes, on house-roofs, in open spaces, staring eastward for the +rising of the great new star. It rose with a white glow in front of it, +like the glare of a white fire, and those who had seen it come into +existence the night before cried out at the sight of it. “It is +larger,” they cried. “It is brighter!” And, indeed the moon a quarter +full and sinking in the west was in its apparent size beyond +comparison, but scarcely in all its breadth had it as much brightness +now as the little circle of the strange new star. + +“It is brighter!” cried the people clustering in the streets. But in +the dim observatories the watchers held their breath and peered at one +another. “_It is nearer_,” they said. “_Nearer!_” + +And voice after voice repeated, “It is nearer,” and the clicking +telegraph took that up, and it trembled along telephone wires, and in a +thousand cities grimy compositors fingered the type. “It is nearer.” +Men writing in offices, struck with a strange realisation, flung down +their pens, men talking in a thousand places suddenly came upon a +grotesque possibility in those words, “It is nearer.” It hurried along +wakening streets, it was shouted down the frost-stilled ways of quiet +villages; men who had read these things from the throbbing tape stood +in yellow-lit doorways shouting the news to the passersby. “It is +nearer.” Pretty women, flushed and glittering, heard the news told +jestingly between the dances, and feigned an intelligent interest they +did not feel. “Nearer! Indeed. How curious! How very, very clever +people must be to find out things like that!” + +Lonely tramps faring through the wintry night murmured those words to +comfort themselves—looking skyward. “It has need to be nearer, for the +night’s as cold as charity. Don’t seem much warmth from it if it _is_ +nearer, all the same.” + +“What is a new star to me?” cried the weeping woman kneeling beside her +dead. + +The schoolboy, rising early for his examination work, puzzled it out +for himself—with the great white star shining broad and bright through +the frost-flowers of his window. “Centrifugal, centripetal,” he said, +with his chin on his fist. “Stop a planet in its flight, rob it of its +centrifugal force, what then? Centripetal has it, and down it falls +into the sun! And this—! + +“Do _we_ come in the way? I wonder—” + +The light of that day went the way of its brethren, and with the later +watches of the frosty darkness rose the strange star again. And it was +now so bright that the waxing moon seemed but a pale yellow ghost of +itself, hanging huge in the sunset. In a South African City a great man +had married, and the streets were alight to welcome his return with his +bride. “Even the skies have illuminated,” said the flatterer. Under +Capricorn, two negro lovers, daring the wild beasts and evil spirits, +for love of one another, crouched together in a cane brake where the +fire-flies hovered. “That is our star,” they whispered, and felt +strangely comforted by the sweet brilliance of its light. + +The master mathematician sat in his private room and pushed the papers +from him. His calculations were already finished. In a small white +phial there still remained a little of the drug that had kept him awake +and active for four long nights. Each day, serene, explicit, patient as +ever, he had given his lecture to his students, and then had come back +at once to this momentous calculation. His face was grave, a little +drawn and hectic from his drugged activity. For some time he seemed +lost in thought. Then he went to the window, and the blind went up with +a click. Half way up the sky, over the clustering roofs, chimneys and +steeples of the city, hung the star. + +He looked at it as one might look into the eyes of a brave enemy. “You +may kill me,” he said after a silence. “But I can hold you—and all the +universe for that matter—in the grip of this little brain. I would not +change. Even now.” + +He looked at the little phial. “There will be no need of sleep again,” +he said. The next day at noon—punctual to the minute, he entered his +lecture theatre, put his hat on the end of the table as his habit was, +and carefully selected a large piece of chalk. It was a joke among his +students that he could not lecture without that piece of chalk to +fumble in his fingers, and once he had been stricken to impotence by +their hiding his supply. He came and looked under his grey eyebrows at +the rising tiers of young fresh faces, and spoke with his accustomed +studied commonness of phrasing. “Circumstances have +arisen—circumstances beyond my control,” he said and paused, “which +will debar me from completing the course I had designed. It would seem, +gentlemen, if I may put the thing clearly and briefly, that—Man has +lived in vain.” + +The students glanced at one another. Had they heard aright? Mad? Raised +eyebrows and grinning lips there were, but one or two faces remained +intent upon his calm grey-fringed face. “It will be interesting,” he +was saying, “to devote this morning to an exposition, so far as I can +make it clear to you, of the calculations that have led me to this +conclusion. Let us assume—” + +He turned towards the blackboard, meditating a diagram in the way that +was usual to him. “What was that about ‘lived in vain?’” whispered one +student to another. “Listen,” said the other, nodding towards the +lecturer. + +And presently they began to understand. + +That night the star rose later, for its proper eastward motion had +carried it some way across Leo towards Virgo, and its brightness was so +great that the sky became a luminous blue as it rose, and every star +was hidden in its turn, save only Jupiter near the zenith, Capella, +Aldebaran, Sirius and the pointers of the Bear. It was very white and +beautiful. In many parts of the world that night a pallid halo +encircled it about. It was perceptibly larger; in the clear refractive +sky of the tropics it seemed as if it were nearly a quarter the size of +the moon. The frost was still on the ground in England, but the world +was as brightly lit as if it were midsummer moonlight. One could see to +read quite ordinary print by that cold clear light, and in the cities +the lamps burnt yellow and wan. + +And everywhere the world was awake that night, and throughout +Christendom a sombre murmur hung in the keen air over the country side +like the belling of bees in the heather, and this murmurous tumult grew +to a clangour in the cities. It was the tolling of the bells in a +million belfry towers and steeples, summoning the people to sleep no +more, to sin no more, but to gather in their churches and pray. And +overhead, growing larger and brighter as the earth rolled on its way +and the night passed, rose the dazzling star. + +And the streets and houses were alight in all the cities, the shipyards +glared, and whatever roads led to high country were lit and crowded all +night long. And in all the seas about the civilised lands, ships with +throbbing engines, and ships with bellying sails, crowded with men and +living creatures, were standing out to ocean and the north. For already +the warning of the master mathematician had been telegraphed all over +the world, and translated into a hundred tongues. The new planet and +Neptune, locked in a fiery embrace, were whirling headlong, ever faster +and faster towards the sun. Already every second this blazing mass flew +a hundred miles, and every second its terrific velocity increased. As +it flew now, indeed, it must pass a hundred million of miles wide of +the earth and scarcely affect it. But near its destined path, as yet +only slightly perturbed, spun the mighty planet Jupiter and his moons +sweeping splendid round the sun. Every moment now the attraction +between the fiery star and the greatest of the planets grew stronger. +And the result of that attraction? Inevitably Jupiter would be +deflected from its orbit into an elliptical path, and the burning star, +swung by his attraction wide of its sunward rush, would “describe a +curved path” and perhaps collide with, and certainly pass very close +to, our earth. “Earthquakes, volcanic outbreaks, cyclones, sea waves, +floods, and a steady rise in temperature to I know not what limit”—so +prophesied the master mathematician. + +And overhead, to carry out his words, lonely and cold and livid, blazed +the star of the coming doom. + +To many who stared at it that night until their eyes ached, it seemed +that it was visibly approaching. And that night, too, the weather +changed, and the frost that had gripped all Central Europe and France +and England softened towards a thaw. + +But you must not imagine because I have spoken of people praying +through the night and people going aboard ships and people fleeing +toward mountainous country that the whole world was already in a terror +because of the star. As a matter of fact, use and wont still ruled the +world, and save for the talk of idle moments and the splendour of the +night, nine human beings out of ten were still busy at their common +occupations. In all the cities the shops, save one here and there, +opened and closed at their proper hours, the doctor and the undertaker +plied their trades, the workers gathered in the factories, soldiers +drilled, scholars studied, lovers sought one another, thieves lurked +and fled, politicians planned their schemes. The presses of the +newspapers roared through the night, and many a priest of this church +and that would not open his holy building to further what he considered +a foolish panic. The newspapers insisted on the lesson of the year +1000—for then, too, people had anticipated the end. The star was no +star—mere gas—a comet; and were it a star it could not possibly strike +the earth. There was no precedent for such a thing. Common sense was +sturdy everywhere, scornful, jesting, a little inclined to persecute +the obdurate fearful. That night, at seven-fifteen by Greenwich time, +the star would be at its nearest to Jupiter. Then the world would see +the turn things would take. The master mathematician’s grim warnings +were treated by many as so much mere elaborate self-advertisement. +Common sense at last, a little heated by argument, signified its +unalterable convictions by going to bed. So, too, barbarism and +savagery, already tired of the novelty, went about their nightly +business, and save for a howling dog here and there, the beast world +left the star unheeded. + +And yet, when at last the watchers in the European States saw the star +rise, an hour later it is true, but no larger than it had been the +night before, there were still plenty awake to laugh at the master +mathematician—to take the danger as if it had passed. + +But hereafter the laughter ceased. The star grew—it grew with a +terrible steadiness hour after hour, a little larger each hour, a +little nearer the midnight zenith, and brighter and brighter, until it +had turned night into a second day. Had it come straight to the earth +instead of in a curved path, had it lost no velocity to Jupiter, it +must have leapt the intervening gulf in a day, but as it was it took +five days altogether to come by our planet. The next night it had +become a third the size of the moon before it set to English eyes, and +the thaw was assured. It rose over America near the size of the moon, +but blinding white to look at, and _hot_; and a breath of hot wind blew +now with its rising and gathering strength, and in Virginia, and +Brazil, and down the St. Lawrence valley, it shone intermittently +through a driving reek of thunder-clouds, flickering violet lightning, +and hail unprecedented. In Manitoba was a thaw and devastating floods. +And upon all the mountains of the earth the snow and ice began to melt +that night, and all the rivers coming out of high country flowed thick +and turbid, and soon—in their upper reaches—with swirling trees and the +bodies of beasts and men. They rose steadily, steadily in the ghostly +brilliance, and came trickling over their banks at last, behind the +flying population of their valleys. + +And along the coast of Argentina and up the South Atlantic the tides +were higher than had ever been in the memory of man, and the storms +drove the waters in many cases scores of miles inland, drowning whole +cities. And so great grew the heat during the night that the rising of +the sun was like the coming of a shadow. The earthquakes began and grew +until all down America from the Arctic Circle to Cape Horn, hillsides +were sliding, fissures were opening, and houses and walls crumbling to +destruction. The whole side of Cotopaxi slipped out in one vast +convulsion, and a tumult of lava poured out so high and broad and swift +and liquid that in one day it reached the sea. + +So the star, with the wan moon in its wake, marched across the Pacific, +trailed the thunderstorms like the hem of a robe, and the growing tidal +wave that toiled behind it, frothing and eager, poured over island and +island and swept them clear of men. Until that wave came at last—in a +blinding light and with the breath of a furnace, swift and terrible it +came—a wall of water, fifty feet high, roaring hungrily, upon the long +coasts of Asia, and swept inland across the plains of China. For a +space the star, hotter now and larger and brighter than the sun in its +strength, showed with pitiless brilliance the wide and populous +country; towns and villages with their pagodas and trees, roads, wide +cultivated fields, millions of sleepless people staring in helpless +terror at the incandescent sky; and then, low and growing, came the +murmur of the flood. And thus it was with millions of men that night—a +flight nowhither, with limbs heavy with heat and breath fierce and +scant, and the flood like a wall swift and white behind. And then +death. + +China was lit glowing white, but over Japan and Java and all the +islands of Eastern Asia the great star was a ball of dull red fire +because of the steam and smoke and ashes the volcanoes were spouting +forth to salute its coming. Above was the lava, hot gases and ash, and +below the seething floods, and the whole earth swayed and rumbled with +the earthquake shocks. Soon the immemorial snows of Thibet and the +Himalaya were melting and pouring down by ten million deepening +converging channels upon the plains of Burmah and Hindostan. The +tangled summits of the Indian jungles were aflame in a thousand places, +and below the hurrying waters around the stems were dark objects that +still struggled feebly and reflected the blood-red tongues of fire. And +in a rudderless confusion a multitude of men and women fled down the +broad river-ways to that one last hope of men—the open sea. + +Larger grew the star, and larger, hotter, and brighter with a terrible +swiftness now. The tropical ocean had lost its phosphorescence, and the +whirling steam rose in ghostly wreaths from the black waves that +plunged incessantly, speckled with storm-tossed ships. + +And then came a wonder. It seemed to those who in Europe watched for +the rising of the star that the world must have ceased its rotation. In +a thousand open spaces of down and upland the people who had fled +thither from the floods and the falling houses and sliding slopes of +hill watched for that rising in vain. Hour followed hour through a +terrible suspense, and the star rose not. Once again men set their eyes +upon the old constellations they had counted lost to them forever. In +England it was hot and clear overhead, though the ground quivered +perpetually, but in the tropics, Sirius and Capella and Aldebaran +showed through a veil of steam. And when at last the great star rose +near ten hours late, the sun rose close upon it, and in the centre of +its white heart was a disc of black. + +Over Asia it was the star had begun to fall behind the movement of the +sky, and then suddenly, as it hung over India, its light had been +veiled. All the plain of India from the mouth of the Indus to the +mouths of the Ganges was a shallow waste of shining water that night, +out of which rose temples and palaces, mounds and hills, black with +people. Every minaret was a clustering mass of people, who fell one by +one into the turbid waters, as heat and terror overcame them. The whole +land seemed a-wailing and suddenly there swept a shadow across that +furnace of despair, and a breath of cold wind, and a gathering of +clouds, out of the cooling air. Men looking up, near blinded, at the +star, saw that a black disc was creeping across the light. It was the +moon, coming between the star and the earth. And even as men cried to +God at this respite, out of the East with a strange inexplicable +swiftness sprang the sun. And then star, sun and moon rushed together +across the heavens. + +So it was that presently, to the European watchers, star and sun rose +close upon each other, drove headlong for a space and then slower, and +at last came to rest, star and sun merged into one glare of flame at +the zenith of the sky. The moon no longer eclipsed the star but was +lost to sight in the brilliance of the sky. And though those who were +still alive regarded it for the most part with that dull stupidity that +hunger, fatigue, heat and despair engender, there were still men who +could perceive the meaning of these signs. Star and earth had been at +their nearest, had swung about one another, and the star had passed. +Already it was receding, swifter and swifter, in the last stage of its +headlong journey downward into the sun. + +And then the clouds gathered, blotting out the vision of the sky, the +thunder and lightning wove a garment round the world; all over the +earth was such a downpour of rain as men had never before seen, and +where the volcanoes flared red against the cloud canopy there descended +torrents of mud. Everywhere the waters were pouring off the land, +leaving mud-silted ruins, and the earth littered like a storm-worn +beach with all that had floated, and the dead bodies of the men and +brutes, its children. For days the water streamed off the land, +sweeping away soil and trees and houses in the way, and piling huge +dykes and scooping out Titanic gullies over the country side. Those +were the days of darkness that followed the star and the heat. All +through them, and for many weeks and months, the earthquakes continued. + +But the star had passed, and men, hunger-driven and gathering courage +only slowly, might creep back to their ruined cities, buried granaries, +and sodden fields. Such few ships as had escaped the storms of that +time came stunned and shattered and sounding their way cautiously +through the new marks and shoals of once familiar ports. And as the +storms subsided men perceived that everywhere the days were hotter than +of yore, and the sun larger, and the moon, shrunk to a third of its +former size, took now fourscore days between its new and new. + +But of the new brotherhood that grew presently among men, of the saving +of laws and books and machines, of the strange change that had come +over Iceland and Greenland and the shores of Baffin’s Bay, so that the +sailors coming there presently found them green and gracious, and could +scarce believe their eyes, this story does not tell. Nor of the +movement of mankind now that the earth was hotter, northward and +southward towards the poles of the earth. It concerns itself only with +the coming and the passing of the Star. + +The Martian astronomers—for there are astronomers on Mars, although +they are very different beings from men—were naturally profoundly +interested by these things. They saw them from their own standpoint of +course. “Considering the mass and temperature of the missile that was +flung through our solar system into the sun,” one wrote, “it is +astonishing what a little damage the earth, which it missed so +narrowly, has sustained. All the familiar continental markings and the +masses of the seas remain intact, and indeed the only difference seems +to be a shrinkage of the white discoloration (supposed to be frozen +water) round either pole.” Which only shows how small the vastest of +human catastrophes may seem, at a distance of a few million miles. + + + + +A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON + + +The man with the white face entered the carriage at Rugby. He moved +slowly in spite of the urgency of his porter, and even while he was +still on the platform I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped into the +corner over against me with a sigh, made an incomplete attempt to +arrange his travelling shawl, and became motionless, with his eyes +staring vacantly. Presently he was moved by a sense of my observation, +looked up at me, and put out a spiritless hand for his newspaper. Then +he glanced again in my direction. + +I feigned to read. I feared I had unwittingly embarrassed him, and in a +moment I was surprised to find him speaking. + +“I beg your pardon?” said I. + +“That book,” he repeated, pointing a lean finger, “is about dreams.” + +“Obviously,” I answered, for it was Fortnum Roscoe’s Dream States, and +the title was on the cover. + +He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. “Yes,” he said at +last, “but they tell you nothing.” + +I did not catch his meaning for a second. + +“They don’t know,” he added. + +I looked a little more attentively at his face. + +“There are dreams,” he said, “and dreams.” + +That sort of proposition I never dispute. + +“I suppose—” he hesitated. “Do you ever dream? I mean vividly.” + +“I dream very little,” I answered. “I doubt if I have three vivid +dreams in a year.” + +“Ah!” he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his thoughts. + +“Your dreams don’t mix with your memories?” he asked abruptly. “You +don’t find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did it not?” + +“Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and then. I +suppose few people do.” + +“Does he say—?” He indicated the book. + +“Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation about +intensity of impression and the like to account for its not happening +as a rule. I suppose you know something of these theories—” + +“Very little—except that they are wrong.” + +His emaciated hand played with the strap of the window for a time. I +prepared to resume reading, and that seemed to precipitate his next +remark. He leant forward almost as though he would touch me. + +“Isn’t there something called consecutive dreaming—that goes on night +after night?” + +“I believe there is. There are cases given in most books on mental +trouble.” + +“Mental trouble! Yes. I daresay there are. It’s the right place for +them. But what I mean—” He looked at his bony knuckles. “Is that sort +of thing always dreaming? Is it dreaming? Or is it something else? +Mightn’t it be something else?” + +I should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the drawn +anxiety of his face. I remember now the look of his faded eyes and the +lids red stained—perhaps you know that look. + +“I’m not just arguing about a matter of opinion,” he said. “The thing’s +killing me.” + +“Dreams?” + +“If you call them dreams. Night after night. Vivid!—so vivid . . . . +this—” (he indicated the landscape that went streaming by the window) +“seems unreal in comparison! I can scarcely remember who I am, what +business I am on . . . .” + +He paused. “Even now—” + +“The dream is always the same—do you mean?” I asked. + +“It’s over.” + +“You mean?” + +“I died.” + +“Died?” + +“Smashed and killed, and now, so much of me as that dream was, is dead. +Dead forever. I dreamt I was another man, you know, living in a +different part of the world and in a different time. I dreamt that +night after night. Night after night I woke into that other life. Fresh +scenes and fresh happenings—until I came upon the last—” + +“When you died?” + +“When I died.” + +“And since then—” + +“No,” he said. “Thank God! That was the end of the dream . . .” + +It was clear I was in for this dream. And after all, I had an hour +before me, the light was fading fast, and Fortnum Roscoe has a dreary +way with him. “Living in a different time,” I said: “do you mean in +some different age?” + +“Yes.” + +“Past?” + +“No, to come—to come.” + +“The year three thousand, for example?” + +“I don’t know what year it was. I did when I was asleep, when I was +dreaming, that is, but not now—not now that I am awake. There’s a lot +of things I have forgotten since I woke out of these dreams, though I +knew them at the time when I was—I suppose it was dreaming. They called +the year differently from our way of calling the year . . . What did +they call it?” He put his hand to his forehead. “No,” said he, “I +forget.” + +He sat smiling weakly. For a moment I feared he did not mean to tell me +his dream. As a rule I hate people who tell their dreams, but this +struck me differently. I proffered assistance even. “It began—” I +suggested. + +“It was vivid from the first. I seemed to wake up in it suddenly. And +it’s curious that in these dreams I am speaking of I never remembered +this life I am living now. It seemed as if the dream life was enough +while it lasted. Perhaps—But I will tell you how I find myself when I +do my best to recall it all. I don’t remember anything clearly until I +found myself sitting in a sort of loggia looking out over the sea. I +had been dozing, and suddenly I woke up—fresh and vivid—not a bit +dreamlike—because the girl had stopped fanning me.” + +“The girl?” + +“Yes, the girl. You must not interrupt or you will put me out.” + +He stopped abruptly. “You won’t think I’m mad?” he said. + +“No,” I answered. “You’ve been dreaming. Tell me your dream.” + +“I woke up, I say, because the girl had stopped fanning me. I was not +surprised to find myself there or anything of that sort, you +understand. I did not feel I had fallen into it suddenly. I simply took +it up at that point. Whatever memory I had of this life, this +nineteenth-century life, faded as I woke, vanished like a dream. I knew +all about myself, knew that my name was no longer Cooper but Hedon, and +all about my position in the world. I’ve forgotten a lot since I +woke—there’s a want of connection—but it was all quite clear and matter +of fact then.” + +He hesitated again, gripping the window strap, putting his face forward +and looking up to me appealingly. + +“This seems bosh to you?” + +“No, no!” I cried. “Go on. Tell me what this loggia was like!” + +“It was not really a loggia—I don’t know what to call it. It faced +south. It was small. It was all in shadow except the semicircle above +the balcony that showed the sky and sea and the corner where the girl +stood. I was on a couch—it was a metal couch with light striped +cushions—and the girl was leaning over the balcony with her back to me. +The light of the sunrise fell on her ear and cheek. Her pretty white +neck and the little curls that nestled there, and her white shoulder +were in the sun, and all the grace of her body was in the cool blue +shadow. She was dressed—how can I describe it? It was easy and flowing. +And altogether there she stood, so that it came to me how beautiful and +desirable she was, as though I had never seen her before. And when at +last I sighed and raised myself upon my arm she turned her face to me—” + +He stopped. + +“I have lived three-and-fifty years in this world. I have had mother, +sisters, friends, wife and daughters—all their faces, the play of their +faces, I know. But the face of this girl—it is much more real to me. I +can bring it back into memory so that I see it again—I could draw it or +paint it. And after all—” + +He stopped—but I said nothing. + +“The face of a dream—the face of a dream. She was beautiful. Not that +beauty which is terrible, cold, and worshipful, like the beauty of a +saint; nor that beauty that stirs fierce passions; but a sort of +radiation, sweet lips that softened into smiles, and grave gray eyes. +And she moved gracefully, she seemed to have part with all pleasant and +gracious things—” + +He stopped, and his face was downcast and hidden. Then he looked up at +me and went on, making no further attempt to disguise his absolute +belief in the reality of his story. + +“You see, I had thrown up my plans and ambitions, thrown up all I had +ever worked for or desired for her sake. I had been a master man away +there in the north, with influence and property and a great reputation, +but none of it had seemed worth having beside her. I had come to the +place, this city of sunny pleasures with her, and left all those things +to wreck and ruin just to save a remnant at least of my life. While I +had been in love with her before I knew that she had any care for me, +before I had imagined that she would dare—that we should dare, all my +life had seemed vain and hollow, dust and ashes. It was dust and ashes. +Night after night and through the long days I had longed and desired—my +soul had beaten against the thing forbidden! + +“But it is impossible for one man to tell another just these things. +It’s emotion, it’s a tint, a light that comes and goes. Only while it’s +there, everything changes, everything. The thing is I came away and +left them in their Crisis to do what they could.” + +“Left whom?” I asked, puzzled. + +“The people up in the north there. You see—in this dream, anyhow—I had +been a big man, the sort of man men come to trust in, to group +themselves about. Millions of men who had never seen me were ready to +do things and risk things because of their confidence in me. I had been +playing that game for years, that big laborious game, that vague, +monstrous political game amidst intrigues and betrayals, speech and +agitation. It was a vast weltering world, and at last I had a sort of +leadership against the Gang—you know it was called the Gang—a sort of +compromise of scoundrelly projects and base ambitions and vast public +emotional stupidities and catch-words—the Gang that kept the world +noisy and blind year by year, and all the while that it was drifting, +drifting towards infinite disaster. But I can’t expect you to +understand the shades and complications of the year—the year something +or other ahead. I had it all—down to the smallest details—in my dream. +I suppose I had been dreaming of it before I awoke, and the fading +outline of some queer new development I had imagined still hung about +me as I rubbed my eyes. It was some grubby affair that made me thank +God for the sunlight. I sat up on the couch and remained looking at the +woman and rejoicing—rejoicing that I had come away out of all that +tumult and folly and violence before it was too late. After all, I +thought, this is life—love and beauty, desire and delight, are they not +worth all those dismal struggles for vague, gigantic ends? And I blamed +myself for having ever sought to be a leader when I might have given my +days to love. But then, thought I, if I had not spent my early days +sternly and austerely, I might have wasted myself upon vain and +worthless women, and at the thought all my being went out in love and +tenderness to my dear mistress, my dear lady, who had come at last and +compelled me—compelled me by her invincible charm for me—to lay that +life aside. + +“‘You are worth it,’ I said, speaking without intending her to hear; +‘you are worth it, my dearest one; worth pride and praise and all +things. Love! to have you is worth them all together.’ And at the +murmur of my voice she turned about. + +“‘Come and see,’ she cried—I can hear her now—‘come and see the sunrise +upon Monte Solaro.’ + +“I remember how I sprang to my feet and joined her at the balcony. She +put a white hand upon my shoulder and pointed towards great masses of +limestone, flushing, as it were, into life. I looked. But first I noted +the sunlight on her face caressing the lines of her cheeks and neck. +How can I describe to you the scene we had before us? We were at +Capri—” + +“I have been there,” I said. “I have clambered up Monte Solaro and +drunk vero Capri—muddy stuff like cider—at the summit.” + +“Ah!” said the man with the white face; “then perhaps you can tell +me—you will know if this is indeed Capri. For in this life I have never +been there. Let me describe it. We were in a little room, one of a vast +multitude of little rooms, very cool and sunny, hollowed out of the +limestone of a sort of cape, very high above the sea. The whole island, +you know, was one enormous hotel, complex beyond explaining, and on the +other side there were miles of floating hotels, and huge floating +stages to which the flying machines came. They called it a pleasure +city. Of course, there was none of that in your time—rather, I should +say, is none of that now. Of course. Now!—yes. + +“Well, this room of ours was at the extremity of the cape, so that one +could see east and west. Eastward was a great cliff—a thousand feet +high perhaps—coldly gray except for one bright edge of gold, and beyond +it the Isle of the Sirens, and a falling coast that faded and passed +into the hot sunrise. And when one turned to the west, distinct and +near was a little bay, a little beach still in shadow. And out of that +shadow rose Solaro straight and tall, flushed and golden crested, like +a beauty throned, and the white moon was floating behind her in the +sky. And before us from east to west stretched the many-tinted sea all +dotted with little sailing boats. + +“To the eastward, of course, these little boats were gray and very +minute and clear, but to the westward they were little boats of +gold—shining gold—almost like little flames. And just below us was a +rock with an arch worn through it. The blue sea-water broke to green +and foam all round the rock, and a galley came gliding out of the +arch.” + +“I know that rock.” I said. “I was nearly drowned there. It is called +the Faraglioni.” + +“I Faraglioni? Yes, she called it that,” answered the man with the +white face. “There was some story—but that—” + +He put his hand to his forehead again. “No,” he said, “I forget that +story.” + +“Well, that is the first thing I remember, the first dream I had, that +little shaded room and the beautiful air and sky and that dear lady of +mine, with her shining arms and her graceful robe, and how we sat and +talked in half whispers to one another. We talked in whispers not +because there was any one to hear, but because there was still such a +freshness of mind between us that our thoughts were a little +frightened, I think, to find themselves at last in words. And so they +went softly. + +“Presently we were hungry and we went from our apartment, going by a +strange passage with a moving floor, until we came to the great +breakfast room—there was a fountain and music. A pleasant and joyful +place it was, with its sunlight and splashing, and the murmur of +plucked strings. And we sat and ate and smiled at one another, and I +would not heed a man who was watching me from a table near by. + +“And afterwards we went on to the dancing-hall. But I cannot describe +that hall. The place was enormous—larger than any building you have +ever seen—and in one place there was the old gate of Capri, caught into +the wall of a gallery high overhead. Light girders, stems and threads +of gold, burst from the pillars like fountains, streamed like an Aurora +across the roof and interlaced, like—like conjuring tricks. All about +the great circle for the dancers there were beautiful figures, strange +dragons, and intricate and wonderful grotesques bearing lights. The +place was inundated with artificial light that shamed the newborn day. +And as we went through the throng the people turned about and looked at +us, for all through the world my name and face were known, and how I +had suddenly thrown up pride and struggle to come to this place. And +they looked also at the lady beside me, though half the story of how at +last she had come to me was unknown or mistold. And few of the men who +were there, I know, but judged me a happy man, in spite of all the +shame and dishonour that had come upon my name. + +“The air was full of music, full of harmonious scents, full of the +rhythm of beautiful motions. Thousands of beautiful people swarmed +about the hall, crowded the galleries, sat in a myriad recesses; they +were dressed in splendid colours and crowned with flowers; thousands +danced about the great circle beneath the white images of the ancient +gods, and glorious processions of youths and maidens came and went. We +two danced, not the dreary monotonies of your days—of this time, I +mean—but dances that were beautiful, intoxicating. And even now I can +see my lady dancing—dancing joyously. She danced, you know, with a +serious face; she danced with a serious dignity, and yet she was +smiling at me and caressing me—smiling and caressing with her eyes. + +“The music was different,” he murmured. “It went—I cannot describe it; +but it was infinitely richer and more varied than any music that has +ever come to me awake. + +“And then—it was when we had done dancing—a man came to speak to me. He +was a lean, resolute man, very soberly clad for that place, and already +I had marked his face watching me in the breakfasting hall, and +afterwards as we went along the passage I had avoided his eye. But now, +as we sat in a little alcove, smiling at the pleasure of all the people +who went to and fro across the shining floor, he came and touched me, +and spoke to me so that I was forced to listen. And he asked that he +might speak to me for a little time apart. + +“‘No,’ I said. ‘I have no secrets from this lady. What do you want to +tell me?’ + +“He said it was a trivial matter, or at least a dry matter, for a lady +to hear. + +“‘Perhaps for me to hear,’ said I. + +“He glanced at her, as though almost he would appeal to her. Then he +asked me suddenly if I had heard of a great and avenging declaration +that Evesham had made? Now, Evesham had always before been the man next +to myself in the leadership of that great party in the north. He was a +forcible, hard, and tactless man, and only I had been able to control +and soften him. It was on his account even more than my own, I think, +that the others had been so dismayed at my retreat. So this question +about what he had done reawakened my old interest in the life I had put +aside just for a moment. + +“‘I have taken no heed of any news for many days,’ I said. What has +Evesham been saying?’ + +“And with that the man began, nothing loth, and I must confess even I +was struck by Evesham’s reckless folly in the wild and threatening +words he had used. And this messenger they had sent to me not only told +me of Evesham’s speech, but went on to ask counsel and to point out +what need they had of me. While he talked, my lady sat a little forward +and watched his face and mine. + +“My old habits of scheming and organising reasserted themselves. I +could even see myself suddenly returning to the north, and all the +dramatic effect of it. All that this man said witnessed to the disorder +of the party indeed, but not to its damage. I should go back stronger +than I had come. And then I thought of my lady. You see—how can I tell +you? There were certain peculiarities of our relationship—as things are +I need not tell you about that—which would render her presence with me +impossible. I should have had to leave her; indeed, I should have had +to renounce her clearly and openly, if I was to do all that I could do +in the north. And the man knew that, even as he talked to her and me, +knew it as well as she did, that my steps to duty were—first, +separation, then abandonment. At the touch of that thought my dream of +a return was shattered. I turned on the man suddenly, as he was +imagining his eloquence was gaining ground with me. + +“‘What have I to do with these things now?’ I said. ‘I have done with +them. Do you think I am coquetting with your people in coming here?’ + +“‘No,’ he said. ‘But—’ + +“‘Why cannot you leave me alone. I have done with these things. I have +ceased to be anything but a private man.’ + +“‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘But have you thought?—this talk of war, these +reckless challenges, these wild aggressions—’ + +“I stood up. + +“‘No,’ I cried. ‘I won’t hear you. I took count of all those things, I +weighed them—and I have come away.’ + +“He seemed to consider the possibility of persistence. He looked from +me to where the lady sat regarding us. + +“‘War,’ he said, as if he were speaking to himself, and then turned +slowly from me and walked away. + +“I stood, caught in the whirl of thoughts his appeal had set going. + +“I heard my lady’s voice. + +“‘Dear,’ she said; ‘but if they had need of you—’ + +“She did not finish her sentence, she let it rest there. I turned to +her sweet face, and the balance of my mood swayed and reeled. + +“‘They want me only to do the thing they dare not do themselves,’ I +said. ‘If they distrust Evesham they must settle with him themselves.’ + +“She looked at me doubtfully. + +“‘But war—’ she said. + +“I saw a doubt on her face that I had seen before, a doubt of herself +and me, the first shadow of the discovery that, seen strongly and +completely, must drive us apart for ever. + +“Now, I was an older mind than hers, and I could sway her to this +belief or that. + +“‘My dear one,’ I said, ‘you must not trouble over these things. There +will be no war. Certainly there will be no war. The age of wars is +past. Trust me to know the justice of this case. They have no right +upon me, dearest, and no one has a right upon me. I have been free to +choose my life, and I have chosen this.’ + +“‘But war—,’ she said. + +“I sat down beside her. I put an arm behind her and took her hand in +mine. I set myself to drive that doubt away—I set myself to fill her +mind with pleasant things again. I lied to her, and in lying to her I +lied also to myself. And she was only too ready to believe me, only too +ready to forget. + +“Very soon the shadow had gone again, and we were hastening to our +bathing-place in the Grotta del Bovo Marino, where it was our custom to +bathe every day. We swam and splashed one another, and in that buoyant +water I seemed to become something lighter and stronger than a man. And +at last we came out dripping and rejoicing and raced among the rocks. +And then I put on a dry bathing-dress, and we sat to bask in the sun, +and presently I nodded, resting my head against her knee, and she put +her hand upon my hair and stroked it softly and I dozed. And behold! as +it were with the snapping of the string of a violin, I was awakening, +and I was in my own bed in Liverpool, in the life of to-day. + +“Only for a time I could not believe that all these vivid moments had +been no more than the substance of a dream. + +“In truth, I could not believe it a dream for all the sobering reality +of things about me. I bathed and dressed as it were by habit, and as I +shaved I argued why I of all men should leave the woman I loved to go +back to fantastic politics in the hard and strenuous north. Even if +Evesham did force the world back to war, what was that to me? I was a +man with the heart of a man, and why should I feel the responsibility +of a deity for the way the world might go? + +“You know that is not quite the way I think about affairs, about my +real affairs. I am a solicitor, you know, with a point of view. + +“The vision was so real, you must understand, so utterly unlike a dream +that I kept perpetually recalling little irrelevant details; even the +ornament of the book-cover that lay on my wife’s sewing-machine in the +breakfast-room recalled with the utmost vividness the gilt line that +ran about the seat in the alcove where I had talked with the messenger +from my deserted party. Have you ever heard of a dream that had a +quality like that?” + +“Like—?” + +“So that afterwards you remembered little details you had forgotten.” + +I thought. I had never noticed the point before, but he was right. + +“Never,” I said. “That is what you never seem to do with dreams.” + +“No,” he answered. “But that is just what I did. I am a solicitor, you +must understand, in Liverpool, and I could not help wondering what the +clients and business people I found myself talking to in my office +would think if I told them suddenly I was in love with a girl who would +be born a couple of hundred years or so hence, and worried about the +politics of my great-great-great-grandchildren. I was chiefly busy that +day negotiating a ninety-nine-year building lease. It was a private +builder in a hurry, and we wanted to tie him in every possible way. I +had an interview with him, and he showed a certain want of temper that +sent me to bed still irritated. That night I had no dream. Nor did I +dream the next night, at least, to remember. + +“Something of that intense reality of conviction vanished. I began to +feel sure it was a dream. And then it came again. + +“When the dream came again, nearly four days later, it was very +different. I think it certain that four days had also elapsed in the +dream. Many things had happened in the north, and the shadow of them +was back again between us, and this time it was not so easily +dispelled. I began I know with moody musings. Why, in spite of all, +should I go back, go back for all the rest of my days to toil and +stress, insults and perpetual dissatisfaction, simply to save hundreds +of millions of common people, whom I did not love, whom too often I +could do no other than despise, from the stress and anguish of war and +infinite misrule? And after all I might fail. They all sought their own +narrow ends, and why should not I—why should not I also live as a man? +And out of such thoughts her voice summoned me, and I lifted my eyes. + +“I found myself awake and walking. We had come out above the Pleasure +City, we were near the summit of Monte Solaro and looking towards the +bay. It was the late afternoon and very clear. Far away to the left +Ischia hung in a golden haze between sea and sky, and Naples was coldly +white against the hills, and before us was Vesuvius with a tall and +slender streamer feathering at last towards the south, and the ruins of +Torre dell’ Annunziata and Castellammare glittering and near.” + +I interrupted suddenly: “You have been to Capri, of course?” + +“Only in this dream,” he said, “only in this dream. All across the bay +beyond Sorrento were the floating palaces of the Pleasure City moored +and chained. And northward were the broad floating stages that received +the aeroplanes. Aeroplanes fell out of the sky every afternoon, each +bringing its thousands of pleasure-seekers from the uttermost parts of +the earth to Capri and its delights. All these things, I say, stretched +below. + +“But we noticed them only incidentally because of an unusual sight that +evening had to show. Five war aeroplanes that had long slumbered +useless in the distant arsenals of the Rhinemouth were manoeuvring now +in the eastward sky. Evesham had astonished the world by producing them +and others, and sending them to circle here and there. It was the +threat material in the great game of bluff he was playing, and it had +taken even me by surprise. He was one of those incredibly stupid +energetic people who seem sent by heaven to create disasters. His +energy to the first glance seemed so wonderfully like capacity! But he +had no imagination, no invention, only a stupid, vast, driving force of +will, and a mad faith in his stupid idiot ‘luck’ to pull him through. I +remember how we stood upon the headland watching the squadron circling +far away, and how I weighed the full meaning of the sight, seeing +clearly the way things must go. And then even it was not too late. I +might have gone back, I think, and saved the world. The people of the +north would follow me, I knew, granted only that in one thing I +respected their moral standards. The east and south would trust me as +they would trust no other northern man. And I knew I had only to put it +to her and she would have let me go . . . . Not because she did not +love me! + +“Only I did not want to go; my will was all the other way about. I had +so newly thrown off the incubus of responsibility: I was still so fresh +a renegade from duty that the daylight clearness of what I ought to do +had no power at all to touch my will. My will was to live, to gather +pleasures and make my dear lady happy. But though this sense of vast +neglected duties had no power to draw me, it could make me silent and +preoccupied, it robbed the days I had spent of half their brightness +and roused me into dark meditations in the silence of the night. And as +I stood and watched Evesham’s aeroplanes sweep to and fro—those birds +of infinite ill omen—she stood beside me watching me, perceiving the +trouble indeed, but not perceiving it clearly—her eyes questioning my +face, her expression shaded with perplexity. Her face was gray because +the sunset was fading out of the sky. It was no fault of hers that she +held me. She had asked me to go from her, and again in the night time +and with tears she had asked me to go. + +“At last it was the sense of her that roused me from my mood. I turned +upon her suddenly and challenged her to race down the mountain slopes. +‘No,’ she said, as if I had jarred with her gravity, but I was resolved +to end that gravity, and make her run—no one can be very gray and sad +who is out of breath—and when she stumbled I ran with my hand beneath +her arm. We ran down past a couple of men, who turned back staring in +astonishment at my behaviour—they must have recognised my face. And +half way down the slope came a tumult in the air, clang-clank, +clang-clank, and we stopped, and presently over the hill-crest those +war things came flying one behind the other.” + +The man seemed hesitating on the verge of a description. + +“What were they like?” I asked. + +“They had never fought,” he said. “They were just like our ironclads +are nowadays; they had never fought. No one knew what they might do, +with excited men inside them; few even cared to speculate. They were +great driving things shaped like spear-heads without a shaft, with a +propeller in the place of the shaft.” + +“Steel?” + +“Not steel.” + +“Aluminum?” + +“No, no, nothing of that sort. An alloy that was very common—as common +as brass, for example. It was called—let me see—” He squeezed his +forehead with the fingers of one hand. “I am forgetting everything,” he +said. + +“And they carried guns?” + +“Little guns, firing high explosive shells. They fired the guns +backwards, out of the base of the leaf, so to speak, and rammed with +the beak. That was the theory, you know, but they had never been +fought. No one could tell exactly what was going to happen. And +meanwhile I suppose it was very fine to go whirling through the air +like a flight of young swallows, swift and easy. I guess the captains +tried not to think too clearly what the real thing would be like. And +these flying war machines, you know, were only one sort of the endless +war contrivances that had been invented and had fallen into abeyance +during the long peace. There were all sorts of these things that people +were routing out and furbishing up; infernal things, silly things; +things that had never been tried; big engines, terrible explosives, +great guns. You know the silly way of these ingenious sort of men who +make these things; they turn ‘em out as beavers build dams, and with no +more sense of the rivers they’re going to divert and the lands they’re +going to flood! + +“As we went down the winding stepway to our hotel again, in the +twilight, I foresaw it all: I saw how clearly and inevitably things +were driving for war in Evesham’s silly, violent hands, and I had some +inkling of what war was bound to be under these new conditions. And +even then, though I knew it was drawing near the limit of my +opportunity, I could find no will to go back.” + +He sighed. + +“That was my last chance. + +“We didn’t go into the city until the sky was full of stars, so we +walked out upon the high terrace, to and fro, and—she counselled me to +go back. + +“‘My dearest,’ she said, and her sweet face looked up to me, this is +Death. This life you lead is Death. Go back to them, go back to your +duty—’ + +“She began to weep, saying, between her sobs, and clinging to my arm as +she said it, ‘Go back—Go back.’ + +“Then suddenly she fell mute, and, glancing down at her face, I read in +an instant the thing she had thought to do. It was one of those moments +when one sees. + +“‘No!’ I said. + +“‘No?’ she asked, in surprise and I think a little fearful at the +answer to her thought. + +“‘Nothing,’ I said, ‘shall send me back. Nothing! I have chosen. Love, +I have chosen, and the world must go. Whatever happens I will live this +life—I will live for you! It—nothing shall turn me aside; nothing, my +dear one. Even if you died—even if you died—’ + +“‘Yes?’ she murmured, softly. + +“‘Then—I also would die.’ + +“And before she could speak again I began to talk, talking +eloquently—as I could do in that life—talking to exalt love, to make +the life we were living seem heroic and glorious; and the thing I was +deserting something hard and enormously ignoble that it was a fine +thing to set aside. I bent all my mind to throw that glamour upon it, +seeking not only to convert her but myself to that. We talked, and she +clung to me, torn too between all that she deemed noble and all that +she knew was sweet. And at last I did make it heroic, made all the +thickening disaster of the world only a sort of glorious setting to our +unparalleled love, and we two poor foolish souls strutted there at +last, clad in that splendid delusion, drunken rather with that glorious +delusion, under the still stars. + +“And so my moment passed. + +“It was my last chance. Even as we went to and fro there, the leaders +of the south and east were gathering their resolve, and the hot answer +that shattered Evesham’s bluffing for ever, took shape and waited. And, +all over Asia, and the ocean, and the South, the air and the wires were +throbbing with their warnings to prepare—prepare. + +“No one living, you know, knew what war was; no one could imagine, with +all these new inventions, what horror war might bring. I believe most +people still believed it would be a matter of bright uniforms and +shouting charges and triumphs and flags and bands—in a time when half +the world drew its food supply from regions ten thousand miles away—” + +The man with the white face paused. I glanced at him, and his face was +intent on the floor of the carriage. A little railway station, a string +of loaded trucks, a signal-box, and the back of a cottage, shot by the +carriage window, and a bridge passed with a clap of noise, echoing the +tumult of the train. + +“After that,” he said, “I dreamt often. For three weeks of nights that +dream was my life. And the worst of it was there were nights when I +could not dream, when I lay tossing on a bed in this accursed life; and +there—somewhere lost to me—things were happening—momentous, terrible +things . . . I lived at nights—my days, my waking days, this life I am +living now, became a faded, far-away dream, a drab setting, the cover +of the book.” + +He thought. + +“I could tell you all, tell you every little thing in the dream, but as +to what I did in the daytime—no. I could not tell—I do not remember. My +memory—my memory has gone. The business of life slips from me—” + +He leant forward, and pressed his hands upon his eyes. For a long time +he said nothing. + +“And then?” said I. + +“The war burst like a hurricane.” + +He stared before him at unspeakable things. + +“And then?” I urged again. + +“One touch of unreality,” he said, in the low tone of a man who speaks +to himself, “and they would have been nightmares. But they were not +nightmares—they were not nightmares. No!” + +He was silent for so long that it dawned upon me that there was a +danger of losing the rest of the story. But he went on talking again in +the same tone of questioning self-communion. + +“What was there to do but flight? I had not thought the war would touch +Capri—I had seemed to see Capri as being out of it all, as the contrast +to it all; but two nights after the whole place was shouting and +bawling, every woman almost and every other man wore a badge—Evesham’s +badge—and there was no music but a jangling war-song over and over +again, and everywhere men enlisting, and in the dancing halls they were +drilling. The whole island was awhirl with rumours; it was said, again +and again, that fighting had begun. I had not expected this. I had seen +so little of the life of pleasure that I had failed to reckon with this +violence of the amateurs. And as for me, I was out of it. I was like +the man who might have prevented the firing of a magazine. The time had +gone. I was no one; the vainest stripling with a badge counted for more +than I. The crowd jostled us and bawled in our ears; that accursed song +deafened us; a woman shrieked at my lady because no badge was on her, +and we two went back to our own place again, ruffled and insulted—my +lady white and silent, and I aquiver with rage. So furious was I, I +could have quarrelled with her if I could have found one shade of +accusation in her eyes. + +“All my magnificence had gone from me. I walked up and down our rock +cell, and outside was the darkling sea and a light to the southward +that flared and passed and came again. + +“‘We must get out of this place,’ I said over and over. ‘I have made my +choice, and I will have no hand in these troubles. I will have nothing +of this war. We have taken our lives out of all these things. This is +no refuge for us. Let us go.’ + +“And the next day we were already in flight from the war that covered +the world. + +“And all the rest was Flight—all the rest was Flight.” + +He mused darkly. + +“How much was there of it?” + +He made no answer. + +“How many days?” + +His face was white and drawn and his hands were clenched. He took no +heed of my curiosity. + +I tried to draw him back to his story with questions. + +“Where did you go?” I said. + +“When?” + +“When you left Capri.” + +“South-west,” he said, and glanced at me for a second. “We went in a +boat.” + +“But I should have thought an aeroplane?” + +“They had been seized.” + +I questioned him no more. Presently I thought he was beginning again. +He broke out in an argumentative monotone: + +“But why should it be? If, indeed, this battle, this slaughter and +stress is life, why have we this craving for pleasure and beauty? If +there is no refuge, if there is no place of peace, and if all our +dreams of quiet places are a folly and a snare, why have we such +dreams? Surely it was no ignoble cravings, no base intentions, had +brought us to this; it was Love had isolated us. Love had come to me +with her eyes and robed in her beauty, more glorious than all else in +life, in the very shape and colour of life, and summoned me away. I had +silenced all the voices, I had answered all the questions—I had come to +her. And suddenly there was nothing but War and Death!” + +I had an inspiration. “After all,” I said, “it could have been only a +dream.” + +“A dream!” he cried, flaming upon me, “a dream—when, even now—” + +For the first time he became animated. A faint flush crept into his +cheek. He raised his open hand and clenched it, and dropped it to his +knee. He spoke, looking away from me, and for all the rest of the time +he looked away. “We are but phantoms!” he said, “and the phantoms of +phantoms, desires like cloud-shadows and wills of straw that eddy in +the wind; the days pass, use and wont carry us through as a train +carries the shadow of its lights—so be it! But one thing is real and +certain, one thing is no dream-stuff, but eternal and enduring. It is +the centre of my life, and all other things about it are subordinate or +altogether vain. I loved her, that woman of a dream. And she and I are +dead together! + +“A dream! How can it be a dream, when it drenched a living life with +unappeasable sorrow, when it makes all that I have lived for and cared +for, worthless and unmeaning? + +“Until that very moment when she was killed I believed we had still a +chance of getting away,” he said. “All through the night and morning +that we sailed across the sea from Capri to Salerno, we talked of +escape. We were full of hope, and it clung about us to the end, hope +for the life together we should lead, out of it all, out of the battle +and struggle, the wild and empty passions, the empty arbitrary ‘thou +shalt’ and ‘thou shalt not’ of the world. We were uplifted, as though +our quest was a holy thing, as though love for another was a mission . +. . . + +“Even when from our boat we saw the fair face of that great rock +Capri—already scarred and gashed by the gun emplacements and +hiding-places that were to make it a fastness—we reckoned nothing of +the imminent slaughter, though the fury of preparation hung about in +the puffs and clouds of dust at a hundred points amidst the gray; but, +indeed, I made a text of that and talked. There, you know, was the +rock, still beautiful for all its scars, with its countless windows and +arches and ways, tier upon tier, for a thousand feet, a vast carving of +gray, broken by vine-clad terraces, and lemon and orange groves, and +masses of agave and prickly pear, and puffs of almond blossom. And out +under the archway that is built over the Piccola Marina other boats +were coming; and as we came round the cape and within sight of the +mainland, another little string of boats came into view, driving before +the wind towards the south-west. In a little while a multitude had come +out, the remoter just little specks of ultramarine in the shadow of the +eastward cliff. + +“‘It is love and reason,’ I said, ‘fleeing from all this madness of +war.’ + +“And though we presently saw a squadron of aeroplanes flying across the +southern sky we did not heed it. There it was—a line of little dots in +the sky—and then more, dotting the south-eastern horizon, and then +still more, until all that quarter of the sky was stippled with blue +specks. Now they were all thin little strokes of blue, and now one and +now a multitude would heel and catch the sun and become short flashes +of light. They came, rising and falling and growing larger, like some +huge flight of gulls or rooks or such-like birds, moving with a +marvellous uniformity, and ever as they drew nearer they spread over a +greater width of sky. The southward wind flung itself in an +arrow-headed cloud athwart the sun. And then suddenly they swept round +to the eastward and streamed eastward, growing smaller and smaller and +clearer and clearer again until they vanished from the sky. And after +that we noted to the northward and very high Evesham’s fighting +machines hanging high over Naples like an evening swarm of gnats. + +“It seemed to have no more to do with us than a flight of birds. + +“Even the mutter of guns far away in the south-east seemed to us to +signify nothing . . . + +“Each day, each dream after that, we were still exalted, still seeking +that refuge where we might live and love. Fatigue had come upon us, +pain and many distresses. For though we were dusty and stained by our +toilsome tramping, and half starved and with the horror of the dead men +we had seen and the flight of the peasants—for very soon a gust of +fighting swept up the peninsula—with these things haunting our minds it +still resulted only in a deepening resolution to escape. Oh, but she +was brave and patient! She who had never faced hardship and exposure +had courage for herself and me. We went to and fro seeking an outlet, +over a country all commandeered and ransacked by the gathering hosts of +war. Always we went on foot. At first there were other fugitives, but +we did not mingle with them. Some escaped northward, some were caught +in the torrent of peasantry that swept along the main roads; many gave +themselves into the hands of the soldiery and were sent northward. Many +of the men were impressed. But we kept away from these things; we had +brought no money to bribe a passage north, and I feared for my lady at +the hands of these conscript crowds. We had landed at Salerno, and we +had been turned back from Cava, and we had tried to cross towards +Taranto by a pass over Mount Alburno, but we had been driven back for +want of food, and so we had come down among the marshes by Paestum, +where those great temples stand alone. I had some vague idea that by +Paestum it might be possible to find a boat or something, and take once +more to sea. And there it was the battle overtook us. + +“A sort of soul-blindness had me. Plainly I could see that we were +being hemmed in; that the great net of that giant Warfare had us in its +toils. Many times we had seen the levies that had come down from the +north going to and fro, and had come upon them in the distance amidst +the mountains making ways for the ammunition and preparing the mounting +of the guns. Once we fancied they had fired at us, taking us for +spies—at any rate a shot had gone shuddering over us. Several times we +had hidden in woods from hovering aeroplanes. + +“But all these things do not matter now, these nights of flight and +pain . . . We were in an open place near those great temples at +Paestum, at last, on a blank stony place dotted with spiky bushes, +empty and desolate and so flat that a grove of eucalyptus far away +showed to the feet of its stems. How I can see it! My lady was sitting +down under a bush resting a little, for she was very weak and weary, +and I was standing up watching to see if I could tell the distance of +the firing that came and went. They were still, you know, fighting far +from each other, with those terrible new weapons that had never before +been used: guns that would carry beyond sight, and aeroplanes that +would do—What they would do no man could foretell. + +“I knew that we were between the two armies, and that they drew +together. I knew we were in danger, and that we could not stop there +and rest! + +“Though all these things were in my mind, they were in the background. +They seemed to be affairs beyond our concern. Chiefly, I was thinking +of my lady. An aching distress filled me. For the first time she had +owned herself beaten and had fallen a-weeping. Behind me I could hear +her sobbing, but I would not turn round to her because I knew she had +need of weeping, and had held herself so far and so long for me. It was +well, I thought, that she would weep and rest and then we would toil on +again, for I had no inkling of the thing that hung so near. Even now I +can see her as she sat there, her lovely hair upon her shoulder, can +mark again the deepening hollow of her cheek. + +“‘If we had parted,’ she said, ‘if I had let you go.’ + +“‘No,’ said I. ‘Even now, I do not repent. I will not repent; I made my +choice, and I will hold on to the end.’ + +“And then— + +“Overhead in the sky flashed something and burst, and all about us I +heard the bullets making a noise like a handful of peas suddenly +thrown. They chipped the stones about us, and whirled fragments from +the bricks and passed . . . .” + +He put his hand to his mouth, and then moistened his lips. + +“At the flash I had turned about . . . + +“You know—she stood up— + +“She stood up, you know, and moved a step towards me—as though she +wanted to reach me— + +“And she had been shot through the heart.” + +He stopped and stared at me. I felt all that foolish incapacity an +Englishman feels on such occasions. I met his eyes for a moment, and +then stared out of the window. For a long space we kept silence. When +at last I looked at him he was sitting back in his corner, his arms +folded, and his teeth gnawing at his knuckles. + +He bit his nail suddenly, and stared at it. + +“I carried her,” he said, “towards the temples, in my arms—as though it +mattered. I don’t know why. They seemed a sort of sanctuary, you know, +they had lasted so long, I suppose. + +“She must have died almost instantly. Only—I talked to her all the +way.” + +Silence again. + +“I have seen those temples,” I said abruptly, and indeed he had brought +those still, sunlit arcades of worn sandstone very vividly before me. + +“It was the brown one, the big brown one. I sat down on a fallen pillar +and held her in my arms . . . Silent after the first babble was over. +And after a little while the lizards came out and ran about again, as +though nothing unusual was going on, as though nothing had changed . . +. It was tremendously still there, the sun high and the shadows still; +even the shadows of the weeds upon the entablature were still—in spite +of the thudding and banging that went all about the sky. + +“I seem to remember that the aeroplanes came up out of the south, and +that the battle went away to the west. One aeroplane was struck, and +overset and fell. I remember that—though it didn’t interest me in the +least. It didn’t seem to signify. It was like a wounded gull, you +know—flapping for a time in the water. I could see it down the aisle of +the temple—a black thing in the bright blue water. + +“Three or four times shells burst about the beach, and then that +ceased. Each time that happened all the lizards scuttled in and hid for +a space. That was all the mischief done, except that once a stray +bullet gashed the stone hard by—made just a fresh bright surface. + +“As the shadows grew longer, the stillness seemed greater. + +“The curious thing,” he remarked, with the manner of a man who makes a +trivial conversation, “is that I didn’t _think_—at all. I sat with her +in my arms amidst the stones—in a sort of lethargy—stagnant. + +“And I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember dressing that day. I +know I found myself in my office, with my letters all slit open in +front of me, and how I was struck by the absurdity of being there, +seeing that in reality I was sitting, stunned, in that Paestum Temple +with a dead woman in my arms. I read my letters like a machine. I have +forgotten what they were about.” + +He stopped, and there was a long silence. + +Suddenly I perceived that we were running down the incline from Chalk +Farm to Euston. I started at this passing of time. I turned on him with +a brutal question, with the tone of “Now or never.” + +“And did you dream again?” + +“Yes.” + +He seemed to force himself to finish. His voice was very low. + +“Once more, and as it were only for a few instants. I seemed to have +suddenly awakened out of a great apathy, to have risen into a sitting +position, and the body lay there on the stones beside me. A gaunt body. +Not her, you know. So soon—it was not her . . . . + +“I may have heard voices. I do not know. Only I knew clearly that men +were coming into the solitude and that that was a last outrage. + +“I stood up and walked through the temple, and then there came into +sight—first one man with a yellow face, dressed in a uniform of dirty +white, trimmed with blue, and then several, climbing to the crest of +the old wall of the vanished city, and crouching there. They were +little bright figures in the sunlight, and there they hung, weapon in +hand, peering cautiously before them. + +“And further away I saw others and then more at another point in the +wall. It was a long lax line of men in open order. + +“Presently the man I had first seen stood up and shouted a command, and +his men came tumbling down the wall and into the high weeds towards the +temple. He scrambled down with them and led them. He came facing +towards me, and when he saw me he stopped. + +“At first I had watched these men with a mere curiosity, but when I had +seen they meant to come to the temple I was moved to forbid them. I +shouted to the officer. + +“‘You must not come here,’ I cried, ‘_I_ am here. I am here with my +dead.’ + +“He stared, and then shouted a question back to me in some unknown +tongue. + +“I repeated what I had said. + +“He shouted again, and I folded my arms and stood still. Presently he +spoke to his men and came forward. He carried a drawn sword. + +“I signed to him to keep away, but he continued to advance. I told him +again very patiently and clearly: ‘You must not come here. These are +old temples and I am here with my dead.’ + +“Presently he was so close I could see his face clearly. It was a +narrow face, with dull gray eyes, and a black moustache. He had a scar +on his upper lip, and he was dirty and unshaven. He kept shouting +unintelligible things, questions, perhaps, at me. + +“I know now that he was afraid of me, but at the time that did not +occur to me. As I tried to explain to him, he interrupted me in +imperious tones, bidding me, I suppose, stand aside. + +“He made to go past me, and I caught hold of him. + +“I saw his face change at my grip. + +“‘You fool,’ I cried. ‘Don’t you know? She is dead!’ + +“He started back. He looked at me with cruel eyes. I saw a sort of +exultant resolve leap into them—delight. Then, suddenly, with a scowl, +he swept his sword back—_so_—and thrust.” + +He stopped abruptly. + +I became aware of a change in the rhythm of the train. The brakes +lifted their voices and the carriage jarred and jerked. This present +world insisted upon itself, became clamourous. I saw through the steamy +window huge electric lights glaring down from tall masts upon a fog, +saw rows of stationary empty carriages passing by, and then a +signal-box hoisting its constellation of green and red into the murky +London twilight, marched after them. I looked again at his drawn +features. + +“He ran me through the heart. It was with a sort of astonishment—no +fear, no pain—but just amazement, that I felt it pierce me, felt the +sword drive home into my body. It didn’t hurt, you know. It didn’t hurt +at all.” + +The yellow platform lights came into the field of view, passing first +rapidly, then slowly, and at last stopping with a jerk. Dim shapes of +men passed to and fro without. + +“Euston!” cried a voice. + +“Do you mean—?” + +“There was no pain, no sting or smart. Amazement and then darkness +sweeping over everything. The hot, brutal face before me, the face of +the man who had killed me, seemed to recede. It swept out of +existence—” + +“Euston!” clamoured the voices outside; “Euston!” + +The carriage door opened admitting a flood of sound, and a porter stood +regarding us. The sounds of doors slamming, and the hoof-clatter of +cab-horses, and behind these things the featureless remote roar of the +London cobble-stones, came to my ears. A truckload of lighted lamps +blazed along the platform. + +“A darkness, a flood of darkness that opened and spread and blotted out +all things.” + +“Any luggage, sir?” said the porter. + +“And that was the end?” I asked. + +He seemed to hesitate. Then, almost inaudibly, he answered, “_no_.” + +“You mean?” + +“I couldn’t get to her. She was there on the other side of the temple— +And then—” + +“Yes,” I insisted. “Yes?” + +“Nightmares,” he cried; “nightmares indeed! My God! Great birds that +fought and tore.” + + + + +THE CONE + + +The night was hot and overcast, the sky red, rimmed with the lingering +sunset of mid-summer. They sat at the open window, trying to fancy the +air was fresher there. The trees and shrubs of the garden stood stiff +and dark; beyond in the roadway a gas-lamp burnt, bright orange against +the hazy blue of the evening. Farther were the three lights of the +railway signal against the lowering sky. The man and woman spoke to one +another in low tones. + +“He does not suspect?” said the man, a little nervously. + +“Not he,” she said peevishly, as though that too irritated her. “He +thinks of nothing but the works and the prices of fuel. He has no +imagination, no poetry.” + +“None of these men of iron have,” he said sententiously. “They have no +hearts.” + +“_He_ has not,” she said. She turned her discontented face towards the +window. The distant sound of a roaring and rushing drew nearer and grew +in volume; the house quivered; one heard the metallic rattle of the +tender. As the train passed, there was a glare of light above the +cutting and a driving tumult of smoke; one, two, three, four, five, +six, seven, eight black oblongs—eight trucks—passed across the dim grey +of the embankment, and were suddenly extinguished one by one in the +throat of the tunnel, which, with the last, seemed to swallow down +train, smoke, and sound in one abrupt gulp. + +“This country was all fresh and beautiful once,” he said; “and now—it +is Gehenna. Down that way—nothing but pot-banks and chimneys belching +fire and dust into the face of heaven . . . . . But what does it +matter? An end comes, an end to all this cruelty . . . . . +_To-morrow_.” He spoke the last word in a whisper. + +“_To-morrow_,” she said, speaking in a whisper too, and still staring +out of the window. + +“Dear!” he said, putting his hand on hers. + +She turned with a start, and their eyes searched one another’s. Hers +softened to his gaze. “My dear one!” she said, and then: “It seems so +strange—that you should have come into my life like this—to open—” She +paused. + +“To open?” he said. + +“All this wonderful world—” she hesitated, and spoke still more +softly—“this world of _love_ to me.” + +Then suddenly the door clicked and closed. They turned their heads, and +he started violently back. In the shadow of the room stood a great +shadowy figure—silent. They saw the face dimly in the half-light, with +unexpressive dark patches under the penthouse brows. Every muscle in +Raut’s body suddenly became tense. When could the door have opened? +What had he heard? Had he heard all? What had he seen? A tumult of +questions. + +The new-comer’s voice came at last, after a pause that seemed +interminable. “Well?” he said. + +“I was afraid I had missed you, Horrocks,” said the man at the window, +gripping the window-ledge with his hand. His voice was unsteady. + +The clumsy figure of Horrocks came forward out of the shadow. He made +no answer to Raut’s remark. For a moment he stood above them. + +The woman’s heart was cold within her. “I told Mr. Raut it was just +possible you might come back,” she said, in a voice that never +quivered. + +Horrocks, still silent, sat down abruptly in the chair by her little +work-table. His big hands were clenched; one saw now the fire of his +eyes under the shadow of his brows. He was trying to get his breath. +His eyes went from the woman he had trusted to the friend he had +trusted, and then back to the woman. + +By this time and for the moment all three half understood one another. +Yet none dared say a word to ease the pent-up things that choked them. + +It was the husband’s voice that broke the silence at last. + +“You wanted to see me?” he said to Raut. + +Raut started as he spoke. “I came to see you,” he said, resolved to lie +to the last. + +“Yes,” said Horrocks. + +“You promised,” said Raut, “to show me some fine effects of moonlight +and smoke.” + +“I promised to show you some fine effects of moonlight and smoke,” +repeated Horrocks in a colourless voice. + +“And I thought I might catch you to-night before you went down to the +works,” proceeded Raut, “and come with you.” + +There was another pause. Did the man mean to take the thing coolly? Did +he after all know? How long had he been in the room? Yet even at the +moment when they heard the door, their attitudes. . . . Horrocks +glanced at the profile of the woman, shadowy pallid in the half-light. +Then he glanced at Raut, and seemed to recover himself suddenly. “Of +course,” he said, “I promised to show you the works under their proper +dramatic conditions. It’s odd how I could have forgotten.” + +“If I am troubling you—” began Raut. + +Horrocks started again. A new light had suddenly come into the sultry +gloom of his eyes. “Not in the least,” he said. + +“Have you been telling Mr. Raut of all these contrasts of flame and +shadow you think so splendid?” said the woman, turning now to her +husband for the first time, her confidence creeping back again, her +voice just one half-note too high. “That dreadful theory of yours that +machinery is beautiful, and everything else in the world ugly. I +thought he would not spare you, Mr. Raut. It’s his great theory, his +one discovery in art.” + +“I am slow to make discoveries,” said Horrocks grimly, damping her +suddenly. “But what I discover . . . . .” He stopped. + +“Well?” she said. + +“Nothing;” and suddenly he rose to his feet. + +“I promised to show you the works,” he said to Raut, and put his big, +clumsy hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And you are ready to go?” + +“Quite,” said Raut, and stood up also. + +There was another pause. Each of them peered through the indistinctness +of the dusk at the other two. Horrocks’ hand still rested on Raut’s +shoulder. Raut half fancied still that the incident was trivial after +all. But Mrs. Horrocks knew her husband better, knew that grim quiet in +his voice, and the confusion in her mind took a vague shape of physical +evil. “Very well”, said Horrocks, and, dropping his hand, turned +towards the door. + +“My hat?” Raut looked round in the half-light. + +“That’s my work-basket,” said Mrs. Horrocks, with a gust of hysterical +laughter. Their hands came together on the back of the chair. “Here it +is!” he said. She had an impulse to warn him in an undertone, but she +could not frame a word. “Don’t go!” and “Beware of him!” struggled in +her mind, and the swift moment passed. + +“Got it?” said Horrocks, standing with the door half open. + +Raut stepped towards him. “Better say good-bye to Mrs. Horrocks,” said +the ironmaster, even more grimly quiet in his tone than before. + +Raut started and turned. “Good-evening, Mrs. Horrocks,” he said, and +their hands touched. + +Horrocks held the door open with a ceremonial politeness unusual in him +towards men. Raut went out, and then, after a wordless look at her, her +husband followed. She stood motionless while Raut’s light footfall and +her husband’s heavy tread, like bass and treble, passed down the +passage together. The front door slammed heavily. She went to the +window, moving slowly, and stood watching—leaning forward. The two men +appeared for a moment at the gateway in the road, passed under the +street lamp, and were hidden by the black masses of the shrubbery. The +lamp-light fell for a moment on their faces, showing only unmeaning +pale patches, telling nothing of what she still feared, and doubted, +and craved vainly to know. Then she sank down into a crouching attitude +in the big arm-chair, her eyes wide open and staring out at the red +lights from the furnaces that flickered in the sky. An hour after she +was still there, her attitude scarcely changed. + +The oppressive stillness of the evening weighed heavily upon Raut. They +went side by side down the road in silence, and in silence turned into +the cinder-made by-way that presently opened out the prospect of the +valley. + +A blue haze, half dust, half mist, touched the long valley with +mystery. Beyond were Hanley and Etruria, grey and dark masses, outlined +thinly by the rare golden dots of the street lamps, and here and there +a gaslit window, or the yellow glare of some late-working factory or +crowded public-house. Out of the masses, clear and slender against the +evening sky, rose a multitude of tall chimneys, many of them reeking, a +few smokeless during a season of “play.” Here and there a pallid patch +and ghostly stunted beehive shapes showed the position of a pot-bank, +or a wheel, black and sharp against the hot lower sky, marked some +colliery where they raise the iridescent coal of the place. Nearer at +hand was the broad stretch of railway, and half invisible trains +shunted—a steady puffing and rumbling, with every run a ringing +concussion and a rhythmic series of impacts, and a passage of +intermittent puffs of white steam across the further view. And to the +left, between the railway and the dark mass of the low hill beyond, +dominating the whole view, colossal, inky-black, and crowned with smoke +and fitful flames, stood the great cylinders of the Jeddah Company +Blast Furnaces, the central edifices of the big ironworks of which +Horrocks was the manager. They stood heavy and threatening, full of an +incessant turmoil of flames and seething molten iron, and about the +feet of them rattled the rolling-mills, and the steam hammer beat +heavily and splashed the white iron sparks hither and thither. Even as +they looked, a truckful of fuel was shot into one of the giants, and +the red flames gleamed out, and a confusion of smoke and black dust +came boiling upwards towards the sky. + +“Certainly you get some fine effects of colour with your furnaces,” +said Raut, breaking a silence that had become apprehensive. + +Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning down +at the dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks beyond, frowning as +if he were thinking out some knotty problem. + +Raut glanced at him and away again. “At present your moonlight effect +is hardly ripe,” he continued, looking upward. “The moon is still +smothered by the vestiges of daylight.” + +Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has suddenly +awakened. “Vestiges of daylight? . . . . Of course, of course.” He too +looked up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer sky. “Come along,” +he said suddenly, and, gripping Raut’s arm in his hand, made a move +towards the path that dropped from them to the railway. + +Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in a moment +that their eyes came near to say. Horrocks’ hand tightened and then +relaxed. He let go, and before Raut was aware of it, they were arm in +arm, and walking, one unwillingly enough, down the path. + +“You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards Burslem,” said +Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding fast, and +tightening the grip of his elbow the while. “Little green lights and +red and white lights, all against the haze. You have an eye for effect, +Raut. It’s a fine effect. And look at those furnaces of mine, how they +rise upon us as we come down the hill. That to the right is my +pet—seventy feet of him. I packed him myself, and he’s boiled away +cheerfully with iron in his guts for five long years. I’ve a particular +fancy for _him_. That line of red there—a lovely bit of warm orange +you’d call it, Raut—that’s the puddlers’ furnaces, and there, in the +hot light, three black figures—did you see the white splash of the +steam-hammer then?—that’s the rolling mills. Come along! Clang, +clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin, +Raut,—amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff comes +from the mill. And, squelch!—there goes the hammer again. Come along!” + +He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm twisted into +Raut’s with benumbing tightness. He had come striding down the black +path towards the railway as though he was possessed. Raut had not +spoken a word, had simply hung back against Horrocks’ pull with all his +strength. + +“I say,” he said now, laughing nervously, but with an undernote of +snarl in his voice, “why on earth are you nipping my arm off, Horrocks, +and dragging me along like this?” + +At length Horrocks released him. His manner changed again. “Nipping +your arm off?” he said. “Sorry. But it’s you taught me the trick of +walking in that friendly way.” + +“You haven’t learnt the refinements of it yet then,” said Raut, +laughing artificially again. “By Jove! I’m black and blue.” Horrocks +offered no apology. They stood now near the bottom of the hill, close +to the fence that bordered the railway. The ironworks had grown larger +and spread out with their approach. They looked up to the blast +furnaces now instead of down; the further view of Etruria and Hanley +had dropped out of sight with their descent. Before them, by the stile +rose a notice-board, bearing still dimly visible, the words, “BEWARE OF +THE TRAINS,” half hidden by splashes of coaly mud. + +“Fine effects,” said Horrocks, waving his arm. “Here comes a train. The +puffs of smoke, the orange glare, the round eye of light in front of +it, the melodious rattle. Fine effects! But these furnaces of mine used +to be finer, before we shoved cones in their throats, and saved the +gas.” + +“How?” said Raut. “Cones?” + +“Cones, my man, cones. I’ll show you one nearer. The flames used to +flare out of the open throats, great—what is it?—pillars of cloud by +day, red and black smoke, and pillars of fire by night. Now we run it +off in pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the top is shut by a +cone. You’ll be interested in that cone.” + +“But every now and then,” said Raut, “you get a burst of fire and smoke +up there.” + +“The cone’s not fixed, it’s hung by a chain from a lever, and balanced +by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of course, there’d be +no way of getting fuel into the thing. Every now and then the cone +dips, and out comes the flare.” + +“I see,” said Raut. He looked over his shoulder. “The moon gets +brighter,” he said. + +“Come along,” said Horrocks abruptly, gripping his shoulder again, and +moving him suddenly towards the railway crossing. And then came one of +those swift incidents, vivid, but so rapid that they leave one doubtful +and reeling. Halfway across, Horrocks’ hand suddenly clenched upon him +like a vice, and swung him backward and through a half-turn, so that he +looked up the line. And there a chain of lamp-lit carriage-windows +telescoped swiftly as it came towards them, and the red and yellow +lights of an engine grew larger and larger, rushing down upon them. As +he grasped what this meant, he turned his face to Horrocks, and pushed +with all his strength against the arm that held him back between the +rails. The struggle did not last a moment. Just as certain as it was +that Horrocks held him there, so certain was it that he had been +violently lugged out of danger. + +“Out of the way,” said Horrocks, with a gasp, as the train came +rattling by, and they stood panting by the gate into the ironworks. + +“I did not see it coming,” said Raut, still, even in spite of his own +apprehensions, trying to keep up an appearance of ordinary intercourse. + +Horrocks answered with a grunt. “The cone,” he said, and then, as one +who recovers himself, “I thought you did not hear.” + +“I didn’t,” said Raut. + +“I wouldn’t have had you run over then for the world,” said Horrocks. + +“For a moment I lost my nerve,” said Raut. + +Horrocks stood for half a minute, then turned abruptly towards the +ironworks again. “See how fine these great mounds of mine, these +clinker-heaps, look in the night! That truck yonder, up above there! Up +it goes, and out-tilts the slag. See the palpitating red stuff go +sliding down the slope. As we get nearer, the heap rises up and cuts +the blast furnaces. See the quiver up above the big one. Not that way! +This way, between the heaps. That goes to the puddling furnaces, but I +want to show you the canal first.” He came and took Raut by the elbow, +and so they went along side by side. Raut answered Horrocks vaguely. +What, he asked himself, had really happened on the line? Was he +deluding himself with his own fancies, or had Horrocks actually held +him back in the way of the train? Had he just been within an ace of +being murdered? + +Suppose this slouching, scowling monster _did_ know anything? For a +minute or two then Raut was really afraid for his life, but the mood +passed as he reasoned with himself. After all, Horrocks might have +heard nothing. At any rate, he had pulled him out of the way in time. +His odd manner might be due to the mere vague jealousy he had shown +once before. He was talking now of the ash-heaps and the canal. “Eigh?” +said Horrocks. + +“What?” said Raut. “Rather! The haze in the moonlight. Fine!” + +“Our canal,” said Horrocks, stopping suddenly. “Our canal by moonlight +and firelight is an immense effect. You’ve never seen it? Fancy that! +You’ve spent too many of your evenings philandering up in Newcastle +there. I tell you, for real florid effects—But you shall see. Boiling +water . . .” + +As they came out of the labyrinth of clinker-heaps and mounds of coal +and ore, the noises of the rolling-mill sprang upon them suddenly, +loud, near, and distinct. Three shadowy workmen went by and touched +their caps to Horrocks. Their faces were vague in the darkness. Raut +felt a futile impulse to address them, and before he could frame his +words, they passed into the shadows. Horrocks pointed to the canal +close before them now: a weird-looking place it seemed, in the +blood-red reflections of the furnaces. The hot water that cooled the +tuyeres came into it, some fifty yards up—a tumultuous, almost boiling +affluent, and the steam rose up from the water in silent white wisps +and streaks, wrapping damply about them, an incessant succession of +ghosts coming up from the black and red eddies, a white uprising that +made the head swim. The shining black tower of the larger blast-furnace +rose overhead out of the mist, and its tumultuous riot filled their +ears. Raut kept away from the edge of the water, and watched Horrocks. + +“Here it is red,” said Horrocks, “blood-red vapour as red and hot as +sin; but yonder there, where the moonlight falls on it, and it drives +across the clinker-heaps, it is as white as death.” + +Raut turned his head for a moment, and then came back hastily to his +watch on Horrocks. “Come along to the rolling-mills,” said Horrocks. +The threatening hold was not so evident that time, and Raut felt a +little reassured. But all the same, what on earth did Horrocks mean +about “white as death” and “red as sin?” Coincidence, perhaps? + +They went and stood behind the puddlers for a little while, and then +through the rolling-mills, where amidst an incessant din the deliberate +steam-hammer beat the juice out of the succulent iron, and black, +half-naked Titans rushed the plastic bars, like hot sealing-wax, +between the wheels. “Come on,” said Horrocks in Raut’s ear, and they +went and peeped through the little glass hole behind the tuyeres, and +saw the tumbled fire writhing in the pit of the blast-furnace. It left +one eye blinded for a while. Then, with green and blue patches dancing +across the dark, they went to the lift by which the trucks of ore and +fuel and lime were raised to the top of the big cylinder. + +And out upon the narrow rail that overhung the furnace, Raut’s doubts +came upon him again. Was it wise to be here? If Horrocks did +know—everything! Do what he would, he could not resist a violent +trembling. Right under foot was a sheer depth of seventy feet. It was a +dangerous place. They pushed by a truck of fuel to get to the railing +that crowned the place. The reek of the furnace, a sulphurous vapor +streaked with pungent bitterness, seemed to make the distant hillside +of Hanley quiver. The moon was riding out now from among a drift of +clouds, halfway up the sky above the undulating wooded outlines of +Newcastle. The steaming canal ran away from below them under an +indistinct bridge, and vanished into the dim haze of the flat fields +towards Burslem. + +“That’s the cone I’ve been telling you of,” shouted Horrocks; “and, +below that, sixty feet of fire and molten metal, with the air of the +blast frothing through it like gas in soda-water.” + +Raut gripped the hand-rail tightly, and stared down at the cone. The +heat was intense. The boiling of the iron and the tumult of the blast +made a thunderous accompaniment to Horrocks’ voice. But the thing had +to be gone through now. Perhaps, after all . . . + +“In the middle,” bawled Horrocks, “temperature near a thousand degrees. +If _you_ were dropped into it . . . . flash into flame like a pinch of +gunpowder in a candle. Put your hand out and feel the heat of his +breath. Why, even up here I’ve seen the rain-water boiling off the +trucks. And that cone there. It’s a damned sight too hot for roasting +cakes. The top side of it’s three hundred degrees.” + +“Three hundred degrees!” said Raut. + +“Three hundred centigrade, mind!” said Horrocks. “It will boil the +blood out of you in no time.” + +“Eigh?” said Raut, and turned. + +“Boil the blood out of you in . . . No, you don’t!” + +“Let me go!” screamed Raut. “Let go my arm!” + +With one hand he clutched at the hand-rail, then with both. For a +moment the two men stood swaying. Then suddenly, with a violent jerk, +Horrocks had twisted him from his hold. He clutched at Horrocks and +missed, his foot went back into empty air; in mid-air he twisted +himself, and then cheek and shoulder and knee struck the hot cone +together. + +He clutched the chain by which the cone hung, and the thing sank an +infinitesimal amount as he struck it. A circle of glowing red appeared +about him, and a tongue of flame, released from the chaos within, +flickered up towards him. An intense pain assailed him at the knees, +and he could smell the singeing of his hands. He raised himself to his +feet, and tried to climb up the chain, and then something struck his +head. Black and shining with the moonlight, the throat of the furnace +rose about him. + +Horrocks, he saw, stood above him by one of the trucks of fuel on the +rail. The gesticulating figure was bright and white in the moonlight, +and shouting, “Fizzle, you fool! Fizzle, you hunter of women! You +hot-blooded hound! Boil! boil! boil!” + +Suddenly he caught up a handful of coal out of the truck, and flung it +deliberately, lump after lump, at Raut. + +“Horrocks!” cried Raut. “Horrocks!” + +He clung crying to the chain, pulling himself up from the burning of +the cone. Each missile Horrocks flung hit him. His clothes charred and +glowed, and as he struggled the cone dropped, and a rush of hot +suffocating gas whooped out and burned round him in a swift breath of +flame. + +His human likeness departed from him. When the momentary red had +passed, Horrocks saw a charred, blackened figure, its head streaked +with blood, still clutching and fumbling with the chain, and writhing +in agony—a cindery animal, an inhuman, monstrous creature that began a +sobbing intermittent shriek. + +Abruptly, at the sight, the ironmaster’s anger passed. A deadly +sickness came upon him. The heavy odour of burning flesh came drifting +up to his nostrils. His sanity returned to him. + +“God have mercy upon me!” he cried. “O God! what have I done?” + +He knew the thing below him, save that it still moved and felt, was +already a dead man—that the blood of the poor wretch must be boiling in +his veins. An intense realisation of that agony came to his mind, and +overcame every other feeling. For a moment he stood irresolute, and +then, turning to the truck, he hastily tilted its contents upon the +struggling thing that had once been a man. The mass fell with a thud, +and went radiating over the cone. With the thud the shriek ended, and a +boiling confusion of smoke, dust, and flame came rushing up towards +him. As it passed, he saw the cone clear again. + +Then he staggered back, and stood trembling, clinging to the rail with +both hands. His lips moved, but no words came to them. + +Down below was the sound of voices and running steps. The clangour of +rolling in the shed ceased abruptly. + + + + +A MOONLIGHT FABLE + + +There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit of +clothes. It was green and gold and woven so that I cannot describe how +delicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of orange fluffiness that +tied up under his chin. And the buttons in their newness shone like +stars. He was proud and pleased by his suit beyond measure, and stood +before the long looking-glass when first he put it on, so astonished +and delighted with it that he could hardly turn himself away. + +He wanted to wear it everywhere and show it to all sorts of people. He +thought over all the places he had ever visited and all the scenes he +had ever heard described, and tried to imagine what the feel of it +would be if he were to go now to those scenes and places wearing his +shining suit, and he wanted to go out forthwith into the long grass and +the hot sunshine of the meadow wearing it. Just to wear it! But his +mother told him, “No.” She told him he must take great care of his +suit, for never would he have another nearly so fine; he must save it +and save it and only wear it on rare and great occasions. It was his +wedding suit, she said. And she took his buttons and twisted them up +with tissue paper for fear their bright newness should be tarnished, +and she tacked little guards over the cuffs and elbows and wherever the +suit was most likely to come to harm. He hated and resisted these +things, but what could he do? And at last her warnings and persuasions +had effect and he consented to take off his beautiful suit and fold it +into its proper creases and put it away. It was almost as though he +gave it up again. But he was always thinking of wearing it and of the +supreme occasion when some day it might be worn without the guards, +without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and delightfully, +never caring, beautiful beyond measure. + +One night when he was dreaming of it, after his habit, he dreamed he +took the tissue paper from one of the buttons and found its brightness +a little faded, and that distressed him mightily in his dream. He +polished the poor faded button and polished it, and if anything it grew +duller. He woke up and lay awake thinking of the brightness a little +dulled and wondering how he would feel if perhaps when the great +occasion (whatever it might be) should arrive, one button should chance +to be ever so little short of its first glittering freshness, and for +days and days that thought remained with him, distressingly. And when +next his mother let him wear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave +way to the temptation just to fumble off one little bit of tissue paper +and see if indeed the buttons were keeping as bright as ever. + +He went trimly along on his way to church full of this wild desire. For +you must know his mother did, with repeated and careful warnings, let +him wear his suit at times, on Sundays, for example, to and fro from +church, when there was no threatening of rain, no dust nor anything to +injure it, with its buttons covered and its protections tacked upon it +and a sunshade in his hand to shadow it if there seemed too strong a +sunlight for its colours. And always, after such occasions, he brushed +it over and folded it exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it +away again. + +Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of his suit he +obeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night he woke up and +saw the moonlight shining outside his window. It seemed to him the +moonlight was not common moonlight, nor the night a common night, and +for a while he lay quite drowsily with this odd persuasion in his mind. +Thought joined on to thought like things that whisper warmly in the +shadows. Then he sat up in his little bed suddenly, very alert, with +his heart beating very fast and a quiver in his body from top to toe. +He had made up his mind. He knew now that he was going to wear his suit +as it should be worn. He had no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, +terribly afraid, but glad, glad. + +He got out of his bed and stood a moment by the window looking at the +moonshine-flooded garden and trembling at the thing he meant to do. The +air was full of a minute clamor of crickets and murmurings, of the +infinitesimal shouting of little living things. He went very gently +across the creaking boards, for fear that he might wake the sleeping +house, to the big dark clothes-press wherein his beautiful suit lay +folded, and he took it out garment by garment and softly and very +eagerly tore off its tissue-paper covering and its tacked protections, +until there it was, perfect and delightful as he had seen it when first +his mother had given it to him—a long time it seemed ago. Not a button +had tarnished, not a thread had faded on this dear suit of his; he was +glad enough for weeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then +back he went, soft and quick, to the window and looked out upon the +garden and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his +buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out on the sill and, making +as little of a rustling as he could, clambered down to the garden path +below. He stood before his mother’s house, and it was white and nearly +as plain as by day, with every window-blind but his own shut like an +eye that sleeps. The trees cast still shadows like intricate black lace +upon the wall. + +The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden by day; +moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in phantom cobwebs +from spray to spray. Every flower was gleaming white or crimson black, +and the air was aquiver with the thridding of small crickets and +nightingales singing unseen in the depths of the trees. + +There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious shadows; +and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with iridescent +jewels of dew. The night was warmer than any night had ever been, the +heavens by some miracle at once vaster and nearer, and spite of the +great ivory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the sky was full of +stars. + +The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite gladness. He +stood for a time like one awe-stricken, and then, with a queer small +cry and holding out his arms, he ran out as if he would embrace at once +the whole warm round immensity of the world. He did not follow the neat +set paths that cut the garden squarely, but thrust across the beds and +through the wet, tall, scented herbs, through the night stock and the +nicotine and the clusters of phantom white mallow flowers and through +the thickets of southern-wood and lavender, and knee-deep across a wide +space of mignonette. He came to the great hedge and he thrust his way +through it, and though the thorns of the brambles scored him deeply and +tore threads from his wonderful suit, and though burs and goosegrass +and havers caught and clung to him, he did not care. He did not care, +for he knew it was all part of the wearing for which he had longed. “I +am glad I put on my suit,” he said; “I am glad I wore my suit.” + +Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what was the +duck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of silver moonshine +all noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver moonshine twisted and +clotted with strange patternings, and the little man ran down into its +waters between the thin black rushes, knee-deep and waist-deep and to +his shoulders, smiting the water to black and shining wavelets with +either hand, swaying and shivering wavelets, amid which the stars were +netted in the tangled reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank. +He waded until he swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon +the other side, trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very +silver in long, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went through the +transfigured tangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grass of +the farther bank. And so he came glad and breathless into the highroad. +“I am glad,” he said, “beyond measure, that I had clothes that fitted +this occasion.” + +The highroad ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the deep +blue pit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road between the +singing nightingales, and along it he went, running now and leaping, +and now walking and rejoicing, in the clothes his mother had made for +him with tireless, loving hands. The road was deep in dust, but that +for him was only soft whiteness, and as he went a great dim moth came +fluttering round his wet and shimmering and hastening figure. At first +he did not heed the moth, and then he waved his hands at it and made a +sort of dance with it as it circled round his head. “Soft moth!” he +cried, “dear moth! And wonderful night, wonderful night of the world! +Do you think my clothes are beautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your +scales and all this silver vesture of the earth and sky?” + +And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its velvet wings +just brushed his lips . . . . . + +And next morning they found him dead with his neck broken in the bottom +of the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little bloody and foul +and stained with the duckweed from the pond. But his face was a face of +such happiness that, had you seen it, you would have understood indeed +how that he had died happy, never knowing the cool and streaming silver +for the duckweed in the pond. + + + + +THE DIAMOND MAKER + + +Some business had detained me in Chancery Lane until nine in the +evening, and thereafter, having some inkling of a headache, I was +disinclined either for entertainment or further work. So much of the +sky as the high cliffs of that narrow canon of traffic left visible +spoke of a serene night, and I determined to make my way down to the +Embankment, and rest my eyes and cool my head by watching the +variegated lights upon the river. Beyond comparison the night is the +best time for this place; a merciful darkness hides the dirt of the +waters, and the lights of this transitional age, red glaring orange, +gas-yellow, and electric white, are set in shadowy outlines of every +possible shade between grey and deep purple. Through the arches of +Waterloo Bridge a hundred points of light mark the sweep of the +Embankment, and above its parapet rise the towers of Westminster, warm +grey against the starlight. The black river goes by with only a rare +ripple breaking its silence, and disturbing the reflections of the +lights that swim upon its surface. + +“A warm night,” said a voice at my side. + +I turned my head, and saw the profile of a man who was leaning over the +parapet beside me. It was a refined face, not unhandsome, though +pinched and pale enough, and the coat collar turned up and pinned round +the throat marked his status in life as sharply as a uniform. I felt I +was committed to the price of a bed and breakfast if I answered him. + +I looked at him curiously. Would he have anything to tell me worth the +money, or was he the common incapable—incapable even of telling his own +story? There was a quality of intelligence in his forehead and eyes, +and a certain tremulousness in his nether lip that decided me. + +“Very warm,” said I; “but not too warm for us here.” + +“No,” he said, still looking across the water, “it is pleasant enough +here . . . . just now.” + +“It is good,” he continued after a pause, “to find anything so restful +as this in London. After one has been fretting about business all day, +about getting on, meeting obligations, and parrying dangers, I do not +know what one would do if it were not for such pacific corners.” He +spoke with long pauses between the sentences. “You must know a little +of the irksome labour of the world, or you would not be here. But I +doubt if you can be so brain-weary and footsore as I am . . . . Bah! +Sometimes I doubt if the game is worth the candle. I feel inclined to +throw the whole thing over—name, wealth and position—and take to some +modest trade. But I know if I abandoned my ambition—hardly as she uses +me—I should have nothing but remorse left for the rest of my days.” + +He became silent. I looked at him in astonishment. If ever I saw a man +hopelessly hard-up it was the man in front of me. He was ragged and he +was dirty, unshaven and unkempt; he looked as though he had been left +in a dust-bin for a week. And he was talking to _me_ of the irksome +worries of a large business. I almost laughed outright. Either he was +mad or playing a sorry jest on his own poverty. + +“If high aims and high positions,” said I, “have their drawbacks of +hard work and anxiety, they have their compensations. Influence, the +power of doing good, of assisting those weaker and poorer than +ourselves; and there is even a certain gratification in display . . . . +. ” + +My banter under the circumstances was in very vile taste. I spoke on +the spur of the contrast of his appearance and speech. I was sorry even +while I was speaking. + +He turned a haggard but very composed face upon me. Said he: “I forgot +myself. Of course you would not understand.” + +He measured me for a moment. “No doubt it is very absurd. You will not +believe me even when I tell you, so that it is fairly safe to tell you. +And it will be a comfort to tell someone. I really have a big business +in hand, a very big business. But there are troubles just now. The fact +is . . . . I make diamonds.” + +“I suppose,” said I, “you are out of work just at present?” + +“I am sick of being disbelieved,” he said impatiently, and suddenly +unbuttoning his wretched coat he pulled out a little canvas bag that +was hanging by a cord round his neck. From this he produced a brown +pebble. “I wonder if you know enough to know what that is?” He handed +it to me. + +Now, a year or so ago, I had occupied my leisure in taking a London +science degree, so that I have a smattering of physics and mineralogy. +The thing was not unlike an uncut diamond of the darker sort, though +far too large, being almost as big as the top of my thumb. I took it, +and saw it had the form of a regular octahedron, with the curved faces +peculiar to the most precious of minerals. I took out my penknife and +tried to scratch it—vainly. Leaning forward towards the gas-lamp, I +tried the thing on my watch-glass, and scored a white line across that +with the greatest ease. + +I looked at my interlocutor with rising curiosity. “It certainly is +rather like a diamond. But, if so, it is a Behemoth of diamonds. Where +did you get it?” + +“I tell you I made it,” he said. “Give it back to me.” + +He replaced it hastily and buttoned his jacket. “I will sell it you for +one hundred pounds,” he suddenly whispered eagerly. With that my +suspicions returned. The thing might, after all, be merely a lump of +that almost equally hard substance, corundum, with an accidental +resemblance in shape to the diamond. Or if it was a diamond, how came +he by it, and why should he offer it at a hundred pounds? + +We looked into one another’s eyes. He seemed eager, but honestly eager. +At that moment I believed it was a diamond he was trying to sell. Yet I +am a poor man, a hundred pounds would leave a visible gap in my +fortunes and no sane man would buy a diamond by gaslight from a ragged +tramp on his personal warranty only. Still, a diamond that size +conjured up a vision of many thousands of pounds. Then, thought I, such +a stone could scarcely exist without being mentioned in every book on +gems, and again I called to mind the stories of contraband and +light-fingered Kaffirs at the Cape. I put the question of purchase on +one side. + +“How did you get it?” said I. + +“I made it.” + +I had heard something of Moissan, but I knew his artificial diamonds +were very small. I shook my head. + +“You seem to know something of this kind of thing. I will tell you a +little about myself. Perhaps then you may think better of the +purchase.” He turned round with his back to the river, and put his +hands in his pockets. He sighed. “I know you will not believe me.” + +“Diamonds,” he began—and as he spoke his voice lost its faint flavour +of the tramp and assumed something of the easy tone of an educated +man—“are to be made by throwing carbon out of combination in a suitable +flux and under a suitable pressure; the carbon crystallises out, not as +black-lead or charcoal-powder, but as small diamonds. So much has been +known to chemists for years, but no one yet had hit upon exactly the +right flux in which to melt up the carbon, or exactly the right +pressure for the best results. Consequently the diamonds made by +chemists are small and dark, and worthless as jewels. Now I, you know, +have given up my life to this problem—given my life to it. + +“I began to work at the conditions of diamond making when I was +seventeen, and now I am thirty-two. It seemed to me that it might take +all the thought and energies of a man for ten years, or twenty years, +but, even if it did, the game was still worth the candle. Suppose one +to have at last just hit the right trick before the secret got out and +diamonds became as common as coal, one might realize millions. +Millions!” + +He paused and looked for my sympathy. His eyes shone hungrily. “To +think,” said he, “that I am on the verge of it all, and here! + +“I had,” he proceeded, “about a thousand pounds when I was twenty-one, +and this, I thought, eked out by a little teaching, would keep my +researches going. A year or two was spent in study, at Berlin chiefly, +and then I continued on my own account. The trouble was the secrecy. +You see, if once I had let out what I was doing, other men might have +been spurred on by my belief in the practicability of the idea; and I +do not pretend to be such a genius as to have been sure of coming in +first, in the case of a race for the discovery. And you see it was +important that if I really meant to make a pile, people should not know +it was an artificial process and capable of turning out diamonds by the +ton. So I had to work all alone. At first I had a little laboratory, +but as my resources began to run out I had to conduct my experiments in +a wretched unfurnished room in Kentish Town, where I slept at last on a +straw mattress on the floor among all my apparatus. The money simply +flowed away. I grudged myself everything except scientific appliances. +I tried to keep things going by a little teaching, but I am not a very +good teacher, and I have no university degree, nor very much education +except in chemistry, and I found I had to give a lot of time and labour +for precious little money. But I got nearer and nearer the thing. Three +years ago I settled the problem of the composition of the flux, and got +near the pressure by putting this flux of mine and a certain carbon +composition into a closed-up gun-barrel, filling up with water, sealing +tightly, and heating.” + +He paused. + +“Rather risky,” said I. + +“Yes. It burst, and smashed all my windows and a lot of my apparatus; +but I got a kind of diamond powder nevertheless. Following out the +problem of getting a big pressure upon the molten mixture from which +the things were to crystallise, I hit upon some researches of Daubree’s +at the Paris _Laboratorie des Poudres et Salpetres_. He exploded +dynamite in a tightly screwed steel cylinder, too strong to burst, and +I found he could crush rocks into a muck not unlike the South African +bed in which diamonds are found. It was a tremendous strain on my +resources, but I got a steel cylinder made for my purpose after his +pattern. I put in all my stuff and my explosives, built up a fire in my +furnace, put the whole concern in, and—went out for a walk.” + +I could not help laughing at his matter-of-fact manner. “Did you not +think it would blow up the house? Were there other people in the +place?” + +“It was in the interest of science,” he said, ultimately. “There was a +costermonger family on the floor below, a begging-letter writer in the +room behind mine, and two flower-women were upstairs. Perhaps it was a +bit thoughtless. But possibly some of them were out. + +“When I came back the thing was just where I left it, among the +white-hot coals. The explosive hadn’t burst the case. And then I had a +problem to face. You know time is an important element in +crystallisation. If you hurry the process the crystals are small—it is +only by prolonged standing that they grow to any size. I resolved to +let this apparatus cool for two years, letting the temperature go down +slowly during the time. And I was now quite out of money; and with a +big fire and the rent of my room, as well as my hunger to satisfy, I +had scarcely a penny in the world. + +“I can hardly tell you all the shifts I was put to while I was making +the diamonds. I have sold newspapers, held horses, opened cab-doors. +For many weeks I addressed envelopes. I had a place as assistant to a +man who owned a barrow, and used to call down one side of the road +while he called down the other. + +“Once for a week I had absolutely nothing to do, and I begged. What a +week that was! One day the fire was going out and I had eaten nothing +all day, and a little chap taking his girl out, gave me sixpence—to +show off. Thank heaven for vanity! How the fish-shops smelt! But I went +and spent it all on coals, and had the furnace bright red again, and +then—Well, hunger makes a fool of a man. + +“At last, three weeks ago, I let the fire out. I took my cylinder and +unscrewed it while it was still so hot that it punished my hands, and I +scraped out the crumbling lava-like mass with a chisel, and hammered it +into a powder upon an iron plate. And I found three big diamonds and +five small ones. As I sat on the floor hammering, my door opened, and +my neighbour, the begging-letter writer came in. He was drunk—as he +usually is. ‘Nerchist,’ said he. ‘You’re drunk,’ said I. ‘’Structive +scoundrel,’ said he. ‘Go to your father,’ said I, meaning the Father of +Lies. ‘Never you mind,’ said he, and gave me a cunning wink, and +hiccuped, and leaning up against the door, with his other eye against +the door-post, began to babble of how he had been prying in my room, +and how he had gone to the police that morning, and how they had taken +down everything he had to say—‘’siffiwas a ge’m,’ said he. Then I +suddenly realised I was in a hole. Either I should have to tell these +police my little secret, and get the whole thing blown upon, or be +lagged as an Anarchist. So I went up to my neighbour and took him by +the collar, and rolled him about a bit, and then I gathered up my +diamonds and cleared out. The evening newspapers called my den the +Kentish Town Bomb Factory. And now I cannot part with the things for +love or money. + +“If I go in to respectable jewellers they ask me to wait, and go and +whisper to a clerk to fetch a policeman, and then I say I cannot wait. +And I found out a receiver of stolen goods, and he simply stuck to the +one I gave him and told me to prosecute if I wanted it back. I am going +about now with several hundred thousand pounds-worth of diamonds round +my neck, and without either food or shelter. You are the first person I +have taken into my confidence. But I like your face and I am +hard-driven.” + +He looked into my eyes. + +“It would be madness,” said I, “for me to buy a diamond under the +circumstances. Besides, I do not carry hundreds of pounds about in my +pocket. Yet I more than half believe your story. I will, if you like, +do this: come to my office to-morrow . . . .” + +“You think I am a thief!” said he keenly. “You will tell the police. I +am not coming into a trap.” + +“Somehow I am assured you are no thief. Here is my card. Take that, +anyhow. You need not come to any appointment. Come when you will.” + +He took the card, and an earnest of my good-will. + +“Think better of it and come,” said I. + +He shook his head doubtfully. “I will pay back your half-crown with +interest some day—such interest as will amaze you,” said he. “Anyhow, +you will keep the secret? . . . . Don’t follow me.” + +He crossed the road and went into the darkness towards the little steps +under the archway leading into Essex Street, and I let him go. And that +was the last I ever saw of him. + +Afterwards I had two letters from him asking me to send bank-notes—not +cheques—to certain addresses. I weighed the matter over and took what I +conceived to be the wisest course. Once he called upon me when I was +out. My urchin described him as a very thin, dirty, and ragged man, +with a dreadful cough. He left no message. That was the finish of him +so far as my story goes. I wonder sometimes what has become of him. Was +he an ingenious monomaniac, or a fraudulent dealer in pebbles, or has +he really made diamonds as he asserted? The latter is just sufficiently +credible to make me think at times that I have missed the most +brilliant opportunity of my life. He may of course be dead, and his +diamonds carelessly thrown aside—one, I repeat, was almost as big as my +thumb. Or he may be still wandering about trying to sell the things. It +is just possible he may yet emerge upon society, and, passing athwart +my heavens in the serene altitude sacred to the wealthy and the +well-advertised, reproach me silently for my want of enterprise. I +sometimes think I might at least have risked five pounds. + + + + +THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS + + +The chief attendant of the three dynamos that buzzed and rattled at +Camberwell, and kept the electric railway going, came out of Yorkshire, +and his name was James Holroyd. He was a practical electrician, but +fond of whisky, a heavy red-haired brute with irregular teeth. He +doubted the existence of the deity, but accepted Carnot’s cycle, and he +had read Shakespeare and found him weak in chemistry. His helper came +out of the mysterious East, and his name was Azuma-zi. But Holroyd +called him Pooh-bah. Holroyd liked a nigger because he would stand +kicking—a habit with Holroyd—and did not pry into the machinery and try +to learn the ways of it. Certain odd possibilities of the negro mind +brought into abrupt contact with the crown of our civilisation Holroyd +never fully realised, though just at the end he got some inkling of +them. + +To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology. He was, perhaps, more negroid +than anything else, though his hair was curly rather than frizzy, and +his nose had a bridge. Moreover, his skin was brown rather than black, +and the whites of his eyes were yellow. His broad cheekbones and narrow +chin gave his face something of the viperine V. His head, too, was +broad behind, and low and narrow at the forehead, as if his brain had +been twisted round in the reverse way to a European’s. He was short of +stature and still shorter of English. In conversation he made numerous +odd noises of no known marketable value, and his infrequent words were +carved and wrought into heraldic grotesqueness. Holroyd tried to +elucidate his religious beliefs, and—especially after whisky—lectured +to him against superstition and missionaries. Azuma-zi, however, +shirked the discussion of his gods, even though he was kicked for it. + +Azuma-zi had come, clad in white but insufficient raiment, out of the +stokehole of the _Lord Clive_, from the Straits Settlements, and +beyond, into London. He had heard even in his youth of the greatness +and riches of London, where all the women are white and fair, and even +the beggars in the streets are white, and he arrived, with newly earned +gold coins in his pocket, to worship at the shrine of civilisation. The +day of his landing was a dismal one; the sky was dun, and a +wind-worried drizzle filtered down to the greasy streets, but he +plunged boldly into the delights of Shadwell, and was presently cast +up, shattered in health, civilised in costume, penniless and, except in +matters of the direst necessity, practically a dumb animal, to toil for +James Holroyd and to be bullied by him in the dynamo shed at +Camberwell. And to James Holroyd bullying was a labour of love. + +There were three dynamos with their engines at Camberwell. The two that +had been there since the beginning were small machines; the larger one +was new. The smaller machines made a reasonable noise; their straps +hummed over the drums, every now and then the brushes buzzed and +fizzled, and the air churned steadily, whoo! whoo! whoo! between their +poles. One was loose in its foundations and kept the shed vibrating. +But the big dynamo drowned these little noises altogether with the +sustained drone of its iron core, which somehow set part of the +ironwork humming. The place made the visitor’s head reel with the +throb, throb, throb of the engines, the rotation of the big wheels, the +spinning ball-valves, the occasional spittings of the steam, and over +all the deep, unceasing, surging note of the big dynamo. This last +noise was from an engineering point of view a defect, but Azuma-zi +accounted it unto the monster for mightiness and pride. + +If it were possible we would have the noises of that shed always about +the reader as he reads, we would tell all our story to such an +accompaniment. It was a steady stream of din, from which the ear picked +out first one thread and then another; there was the intermittent +snorting, panting, and seething of the steam engines, the suck and thud +of their pistons, the dull beat on the air as the spokes of the great +driving-wheels came round, a note the leather straps made as they ran +tighter and looser, and a fretful tumult from the dynamos; and over +all, sometimes inaudible, as the ear tired of it, and then creeping +back upon the senses again, was this trombone note of the big machine. +The floor never felt steady and quiet beneath one’s feet, but quivered +and jarred. It was a confusing, unsteady place, and enough to send +anyone’s thoughts jerking into odd zigzags. And for three months, while +the big strike of the engineers was in progress, Holroyd, who was a +blackleg, and Azuma-zi, who was a mere black, were never out of the +stir and eddy of it, but slept and fed in the little wooden shanty +between the shed and the gates. + +Holroyd delivered a theological lecture on the text of his big machine +soon after Azuma-zi came. He had to shout to be heard in the din. “Look +at that,” said Holroyd; “where’s your ‘eathen idol to match ‘im?” And +Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd was inaudible, and then Azuma-zi +heard: “Kill a hundred men. Twelve per cent. on the ordinary shares,” +said Holroyd, “and that’s something like a Gord!” + +Holroyd was proud of his big dynamo, and expatiated upon its size and +power to Azuma-zi until heaven knows what odd currents of thought that +and the incessant whirling and shindy set up within the curly black +cranium. He would explain in the most graphic manner the dozen or so +ways in which a man might be killed by it, and once he gave Azuma-zi a +shock as a sample of its quality. After that, in the breathing-times of +his labour—it was heavy labour, being not only his own, but most of +Holroyd’s—Azuma-zi would sit and watch the big machine. Now and then +the brushes would sparkle and spit blue flashes, at which Holroyd would +swear, but all the rest was as smooth and rhythmic as breathing. The +band ran shouting over the shaft, and ever behind one as one watched +was the complacent thud of the piston. So it lived all day in this big +airy shed, with him and Holroyd to wait upon it; not prisoned up and +slaving to drive a ship as the other engines he knew—mere captive +devils of the British Solomon—had been, but a machine enthroned. Those +two smaller dynamos, Azuma-zi by force of contrast despised; the large +one he privately christened the Lord of the Dynamos. They were fretful +and irregular, but the big dynamo was steady. How great it was! How +serene and easy in its working! Greater and calmer even than the +Buddhas he had seen at Rangoon, and yet not motionless, but living! The +great black coils spun, spun, spun, the rings ran round under the +brushes, and the deep note of its coil steadied the whole. It affected +Azuma-zi queerly. + +Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watch the Lord +of the Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade the yard porter to +get whisky, although his proper place was not in the dynamo shed but +behind the engines, and, moreover, if Holroyd caught him skulking he +got hit for it with a rod of stout copper wire. He would go and stand +close to the colossus and look up at the great leather band running +overhead. There was a black patch on the band that came round, and it +pleased him somehow among all the clatter to watch this return again +and again. Odd thoughts spun with the whirl of it. Scientific people +tell us that savages give souls to rocks and trees—and a machine is a +thousand times more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was +practically a savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper +than his slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and +hands. His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindred +blood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut. + +He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and handling the +great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished and cleaned it until +the metal parts were blinding in the sun. He felt a mysterious sense of +service in doing this. He would go up to it and touch its spinning +coils gently. The gods he had worshipped were all far away. The people +in London hid their gods. + +At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape in thoughts +and at last in acts. When he came into the roaring shed one morning he +salaamed to the Lord of the Dynamos, and then when Holroyd was away, he +went and whispered to the thundering machine that he was its servant, +and prayed it to have pity on him and save him from Holroyd. As he did +so a rare gleam of light came in through the open archway of the +throbbing machine-shed, and the Lord of the Dynamos, as he whirled and +roared, was radiant with pale gold. Then Azuma-zi knew that his service +was acceptable to his Lord. After that he did not feel so lonely as he +had done, and he had indeed been very much alone in London. And even +when his work time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the +shed. + +Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi went presently to +the Lord of the Dynamos and whispered, “Thou seest, O my Lord!” and the +angry whir of the machinery seemed to answer him. Thereafter it +appeared to him that whenever Holroyd came into the shed a different +note came into the sounds of the dynamo. “My Lord bides his time,” said +Azuma-zi to himself. “The iniquity of the fool is not yet ripe.” And he +waited and watched for the day of reckoning. One day there was evidence +of short circuiting, and Holroyd, making an unwary examination—it was +in the afternoon—got a rather severe shock. Azuma-zi from behind the +engine saw him jump off and curse at the peccant coil. + +“He is warned,” said Azuma-zi to himself. “Surely my Lord is very +patient.” + +Holroyd had at first initiated his “nigger” into such elementary +conceptions of the dynamo’s working as would enable him to take +temporary charge of the shed in his absence. But when he noticed the +manner in which Azuma-zi hung about the monster he became suspicious. +He dimly perceived his assistant was “up to something,” and connecting +him with the anointing of the coils with oil that had rotted the +varnish in one place, he issued an edict, shouted above the confusion +of the machinery, “Don’t ‘ee go nigh that big dynamo any more, +Pooh-bah, or a’ll take thy skin off!” Besides, if it pleased Azuma-zi +to be near the big machine, it was plain sense and decency to keep him +away from it. + +Azuma-zi obeyed at the time, but later he was caught bowing before the +Lord of the Dynamos. At which Holroyd twisted his arm and kicked him as +he turned to go away. As Azuma-zi presently stood behind the engine and +glared at the back of the hated Holroyd, the noises of the machinery +took a new rhythm, and sounded like four words in his native tongue. + +It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-zi was mad. +The incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may have churned up his +little store of knowledge and his big store of superstitious fancy, at +last, into something akin to frenzy. At any rate, when the idea of +making Holroyd a sacrifice to the Dynamo Fetich was thus suggested to +him, it filled him with a strange tumult of exultant emotion. + +That night the two men and their black shadows were alone in the shed +together. The shed was lit with one big arc light that winked and +flickered purple. The shadows lay black behind the dynamos, the ball +governors of the engines whirled from light to darkness, and their +pistons beat loud and steady. The world outside seen through the open +end of the shed seemed incredibly dim and remote. It seemed absolutely +silent, too, since the riot of the machinery drowned every external +sound. Far away was the black fence of the yard with grey shadowy +houses behind, and above was the deep blue sky and the pale little +stars. Azuma-zi suddenly walked across the centre of the shed above +which the leather bands were running, and went into the shadow by the +big dynamo. Holroyd heard a click, and the spin of the armature +changed. + +“What are you dewin’ with that switch?” he bawled in surprise. “Han’t I +told you—” + +Then he saw the set expression of Azuma-zi’s eyes as the Asiatic came +out of the shadow towards him. + +In another moment the two men were grappling fiercely in front of the +great dynamo. + +“You coffee-headed fool!” gasped Holroyd, with a brown hand at his +throat. “Keep off those contact rings.” In another moment he was +tripped and reeling back upon the Lord of the Dynamos. He instinctively +loosened his grip upon his antagonist to save himself from the machine. + +The messenger, sent in furious haste from the station to find out what +had happened in the dynamo shed, met Azuma-zi at the porter’s lodge by +the gate. Azuma-zi tried to explain something, but the messenger could +make nothing of the black’s incoherent English, and hurried on to the +shed. The machines were all noisily at work, and nothing seemed to be +disarranged. There was, however, a queer smell of singed hair. Then he +saw an odd-looking crumpled mass clinging to the front of the big +dynamo, and, approaching, recognised the distorted remains of Holroyd. + +The man stared and hesitated a moment. Then he saw the face, and shut +his eyes convulsively. He turned on his heel before he opened them, so +that he should not see Holroyd again, and went out of the shed to get +advice and help. + +When Azuma-zi saw Holroyd die in the grip of the Great Dynamo he had +been a little scared about the consequences of his act. Yet he felt +strangely elated, and knew that the favour of the Lord Dynamo was upon +him. His plan was already settled when he met the man coming from the +station, and the scientific manager who speedily arrived on the scene +jumped at the obvious conclusion of suicide. This expert scarcely +noticed Azuma-zi, except to ask a few questions. Did he see Holroyd +kill himself? Azuma-zi explained that he had been out of sight at the +engine furnace until he heard a difference in the noise from the +dynamo. It was not a difficult examination, being untinctured by +suspicion. + +The distorted remains of Holroyd, which the electrician removed from +the machine, were hastily covered by the porter with a coffee-stained +tablecloth. Somebody, by a happy inspiration, fetched a medical man. +The expert was chiefly anxious to get the machine at work again, for +seven or eight trains had stopped midway in the stuffy tunnels of the +electric railway. Azuma-zi, answering or misunderstanding the questions +of the people who had by authority or impudence come into the shed, was +presently sent back to the stoke-hole by the scientific manager. Of +course a crowd collected outside the gates of the yard—a crowd, for no +known reason, always hovers for a day or two near the scene of a sudden +death in London; two or three reporters percolated somehow into the +engine-shed, and one even got to Azuma-zi; but the scientific expert +cleared them out again, being himself an amateur journalist. + +Presently the body was carried away, and public interest departed with +it. Azuma-zi remained very quietly at his furnace, seeing over and over +again in the coals a figure that wriggled violently and became still. +An hour after the murder, to anyone coming into the shed it would have +looked exactly as if nothing had ever happened there. Peeping presently +from his engine-room the black saw the Lord Dynamo spin and whirl +beside his little brothers, and the driving wheels were beating round, +and the steam in the pistons went thud, thud, exactly as it had been +earlier in the evening. After all, from the mechanical point of view, +it had been a most insignificant incident—the mere temporary deflection +of a current. But now the slender form and slender shadow of the +scientific manager replaced the sturdy outline of Holroyd travelling up +and down the lane of light upon the vibrating floor under the straps +between the engines and the dynamos. + +“Have I not served my Lord?” said Azuma-zi inaudibly, from his shadow, +and the note of the great dynamo rang out full and clear. As he looked +at the big whirling mechanism the strange fascination of it that had +been a little in abeyance since Holroyd’s death, resumed its sway. + +Never had Azuma-zi seen a man killed so swiftly and pitilessly. The big +humming machine had slain its victim without wavering for a second from +its steady beating. It was indeed a mighty god. + +The unconscious scientific manager stood with his back to him, +scribbling on a piece of paper. His shadow lay at the foot of the +monster. + +“Was the Lord Dynamo still hungry? His servant was ready.” + +Azuma-zi made a stealthy step forward; then stopped. The scientific +manager suddenly stopped writing, and walked down the shed to the +endmost of the dynamos, and began to examine the brushes. + +Azuma-zi hesitated, and then slipped across noiselessly into shadow by +the switch. There he waited. Presently the manager’s footsteps could be +heard returning. He stopped in his old position, unconscious of the +stoker crouching ten feet away from him. Then the big dynamo suddenly +fizzled, and in another moment Azuma-zi had sprung out of the darkness +upon him. + +First, the scientific manager was gripped round the body and swung +towards the big dynamo, then, kicking with his knee and forcing his +antagonist’s head down with his hands, he loosened the grip on his +waist and swung round away from the machine. Then the black grasped him +again, putting a curly head against his chest, and they swayed and +panted as it seemed for an age or so. Then the scientific manager was +impelled to catch a black ear in his teeth and bite furiously. The +black yelled hideously. + +They rolled over on the floor, and the black, who had apparently +slipped from the vice of the teeth or parted with some ear—the +scientific manager wondered which at the time—tried to throttle him. +The scientific manager was making some ineffectual attempts to claw +something with his hands and to kick, when the welcome sound of quick +footsteps sounded on the floor. The next moment Azuma-zi had left him +and darted towards the big dynamo. There was a splutter amid the roar. + +The officer of the company who had entered, stood staring as Azuma-zi +caught the naked terminals in his hands, gave one horrible convulsion, +and then hung motionless from the machine, his face violently +distorted. + +“I’m jolly glad you came in when you did,” said the scientific manager, +still sitting on the floor. + +He looked at the still quivering figure. + +“It’s not a nice death to die, apparently—but it is quick.” + +The official was still staring at the body. He was a man of slow +apprehension. + +There was a pause. + +The scientific manager got up on his feet rather awkwardly. He ran his +fingers along his collar thoughtfully, and moved his head to and fro +several times. + +“Poor Holroyd! I see now.” Then almost mechanically he went towards the +switch in the shadow and turned the current into the railway circuit +again. As he did so the singed body loosened its grip upon the machine +and fell forward on its face. The core of the dynamo roared out loud +and clear, and the armature beat the air. + +So ended prematurely the Worship of the Dynamo Deity, perhaps the most +short-lived of all religions. Yet withal it could at least boast a +Martyrdom and a Human Sacrifice. + + + + +THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND + + +Three hundred miles and more from Chimborazo, one hundred from the +snows of Cotopaxi, in the wildest wastes of Ecuador’s Andes, there lies +that mysterious mountain valley, cut off from all the world of men, the +Country of the Blind. Long years ago that valley lay so far open to the +world that men might come at last through frightful gorges and over an +icy pass into its equable meadows, and thither indeed men came, a +family or so of Peruvian half-breeds fleeing from the lust and tyranny +of an evil Spanish ruler. Then came the stupendous outbreak of +Mindobamba, when it was night in Quito for seventeen days, and the +water was boiling at Yaguachi and all the fish floating dying even as +far as Guayaquil; everywhere along the Pacific slopes there were +land-slips and swift thawings and sudden floods, and one whole side of +the old Arauca crest slipped and came down in thunder, and cut off the +Country of the Blind for ever from the exploring feet of men. But one +of these early settlers had chanced to be on the hither side of the +gorges when the world had so terribly shaken itself, and he perforce +had to forget his wife and his child and all the friends and +possessions he had left up there, and start life over again in the +lower world. He started it again but ill, blindness overtook him, and +he died of punishment in the mines; but the story he told begot a +legend that lingers along the length of the Cordilleras of the Andes to +this day. + +He told of his reason for venturing back from that fastness, into which +he had first been carried lashed to a llama, beside a vast bale of +gear, when he was a child. The valley, he said, had in it all that the +heart of man could desire—sweet water, pasture, an even climate, slopes +of rich brown soil with tangles of a shrub that bore an excellent +fruit, and on one side great hanging forests of pine that held the +avalanches high. Far overhead, on three sides, vast cliffs of +grey-green rock were capped by cliffs of ice; but the glacier stream +came not to them, but flowed away by the farther slopes, and only now +and then huge ice masses fell on the valley side. In this valley it +neither rained nor snowed, but the abundant springs gave a rich green +pasture, that irrigation would spread over all the valley space. The +settlers did well indeed there. Their beasts did well and multiplied, +and but one thing marred their happiness. Yet it was enough to mar it +greatly. A strange disease had come upon them and had made all the +children born to them there—and, indeed, several older children +also—blind. It was to seek some charm or antidote against this plague +of blindness that he had with fatigue and danger and difficulty +returned down the gorge. In those days, in such cases, men did not +think of germs and infections, but of sins, and it seemed to him that +the reason of this affliction must lie in the negligence of these +priestless immigrants to set up a shrine so soon as they entered the +valley. He wanted a shrine—a handsome, cheap, effectual shrine—to be +erected in the valley; he wanted relics and such-like potent things of +faith, blessed objects and mysterious medals and prayers. In his wallet +he had a bar of native silver for which he would not account; he +insisted there was none in the valley with something of the insistence +of an inexpert liar. They had all clubbed their money and ornaments +together, having little need for such treasure up there, he said, to +buy them holy help against their ill. I figure this dim-eyed young +mountaineer, sunburnt, gaunt, and anxious, hat brim clutched +feverishly, a man all unused to the ways of the lower world, telling +this story to some keen-eyed, attentive priest before the great +convulsion; I can picture him presently seeking to return with pious +and infallible remedies against that trouble, and the infinite dismay +with which he must have faced the tumbled vastness where the gorge had +once come out. But the rest of his story of mischances is lost to me, +save that I know of his evil death after several years. Poor stray from +that remoteness! The stream that had once made the gorge now bursts +from the mouth of a rocky cave, and the legend his poor, ill-told story +set going developed into the legend of a race of blind men somewhere +“over there” one may still hear to-day. + +And amidst the little population of that now isolated and forgotten +valley the disease ran its course. The old became groping, the young +saw but dimly, and the children that were born to them never saw at +all. But life was very easy in that snow-rimmed basin, lost to all the +world, with neither thorns nor briers, with no evil insects nor any +beasts save the gentle breed of llamas they had lugged and thrust and +followed up the beds of the shrunken rivers in the gorges up which they +had come. The seeing had become purblind so gradually that they +scarcely noticed their loss. They guided the sightless youngsters +hither and thither until they knew the whole valley marvellously, and +when at last sight died out among them the race lived on. They had even +time to adapt themselves to the blind control of fire, which they made +carefully in stoves of stone. They were a simple strain of people at +the first, unlettered, only slightly touched with the Spanish +civilisation, but with something of a tradition of the arts of old Peru +and of its lost philosophy. Generation followed generation. They forgot +many things; they devised many things. Their tradition of the greater +world they came from became mythical in colour and uncertain. In all +things save sight they were strong and able, and presently chance sent +one who had an original mind and who could talk and persuade among +them, and then afterwards another. These two passed, leaving their +effects, and the little community grew in numbers and in understanding, +and met and settled social and economic problems that arose. Generation +followed generation. Generation followed generation. There came a time +when a child was born who was fifteen generations from that ancestor +who went out of the valley with a bar of silver to seek God’s aid, and +who never returned. Thereabout it chanced that a man came into this +community from the outer world. And this is the story of that man. + +He was a mountaineer from the country near Quito, a man who had been +down to the sea and had seen the world, a reader of books in an +original way, an acute and enterprising man, and he was taken on by a +party of Englishmen who had come out to Ecuador to climb mountains, to +replace one of their three Swiss guides who had fallen ill. He climbed +here and he climbed there, and then came the attempt on Parascotopetl, +the Matterhorn of the Andes, in which he was lost to the outer world. +The story of that accident has been written a dozen times. Pointer’s +narrative is the best. He tells how the little party worked their +difficult and almost vertical way up to the very foot of the last and +greatest precipice, and how they built a night shelter amidst the snow +upon a little shelf of rock, and, with a touch of real dramatic power, +how presently they found Nunez had gone from them. They shouted, and +there was no reply; shouted and whistled, and for the rest of that +night they slept no more. + +As the morning broke they saw the traces of his fall. It seems +impossible he could have uttered a sound. He had slipped eastward +towards the unknown side of the mountain; far below he had struck a +steep slope of snow, and ploughed his way down it in the midst of a +snow avalanche. His track went straight to the edge of a frightful +precipice, and beyond that everything was hidden. Far, far below, and +hazy with distance, they could see trees rising out of a narrow, +shut-in valley—the lost Country of the Blind. But they did not know it +was the lost Country of the Blind, nor distinguish it in any way from +any other narrow streak of upland valley. Unnerved by this disaster, +they abandoned their attempt in the afternoon, and Pointer was called +away to the war before he could make another attack. To this day +Parascotopetl lifts an unconquered crest, and Pointer’s shelter +crumbles unvisited amidst the snows. + +And the man who fell survived. + +At the end of the slope he fell a thousand feet, and came down in the +midst of a cloud of snow upon a snow-slope even steeper than the one +above. Down this he was whirled, stunned and insensible, but without a +bone broken in his body; and then at last came to gentler slopes, and +at last rolled out and lay still, buried amidst a softening heap of the +white masses that had accompanied and saved him. He came to himself +with a dim fancy that he was ill in bed; then realized his position +with a mountaineer’s intelligence and worked himself loose and, after a +rest or so, out until he saw the stars. He rested flat upon his chest +for a space, wondering where he was and what had happened to him. He +explored his limbs, and discovered that several of his buttons were +gone and his coat turned over his head. His knife had gone from his +pocket and his hat was lost, though he had tied it under his chin. He +recalled that he had been looking for loose stones to raise his piece +of the shelter wall. His ice-axe had disappeared. + +He decided he must have fallen, and looked up to see, exaggerated by +the ghastly light of the rising moon, the tremendous flight he had +taken. For a while he lay, gazing blankly at the vast, pale cliff +towering above, rising moment by moment out of a subsiding tide of +darkness. Its phantasmal, mysterious beauty held him for a space, and +then he was seized with a paroxysm of sobbing laughter . . . . + +After a great interval of time he became aware that he was near the +lower edge of the snow. Below, down what was now a moon-lit and +practicable slope, he saw the dark and broken appearance of rock-strewn +turf. He struggled to his feet, aching in every joint and limb, got +down painfully from the heaped loose snow about him, went downward +until he was on the turf, and there dropped rather than lay beside a +boulder, drank deep from the flask in his inner pocket, and instantly +fell asleep . . . . + +He was awakened by the singing of birds in the trees far below. + +He sat up and perceived he was on a little alp at the foot of a vast +precipice that sloped only a little in the gully down which he and his +snow had come. Over against him another wall of rock reared itself +against the sky. The gorge between these precipices ran east and west +and was full of the morning sunlight, which lit to the westward the +mass of fallen mountain that closed the descending gorge. Below him it +seemed there was a precipice equally steep, but behind the snow in the +gully he found a sort of chimney-cleft dripping with snow-water, down +which a desperate man might venture. He found it easier than it seemed, +and came at last to another desolate alp, and then after a rock climb +of no particular difficulty, to a steep slope of trees. He took his +bearings and turned his face up the gorge, for he saw it opened out +above upon green meadows, among which he now glimpsed quite distinctly +a cluster of stone huts of unfamiliar fashion. At times his progress +was like clambering along the face of a wall, and after a time the +rising sun ceased to strike along the gorge, the voices of the singing +birds died away, and the air grew cold and dark about him. But the +distant valley with its houses was all the brighter for that. He came +presently to talus, and among the rocks he noted—for he was an +observant man—an unfamiliar fern that seemed to clutch out of the +crevices with intense green hands. He picked a frond or so and gnawed +its stalk, and found it helpful. + +About midday he came at last out of the throat of the gorge into the +plain and the sunlight. He was stiff and weary; he sat down in the +shadow of a rock, filled up his flask with water from a spring and +drank it down, and remained for a time, resting before he went on to +the houses. + +They were very strange to his eyes, and indeed the whole aspect of that +valley became, as he regarded it, queerer and more unfamiliar. The +greater part of its surface was lush green meadow, starred with many +beautiful flowers, irrigated with extraordinary care, and bearing +evidence of systematic cropping piece by piece. High up and ringing the +valley about was a wall, and what appeared to be a circumferential +water channel, from which the little trickles of water that fed the +meadow plants came, and on the higher slopes above this flocks of +llamas cropped the scanty herbage. Sheds, apparently shelters or +feeding-places for the llamas, stood against the boundary wall here and +there. The irrigation streams ran together into a main channel down the +centre of the valley, and this was enclosed on either side by a wall +breast high. This gave a singularly urban quality to this secluded +place, a quality that was greatly enhanced by the fact that a number of +paths paved with black and white stones, and each with a curious little +kerb at the side, ran hither and thither in an orderly manner. The +houses of the central village were quite unlike the casual and +higgledy-piggledy agglomeration of the mountain villages he knew; they +stood in a continuous row on either side of a central street of +astonishing cleanness, here and there their parti-coloured facade was +pierced by a door, and not a solitary window broke their even frontage. +They were parti-coloured with extraordinary irregularity, smeared with +a sort of plaster that was sometimes grey, sometimes drab, sometimes +slate-coloured or dark brown; and it was the sight of this wild +plastering first brought the word “blind” into the thoughts of the +explorer. “The good man who did that,” he thought, “must have been as +blind as a bat.” + +He descended a steep place, and so came to the wall and channel that +ran about the valley, near where the latter spouted out its surplus +contents into the deeps of the gorge in a thin and wavering thread of +cascade. He could now see a number of men and women resting on piled +heaps of grass, as if taking a siesta, in the remoter part of the +meadow, and nearer the village a number of recumbent children, and then +nearer at hand three men carrying pails on yokes along a little path +that ran from the encircling wall towards the houses. These latter were +clad in garments of llama cloth and boots and belts of leather, and +they wore caps of cloth with back and ear flaps. They followed one +another in single file, walking slowly and yawning as they walked, like +men who have been up all night. There was something so reassuringly +prosperous and respectable in their bearing that after a moment’s +hesitation Nunez stood forward as conspicuously as possible upon his +rock, and gave vent to a mighty shout that echoed round the valley. + +The three men stopped, and moved their heads as though they were +looking about them. They turned their faces this way and that, and +Nunez gesticulated with freedom. But they did not appear to see him for +all his gestures, and after a time, directing themselves towards the +mountains far away to the right, they shouted as if in answer. Nunez +bawled again, and then once more, and as he gestured ineffectually the +word “blind” came up to the top of his thoughts. “The fools must be +blind,” he said. + +When at last, after much shouting and wrath, Nunez crossed the stream +by a little bridge, came through a gate in the wall, and approached +them, he was sure that they were blind. He was sure that this was the +Country of the Blind of which the legends told. Conviction had sprung +upon him, and a sense of great and rather enviable adventure. The three +stood side by side, not looking at him, but with their ears directed +towards him, judging him by his unfamiliar steps. They stood close +together like men a little afraid, and he could see their eyelids +closed and sunken, as though the very balls beneath had shrunk away. +There was an expression near awe on their faces. + +“A man,” one said, in hardly recognisable Spanish. “A man it is—a man +or a spirit—coming down from the rocks.” + +But Nunez advanced with the confident steps of a youth who enters upon +life. All the old stories of the lost valley and the Country of the +Blind had come back to his mind, and through his thoughts ran this old +proverb, as if it were a refrain:— + +“In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” + +“In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” + +And very civilly he gave them greeting. He talked to them and used his +eyes. + +“Where does he come from, brother Pedro?” asked one. + +“Down out of the rocks.” + +“Over the mountains I come,” said Nunez, “out of the country beyond +there—where men can see. From near Bogota—where there are a hundred +thousands of people, and where the city passes out of sight.” + +“Sight?” muttered Pedro. “Sight?” + +“He comes,” said the second blind man, “out of the rocks.” + +The cloth of their coats, Nunez saw was curious fashioned, each with a +different sort of stitching. + +They startled him by a simultaneous movement towards him, each with a +hand outstretched. He stepped back from the advance of these spread +fingers. + +“Come hither,” said the third blind man, following his motion and +clutching him neatly. + +And they held Nunez and felt him over, saying no word further until +they had done so. + +“Carefully,” he cried, with a finger in his eye, and found they thought +that organ, with its fluttering lids, a queer thing in him. They went +over it again. + +“A strange creature, Correa,” said the one called Pedro. “Feel the +coarseness of his hair. Like a llama’s hair.” + +“Rough he is as the rocks that begot him,” said Correa, investigating +Nunez’s unshaven chin with a soft and slightly moist hand. “Perhaps he +will grow finer.” + +Nunez struggled a little under their examination, but they gripped him +firm. + +“Carefully,” he said again. + +“He speaks,” said the third man. “Certainly he is a man.” + +“Ugh!” said Pedro, at the roughness of his coat. + +“And you have come into the world?” asked Pedro. + +“_Out_ of the world. Over mountains and glaciers; right over above +there, half-way to the sun. Out of the great, big world that goes down, +twelve days’ journey to the sea.” + +They scarcely seemed to heed him. “Our fathers have told us men may be +made by the forces of Nature,” said Correa. “It is the warmth of +things, and moisture, and rottenness—rottenness.” + +“Let us lead him to the elders,” said Pedro. + +“Shout first,” said Correa, “lest the children be afraid. This is a +marvellous occasion.” + +So they shouted, and Pedro went first and took Nunez by the hand to +lead him to the houses. + +He drew his hand away. “I can see,” he said. + +“See?” said Correa. + +“Yes; see,” said Nunez, turning towards him, and stumbled against +Pedro’s pail. + +“His senses are still imperfect,” said the third blind man. “He +stumbles, and talks unmeaning words. Lead him by the hand.” + +“As you will,” said Nunez, and was led along laughing. + +It seemed they knew nothing of sight. + +Well, all in good time he would teach them. + +He heard people shouting, and saw a number of figures gathering +together in the middle roadway of the village. + +He found it tax his nerve and patience more than he had anticipated, +that first encounter with the population of the Country of the Blind. +The place seemed larger as he drew near to it, and the smeared +plasterings queerer, and a crowd of children and men and women (the +women and girls he was pleased to note had, some of them, quite sweet +faces, for all that their eyes were shut and sunken) came about him, +holding on to him, touching him with soft, sensitive hands, smelling at +him, and listening at every word he spoke. Some of the maidens and +children, however, kept aloof as if afraid, and indeed his voice seemed +coarse and rude beside their softer notes. They mobbed him. His three +guides kept close to him with an effect of proprietorship, and said +again and again, “A wild man out of the rocks.” + +“Bogota,” he said. “Bogota. Over the mountain crests.” + +“A wild man—using wild words,” said Pedro. “Did you hear that— + +“_Bogota?_ His mind has hardly formed yet. He has only the beginnings +of speech.” + +A little boy nipped his hand. “Bogota!” he said mockingly. + +“Aye! A city to your village. I come from the great world—where men +have eyes and see.” + +“His name’s Bogota,” they said. + +“He stumbled,” said Correa—“stumbled twice as we came hither.” + +“Bring him in to the elders.” + +And they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as black as +pitch, save at the end there faintly glowed a fire. The crowd closed in +behind him and shut out all but the faintest glimmer of day, and before +he could arrest himself he had fallen headlong over the feet of a +seated man. His arm, outflung, struck the face of someone else as he +went down; he felt the soft impact of features and heard a cry of +anger, and for a moment he struggled against a number of hands that +clutched him. It was a one-sided fight. An inkling of the situation +came to him and he lay quiet. + +“I fell down,” he said; “I couldn’t see in this pitchy darkness.” + +There was a pause as if the unseen persons about him tried to +understand his words. Then the voice of Correa said: “He is but newly +formed. He stumbles as he walks and mingles words that mean nothing +with his speech.” + +Others also said things about him that he heard or understood +imperfectly. + +“May I sit up?” he asked, in a pause. “I will not struggle against you +again.” + +They consulted and let him rise. + +The voice of an older man began to question him, and Nunez found +himself trying to explain the great world out of which he had fallen, +and the sky and mountains and such-like marvels, to these elders who +sat in darkness in the Country of the Blind. And they would believe and +understand nothing whatever that he told them, a thing quite outside +his expectation. They would not even understand many of his words. For +fourteen generations these people had been blind and cut off from all +the seeing world; the names for all the things of sight had faded and +changed; the story of the outer world was faded and changed to a +child’s story; and they had ceased to concern themselves with anything +beyond the rocky slopes above their circling wall. Blind men of genius +had arisen among them and questioned the shreds of belief and tradition +they had brought with them from their seeing days, and had dismissed +all these things as idle fancies and replaced them with new and saner +explanations. Much of their imagination had shrivelled with their eyes, +and they had made for themselves new imaginations with their ever more +sensitive ears and finger-tips. Slowly Nunez realised this: that his +expectation of wonder and reverence at his origin and his gifts was not +to be borne out; and after his poor attempt to explain sight to them +had been set aside as the confused version of a new-made being +describing the marvels of his incoherent sensations, he subsided, a +little dashed, into listening to their instruction. And the eldest of +the blind men explained to him life and philosophy and religion, how +that the world (meaning their valley) had been first an empty hollow in +the rocks, and then had come first inanimate things without the gift of +touch, and llamas and a few other creatures that had little sense, and +then men, and at last angels, whom one could hear singing and making +fluttering sounds, but whom no one could touch at all, which puzzled +Nunez greatly until he thought of the birds. + +He went on to tell Nunez how this time had been divided into the warm +and the cold, which are the blind equivalents of day and night, and how +it was good to sleep in the warm and work during the cold, so that now, +but for his advent, the whole town of the blind would have been asleep. +He said Nunez must have been specially created to learn and serve the +wisdom they had acquired, and that for all his mental incoherency and +stumbling behaviour he must have courage and do his best to learn, and +at that all the people in the door-way murmured encouragingly. He said +the night—for the blind call their day night—was now far gone, and it +behooved everyone to go back to sleep. He asked Nunez if he knew how to +sleep, and Nunez said he did, but that before sleep he wanted food. +They brought him food, llama’s milk in a bowl and rough salted bread, +and led him into a lonely place to eat out of their hearing, and +afterwards to slumber until the chill of the mountain evening roused +them to begin their day again. But Nunez slumbered not at all. + +Instead, he sat up in the place where they had left him, resting his +limbs and turning the unanticipated circumstances of his arrival over +and over in his mind. + +Every now and then he laughed, sometimes with amusement and sometimes +with indignation. + +“Unformed mind!” he said. “Got no senses yet! They little know they’ve +been insulting their Heaven-sent King and master . . . . . + +“I see I must bring them to reason. + +“Let me think. + +“Let me think.” + +He was still thinking when the sun set. + +Nunez had an eye for all beautiful things, and it seemed to him that +the glow upon the snow-fields and glaciers that rose about the valley +on every side was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His eyes +went from that inaccessible glory to the village and irrigated fields, +fast sinking into the twilight, and suddenly a wave of emotion took +him, and he thanked God from the bottom of his heart that the power of +sight had been given him. + +He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village. + +“Yaho there, Bogota! Come hither!” + +At that he stood up, smiling. He would show these people once and for +all what sight would do for a man. They would seek him, but not find +him. + +“You move not, Bogota,” said the voice. + +He laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from the path. + +“Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed.” + +Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He stopped, amazed. + +The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path towards him. + +He stepped back into the pathway. “Here I am,” he said. + +“Why did you not come when I called you?” said the blind man. “Must you +be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you walk?” + +Nunez laughed. “I can see it,” he said. + +“There is no such word as _see_,” said the blind man, after a pause. +“Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet.” + +Nunez followed, a little annoyed. + +“My time will come,” he said. + +“You’ll learn,” the blind man answered. “There is much to learn in the +world.” + +“Has no one told you, ‘In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is +King?’” + +“What is blind?” asked the blind man, carelessly, over his shoulder. + +Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind still +incognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his subjects. + +It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than he had +supposed, and in the meantime, while he meditated his _coup d’etat_, he +did what he was told and learnt the manners and customs of the Country +of the Blind. He found working and going about at night a particularly +irksome thing, and he decided that that should be the first thing he +would change. + +They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the elements +of virtue and happiness as these things can be understood by men. They +toiled, but not oppressively; they had food and clothing sufficient for +their needs; they had days and seasons of rest; they made much of music +and singing, and there was love among them and little children. It was +marvellous with what confidence and precision they went about their +ordered world. Everything, you see, had been made to fit their needs; +each of the radiating paths of the valley area had a constant angle to +the others, and was distinguished by a special notch upon its kerbing; +all obstacles and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been +cleared away; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from +their special needs. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they +could hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces +away—could hear the very beating of his heart. Intonation had long +replaced expression with them, and touches gesture, and their work with +hoe and spade and fork was as free and confident as garden work can be. +Their sense of smell was extraordinarily fine; they could distinguish +individual differences as readily as a dog can, and they went about the +tending of llamas, who lived among the rocks above and came to the wall +for food and shelter, with ease and confidence. It was only when at +last Nunez sought to assert himself that he found how easy and +confident their movements could be. + +He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion. + +He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. “Look you +here, you people,” he said. “There are things you do not understand in +me.” + +Once or twice one or two of them attended to him; they sat with faces +downcast and ears turned intelligently towards him, and he did his best +to tell them what it was to see. Among his hearers was a girl, with +eyelids less red and sunken than the others, so that one could almost +fancy she was hiding eyes, whom especially he hoped to persuade. He +spoke of the beauties of sight, of watching the mountains, of the sky +and the sunrise, and they heard him with amused incredulity that +presently became condemnatory. They told him there were indeed no +mountains at all, but that the end of the rocks where the llamas grazed +was indeed the end of the world; thence sprang a cavernous roof of the +universe, from which the dew and the avalanches fell; and when he +maintained stoutly the world had neither end nor roof such as they +supposed, they said his thoughts were wicked. So far as he could +describe sky and clouds and stars to them it seemed to them a hideous +void, a terrible blankness in the place of the smooth roof to things in +which they believed—it was an article of faith with them that the +cavern roof was exquisitely smooth to the touch. He saw that in some +manner he shocked them, and gave up that aspect of the matter +altogether, and tried to show them the practical value of sight. One +morning he saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards +the central houses, but still too far off for hearing or scent, and he +told them as much. “In a little while,” he prophesied, “Pedro will be +here.” An old man remarked that Pedro had no business on path +Seventeen, and then, as if in confirmation, that individual as he drew +near turned and went transversely into path Ten, and so back with +nimble paces towards the outer wall. They mocked Nunez when Pedro did +not arrive, and afterwards, when he asked Pedro questions to clear his +character, Pedro denied and outfaced him, and was afterwards hostile to +him. + +Then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping meadows +towards the wall with one complaisant individual, and to him he +promised to describe all that happened among the houses. He noted +certain goings and comings, but the things that really seemed to +signify to these people happened inside of or behind the windowless +houses—the only things they took note of to test him by—and of those he +could see or tell nothing; and it was after the failure of this +attempt, and the ridicule they could not repress, that he resorted to +force. He thought of seizing a spade and suddenly smiting one or two of +them to earth, and so in fair combat showing the advantage of eyes. He +went so far with that resolution as to seize his spade, and then he +discovered a new thing about himself, and that was that it was +impossible for him to hit a blind man in cold blood. + +He hesitated, and found them all aware that he had snatched up the +spade. They stood all alert, with their heads on one side, and bent +ears towards him for what he would do next. + +“Put that spade down,” said one, and he felt a sort of helpless horror. +He came near obedience. + +Then he had thrust one backwards against a house wall, and fled past +him and out of the village. + +He went athwart one of their meadows, leaving a track of trampled grass +behind his feet, and presently sat down by the side of one of their +ways. He felt something of the buoyancy that comes to all men in the +beginning of a fight, but more perplexity. He began to realise that you +cannot even fight happily with creatures who stand upon a different +mental basis to yourself. Far away he saw a number of men carrying +spades and sticks come out of the street of houses and advance in a +spreading line along the several paths towards him. They advanced +slowly, speaking frequently to one another, and ever and again the +whole cordon would halt and sniff the air and listen. + +The first time they did this Nunez laughed. But afterwards he did not +laugh. + +One struck his trail in the meadow grass and came stooping and feeling +his way along it. + +For five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon, and then +his vague disposition to do something forthwith became frantic. He +stood up, went a pace or so towards the circumferential wall, turned, +and went back a little way. There they all stood in a crescent, still +and listening. + +He also stood still, gripping his spade very tightly in both hands. +Should he charge them? + +The pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of “In the Country of the +Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” + +Should he charge them? + +He looked back at the high and unclimbable wall behind—unclimbable +because of its smooth plastering, but withal pierced with many little +doors and at the approaching line of seekers. Behind these others were +now coming out of the street of houses. + +Should he charge them? + +“Bogota!” called one. “Bogota! where are you?” + +He gripped his spade still tighter and advanced down the meadows +towards the place of habitations, and directly he moved they converged +upon him. “I’ll hit them if they touch me,” he swore; “by Heaven, I +will. I’ll hit.” He called aloud, “Look here, I’m going to do what I +like in this valley! Do you hear? I’m going to do what I like and go +where I like.” + +They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving rapidly. It +was like playing blind man’s buff with everyone blindfolded except one. +“Get hold of him!” cried one. He found himself in the arc of a loose +curve of pursuers. He felt suddenly he must be active and resolute. + +“You don’t understand,” he cried, in a voice that was meant to be great +and resolute, and which broke. “You are blind and I can see. Leave me +alone!” + +“Bogota! Put down that spade and come off the grass!” + +The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced a gust of +anger. “I’ll hurt you,” he said, sobbing with emotion. “By Heaven, I’ll +hurt you! Leave me alone!” + +He began to run—not knowing clearly where to run. He ran from the +nearest blind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He stopped, and +then made a dash to escape from their closing ranks. He made for where +a gap was wide, and the men on either side, with a quick perception of +the approach of his paces, rushed in on one another. He sprang forward, +and then saw he must be caught, and _swish!_ the spade had struck. He +felt the soft thud of hand and arm, and the man was down with a yell of +pain, and he was through. + +Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again, and blind +men, whirling spades and stakes, were running with a reasoned swiftness +hither and thither. + +He heard steps behind him just in time, and found a tall man rushing +forward and swiping at the sound of him. He lost his nerve, hurled his +spade a yard wide of this antagonist, and whirled about and fled, +fairly yelling as he dodged another. + +He was panic-stricken. He ran furiously to and fro, dodging when there +was no need to dodge, and, in his anxiety to see on every side of him +at once, stumbling. For a moment he was down and they heard his fall. +Far away in the circumferential wall a little doorway looked like +Heaven, and he set off in a wild rush for it. He did not even look +round at his pursuers until it was gained, and he had stumbled across +the bridge, clambered a little way among the rocks, to the surprise and +dismay of a young llama, who went leaping out of sight, and lay down +sobbing for breath. + +And so his _coup d’etat_ came to an end. + +He stayed outside the wall of the valley of the blind for two nights +and days without food or shelter, and meditated upon the Unexpected. +During these meditations he repeated very frequently and always with a +profounder note of derision the exploded proverb: “In the Country of +the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” He thought chiefly of ways of +fighting and conquering these people, and it grew clear that for him no +practicable way was possible. He had no weapons, and now it would be +hard to get one. + +The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and he could +not find it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind man. Of +course, if he did that, he might then dictate terms on the threat of +assassinating them all. But—Sooner or later he must sleep! . . . . + +He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be comfortable +under pine boughs while the frost fell at night, and—with less +confidence—to catch a llama by artifice in order to try to kill +it—perhaps by hammering it with a stone—and so finally, perhaps, to eat +some of it. But the llamas had a doubt of him and regarded him with +distrustful brown eyes and spat when he drew near. Fear came on him the +second day and fits of shivering. Finally he crawled down to the wall +of the Country of the Blind and tried to make his terms. He crawled +along by the stream, shouting, until two blind men came out to the gate +and talked to him. + +“I was mad,” he said. “But I was only newly made.” + +They said that was better. + +He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had done. + +Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill now, and +they took that as a favourable sign. + +They asked him if he still thought he could “_see_.” + +“No,” he said. “That was folly. The word means nothing. Less than +nothing!” + +They asked him what was overhead. + +“About ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above the +world—of rock—and very, very smooth. So smooth—so beautifully smooth . +.” He burst again into hysterical tears. “Before you ask me any more, +give me some food or I shall die!” + +He expected dire punishments, but these blind people were capable of +toleration. They regarded his rebellion as but one more proof of his +general idiocy and inferiority, and after they had whipped him they +appointed him to do the simplest and heaviest work they had for anyone +to do, and he, seeing no other way of living, did submissively what he +was told. + +He was ill for some days and they nursed him kindly. That refined his +submission. But they insisted on his lying in the dark, and that was a +great misery. And blind philosophers came and talked to him of the +wicked levity of his mind, and reproved him so impressively for his +doubts about the lid of rock that covered their cosmic _casserole_ that +he almost doubted whether indeed he was not the victim of hallucination +in not seeing it overhead. + +So Nunez became a citizen of the Country of the Blind, and these people +ceased to be a generalised people and became individualities to him, +and familiar to him, while the world beyond the mountains became more +and more remote and unreal. There was Yacob, his master, a kindly man +when not annoyed; there was Pedro, Yacob’s nephew; and there was +Medina-sarote, who was the youngest daughter of Yacob. She was little +esteemed in the world of the blind, because she had a clear-cut face +and lacked that satisfying, glossy smoothness that is the blind man’s +ideal of feminine beauty, but Nunez thought her beautiful at first, and +presently the most beautiful thing in the whole creation. Her closed +eyelids were not sunken and red after the common way of the valley, but +lay as though they might open again at any moment; and she had long +eyelashes, which were considered a grave disfigurement. And her voice +was weak and did not satisfy the acute hearing of the valley swains. So +that she had no lover. + +There came a time when Nunez thought that, could he win her, he would +be resigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his days. + +He watched her; he sought opportunities of doing her little services +and presently he found that she observed him. Once at a rest-day +gathering they sat side by side in the dim starlight, and the music was +sweet. His hand came upon hers and he dared to clasp it. Then very +tenderly she returned his pressure. And one day, as they were at their +meal in the darkness, he felt her hand very softly seeking him, and as +it chanced the fire leapt then, and he saw the tenderness of her face. + +He sought to speak to her. + +He went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer moonlight +spinning. The light made her a thing of silver and mystery. He sat down +at her feet and told her he loved her, and told her how beautiful she +seemed to him. He had a lover’s voice, he spoke with a tender reverence +that came near to awe, and she had never before been touched by +adoration. She made him no definite answer, but it was clear his words +pleased her. + +After that he talked to her whenever he could take an opportunity. The +valley became the world for him, and the world beyond the mountains +where men lived by day seemed no more than a fairy tale he would some +day pour into her ears. Very tentatively and timidly he spoke to her of +sight. + +Sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies, and she listened to +his description of the stars and the mountains and her own sweet +white-lit beauty as though it was a guilty indulgence. She did not +believe, she could only half understand, but she was mysteriously +delighted, and it seemed to him that she completely understood. + +His love lost its awe and took courage. Presently he was for demanding +her of Yacob and the elders in marriage, but she became fearful and +delayed. And it was one of her elder sisters who first told Yacob that +Medina-sarote and Nunez were in love. + +There was from the first very great opposition to the marriage of Nunez +and Medina-sarote; not so much because they valued her as because they +held him as a being apart, an idiot, incompetent thing below the +permissible level of a man. Her sisters opposed it bitterly as bringing +discredit on them all; and old Yacob, though he had formed a sort of +liking for his clumsy, obedient serf, shook his head and said the thing +could not be. The young men were all angry at the idea of corrupting +the race, and one went so far as to revile and strike Nunez. He struck +back. Then for the first time he found an advantage in seeing, even by +twilight, and after that fight was over no one was disposed to raise a +hand against him. But they still found his marriage impossible. + +Old Yacob had a tenderness for his last little daughter, and was +grieved to have her weep upon his shoulder. + +“You see, my dear, he’s an idiot. He has delusions; he can’t do +anything right.” + +“I know,” wept Medina-sarote. “But he’s better than he was. He’s +getting better. And he’s strong, dear father, and kind—stronger and +kinder than any other man in the world. And he loves me—and, father, I +love him.” + +Old Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable, and, +besides—what made it more distressing—he liked Nunez for many things. +So he went and sat in the windowless council-chamber with the other +elders and watched the trend of the talk, and said, at the proper time, +“He’s better than he was. Very likely, some day, we shall find him as +sane as ourselves.” + +Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had an idea. He +was a great doctor among these people, their medicine-man, and he had a +very philosophical and inventive mind, and the idea of curing Nunez of +his peculiarities appealed to him. One day when Yacob was present he +returned to the topic of Nunez. “I have examined Nunez,” he said, “and +the case is clearer to me. I think very probably he might be cured.” + +“This is what I have always hoped,” said old Yacob. + +“His brain is affected,” said the blind doctor. + +The elders murmured assent. + +“Now, _what_ affects it?” + +“Ah!” said old Yacob. + +“_This_,” said the doctor, answering his own question. “Those queer +things that are called the eyes, and which exist to make an agreeable +depression in the face, are diseased, in the case of Nunez, in such a +way as to affect his brain. They are greatly distended, he has +eyelashes, and his eyelids move, and consequently his brain is in a +state of constant irritation and distraction.” + +“Yes?” said old Yacob. “Yes?” + +“And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in order to cure +him complete, all that we need to do is a simple and easy surgical +operation—namely, to remove these irritant bodies.” + +“And then he will be sane?” + +“Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable citizen.” + +“Thank Heaven for science!” said old Yacob, and went forth at once to +tell Nunez of his happy hopes. + +But Nunez’s manner of receiving the good news struck him as being cold +and disappointing. + +“One might think,” he said, “from the tone you take that you did not +care for my daughter.” + +It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind surgeons. + +“_You_ do not want me,” he said, “to lose my gift of sight?” + +She shook her head. + +“My world is sight.” + +Her head drooped lower. + +“There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little things—the +flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and softness on a +piece of fur, the far sky with its drifting dawn of clouds, the sunsets +and the stars. And there is _you_. For you alone it is good to have +sight, to see your sweet, serene face, your kindly lips, your dear, +beautiful hands folded together. . . . . It is these eyes of mine you +won, these eyes that hold me to you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I +must touch you, hear you, and never see you again. I must come under +that roof of rock and stone and darkness, that horrible roof under +which your imaginations stoop . . . _No_; _you_ would not have me do +that?” + +A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped and left the thing a +question. + +“I wish,” she said, “sometimes—” She paused. + +“Yes?” he said, a little apprehensively. + +“I wish sometimes—you would not talk like that.” + +“Like what?” + +“I know it’s pretty—it’s your imagination. I love it, but _now_—” + +He felt cold. “_Now?_” he said, faintly. + +She sat quite still. + +“You mean—you think—I should be better, better perhaps—” + +He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger perhaps, anger at +the dull course of fate, but also sympathy for her lack of +understanding—a sympathy near akin to pity. + +“_Dear_,” he said, and he could see by her whiteness how tensely her +spirit pressed against the things she could not say. He put his arms +about her, he kissed her ear, and they sat for a time in silence. + +“If I were to consent to this?” he said at last, in a voice that was +very gentle. + +She flung her arms about him, weeping wildly. “Oh, if you would,” she +sobbed, “if only you would!” + +For a week before the operation that was to raise him from his +servitude and inferiority to the level of a blind citizen Nunez knew +nothing of sleep, and all through the warm, sunlit hours, while the +others slumbered happily, he sat brooding or wandered aimlessly, trying +to bring his mind to bear on his dilemma. He had given his answer, he +had given his consent, and still he was not sure. And at last work-time +was over, the sun rose in splendour over the golden crests, and his +last day of vision began for him. He had a few minutes with +Medina-sarote before she went apart to sleep. + +“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall see no more.” + +“Dear heart!” she answered, and pressed his hands with all her +strength. + +“They will hurt you but little,” she said; “and you are going through +this pain, you are going through it, dear lover, for _me_ . . . . Dear, +if a woman’s heart and life can do it, I will repay you. My dearest +one, my dearest with the tender voice, I will repay.” + +He was drenched in pity for himself and her. + +He held her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers and looked on her +sweet face for the last time. “Good-bye!” he whispered to that dear +sight, “good-bye!” + +And then in silence he turned away from her. + +She could hear his slow retreating footsteps, and something in the +rhythm of them threw her into a passion of weeping. + +He walked away. + +He had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows were +beautiful with white narcissus, and there remain until the hour of his +sacrifice should come, but as he walked he lifted up his eyes and saw +the morning, the morning like an angel in golden armour, marching down +the steeps . . . . + +It seemed to him that before this splendour he and this blind world in +the valley, and his love and all, were no more than a pit of sin. + +He did not turn aside as he had meant to do, but went on and passed +through the wall of the circumference and out upon the rocks, and his +eyes were always upon the sunlit ice and snow. + +He saw their infinite beauty, and his imagination soared over them to +the things beyond he was now to resign for ever! + +He thought of that great free world that he was parted from, the world +that was his own, and he had a vision of those further slopes, distance +beyond distance, with Bogota, a place of multitudinous stirring beauty, +a glory by day, a luminous mystery by night, a place of palaces and +fountains and statues and white houses, lying beautifully in the middle +distance. He thought how for a day or so one might come down through +passes drawing ever nearer and nearer to its busy streets and ways. He +thought of the river journey, day by day, from great Bogota to the +still vaster world beyond, through towns and villages, forest and +desert places, the rushing river day by day, until its banks receded, +and the big steamers came splashing by and one had reached the sea—the +limitless sea, with its thousand islands, its thousands of islands, and +its ships seen dimly far away in their incessant journeyings round and +about that greater world. And there, unpent by mountains, one saw the +sky—the sky, not such a disc as one saw it here, but an arch of +immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps in which the circling stars were +floating . . . . + +His eyes began to scrutinise the great curtain of the mountains with a +keener inquiry. + +For example; if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney there, +then one might come out high among those stunted pines that ran round +in a sort of shelf and rose still higher and higher as it passed above +the gorge. And then? That talus might be managed. Thence perhaps a +climb might be found to take him up to the precipice that came below +the snow; and if that chimney failed, then another farther to the east +might serve his purpose better. And then? Then one would be out upon +the amber-lit snow there, and half-way up to the crest of those +beautiful desolations. And suppose one had good fortune! + +He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and regarded it +with folded arms. + +He thought of Medina-sarote, and she had become small and remote. + +He turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day had come +to him. + +Then very circumspectly he began his climb. + +When sunset came he was not longer climbing, but he was far and high. +His clothes were torn, his limbs were bloodstained, he was bruised in +many places, but he lay as if he were at his ease, and there was a +smile on his face. + +From where he rested the valley seemed as if it were in a pit and +nearly a mile below. Already it was dim with haze and shadow, though +the mountain summits around him were things of light and fire. The +mountain summits around him were things of light and fire, and the +little things in the rocks near at hand were drenched with light and +beauty, a vein of green mineral piercing the grey, a flash of small +crystal here and there, a minute, minutely-beautiful orange lichen +close beside his face. There were deep, mysterious shadows in the +gorge, blue deepening into purple, and purple into a luminous darkness, +and overhead was the illimitable vastness of the sky. But he heeded +these things no longer, but lay quite still there, smiling as if he +were content now merely to have escaped from the valley of the Blind, +in which he had thought to be King. And the glow of the sunset passed, +and the night came, and still he lay there, under the cold, clear +stars. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOOR IN THE WALL AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 456-0.txt or 456-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/456/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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G. Wells</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Door in the Wall And Other Stories</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. G. Wells</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March, 1996 [eBook #456]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 12, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Judith Boss</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOOR IN THE WALL AND OTHER STORIES ***</div> + +<h1>The Door in the Wall<br /> +And Other Stories</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by H. G. Wells</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">THE DOOR IN THE WALL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">THE STAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">THE CONE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">A MOONLIGHT FABLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">THE DIAMOND MAKER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>THE DOOR IN THE WALL</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p> +One confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace told me this +story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thought that so far as he was +concerned it was a true story. +</p> + +<p> +He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction that I could not do +otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning, in my own flat, I woke to a +different atmosphere, and as I lay in bed and recalled the things he had told +me, stripped of the glamour of his earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed +shaded table light, the shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and the +pleasant bright things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the dinner we had +shared, making them for the time a bright little world quite cut off from +every-day realities, I saw it all as frankly incredible. “He was +mystifying!” I said, and then: “How well he did it!. . . . . It +isn’t quite the thing I should have expected him, of all people, to do +well.” +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, as I sat up in bed and sipped my morning tea, I found myself trying +to account for the flavour of reality that perplexed me in his impossible +reminiscences, by supposing they did in some way suggest, present, +convey—I hardly know which word to use—experiences it was otherwise +impossible to tell. +</p> + +<p> +Well, I don’t resort to that explanation now. I have got over my +intervening doubts. I believe now, as I believed at the moment of telling, that +Wallace did to the very best of his ability strip the truth of his secret for +me. But whether he himself saw, or only thought he saw, whether he himself was +the possessor of an inestimable privilege, or the victim of a fantastic dream, +I cannot pretend to guess. Even the facts of his death, which ended my doubts +forever, throw no light on that. That much the reader must judge for himself. +</p> + +<p> +I forget now what chance comment or criticism of mine moved so reticent a man +to confide in me. He was, I think, defending himself against an imputation of +slackness and unreliability I had made in relation to a great public movement +in which he had disappointed me. But he plunged suddenly. “I have” +he said, “a preoccupation—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” he went on, after a pause that he devoted to the study of +his cigar ash, “I have been negligent. The fact is—it isn’t a +case of ghosts or apparitions—but—it’s an odd thing to tell +of, Redmond—I am haunted. I am haunted by something—that rather +takes the light out of things, that fills me with longings . . . . .” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, checked by that English shyness that so often overcomes us when we +would speak of moving or grave or beautiful things. “You were at Saint +Athelstan’s all through,” he said, and for a moment that seemed to +me quite irrelevant. “Well”—and he paused. Then very +haltingly at first, but afterwards more easily, he began to tell of the thing +that was hidden in his life, the haunting memory of a beauty and a happiness +that filled his heart with insatiable longings that made all the interests and +spectacle of worldly life seem dull and tedious and vain to him. +</p> + +<p> +Now that I have the clue to it, the thing seems written visibly in his face. I +have a photograph in which that look of detachment has been caught and +intensified. It reminds me of what a woman once said of him—a woman who +had loved him greatly. “Suddenly,” she said, “the interest +goes out of him. He forgets you. He doesn’t care a rap for +you—under his very nose . . . . .” +</p> + +<p> +Yet the interest was not always out of him, and when he was holding his +attention to a thing Wallace could contrive to be an extremely successful man. +His career, indeed, is set with successes. He left me behind him long ago; he +soared up over my head, and cut a figure in the world that I couldn’t +cut—anyhow. He was still a year short of forty, and they say now that he +would have been in office and very probably in the new Cabinet if he had lived. +At school he always beat me without effort—as it were by nature. We were +at school together at Saint Athelstan’s College in West Kensington for +almost all our school time. He came into the school as my co-equal, but he left +far above me, in a blaze of scholarships and brilliant performance. Yet I think +I made a fair average running. And it was at school I heard first of the Door +in the Wall—that I was to hear of a second time only a month before his +death. +</p> + +<p> +To him at least the Door in the Wall was a real door leading through a real +wall to immortal realities. Of that I am now quite assured. +</p> + +<p> +And it came into his life early, when he was a little fellow between five and +six. I remember how, as he sat making his confession to me with a slow gravity, +he reasoned and reckoned the date of it. “There was,” he said, +“a crimson Virginia creeper in it—all one bright uniform crimson in +a clear amber sunshine against a white wall. That came into the impression +somehow, though I don’t clearly remember how, and there were +horse-chestnut leaves upon the clean pavement outside the green door. They were +blotched yellow and green, you know, not brown nor dirty, so that they must +have been new fallen. I take it that means October. I look out for +horse-chestnut leaves every year, and I ought to know. +</p> + +<p> +“If I’m right in that, I was about five years and four months +old.” +</p> + +<p> +He was, he said, rather a precocious little boy—he learned to talk at an +abnormally early age, and he was so sane and “old-fashioned,” as +people say, that he was permitted an amount of initiative that most children +scarcely attain by seven or eight. His mother died when he was born, and he was +under the less vigilant and authoritative care of a nursery governess. His +father was a stern, preoccupied lawyer, who gave him little attention, and +expected great things of him. For all his brightness he found life a little +grey and dull I think. And one day he wandered. +</p> + +<p> +He could not recall the particular neglect that enabled him to get away, nor +the course he took among the West Kensington roads. All that had faded among +the incurable blurs of memory. But the white wall and the green door stood out +quite distinctly. +</p> + +<p> +As his memory of that remote childish experience ran, he did at the very first +sight of that door experience a peculiar emotion, an attraction, a desire to +get to the door and open it and walk in. And at the same time he had the +clearest conviction that either it was unwise or it was wrong of him—he +could not tell which—to yield to this attraction. He insisted upon it as +a curious thing that he knew from the very beginning—unless memory has +played him the queerest trick—that the door was unfastened, and that he +could go in as he chose. +</p> + +<p> +I seem to see the figure of that little boy, drawn and repelled. And it was +very clear in his mind, too, though why it should be so was never explained, +that his father would be very angry if he went through that door. +</p> + +<p> +Wallace described all these moments of hesitation to me with the utmost +particularity. He went right past the door, and then, with his hands in his +pockets, and making an infantile attempt to whistle, strolled right along +beyond the end of the wall. There he recalls a number of mean, dirty shops, and +particularly that of a plumber and decorator, with a dusty disorder of +earthenware pipes, sheet lead ball taps, pattern books of wall paper, and tins +of enamel. He stood pretending to examine these things, and coveting, +passionately desiring the green door. +</p> + +<p> +Then, he said, he had a gust of emotion. He made a run for it, lest hesitation +should grip him again, he went plump with outstretched hand through the green +door and let it slam behind him. And so, in a trice, he came into the garden +that has haunted all his life. +</p> + +<p> +It was very difficult for Wallace to give me his full sense of that garden into +which he came. +</p> + +<p> +There was something in the very air of it that exhilarated, that gave one a +sense of lightness and good happening and well being; there was something in +the sight of it that made all its colour clean and perfect and subtly luminous. +In the instant of coming into it one was exquisitely glad—as only in rare +moments and when one is young and joyful one can be glad in this world. And +everything was beautiful there . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +Wallace mused before he went on telling me. “You see,” he said, +with the doubtful inflection of a man who pauses at incredible things, +“there were two great panthers there . . . Yes, spotted panthers. And I +was not afraid. There was a long wide path with marble-edged flower borders on +either side, and these two huge velvety beasts were playing there with a ball. +One looked up and came towards me, a little curious as it seemed. It came right +up to me, rubbed its soft round ear very gently against the small hand I held +out and purred. It was, I tell you, an enchanted garden. I know. And the size? +Oh! it stretched far and wide, this way and that. I believe there were hills +far away. Heaven knows where West Kensington had suddenly got to. And somehow +it was just like coming home. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, in the very moment the door swung to behind me, I forgot the +road with its fallen chestnut leaves, its cabs and tradesmen’s carts, I +forgot the sort of gravitational pull back to the discipline and obedience of +home, I forgot all hesitations and fear, forgot discretion, forgot all the +intimate realities of this life. I became in a moment a very glad and +wonder-happy little boy—in another world. It was a world with a different +quality, a warmer, more penetrating and mellower light, with a faint clear +gladness in its air, and wisps of sun-touched cloud in the blueness of its sky. +And before me ran this long wide path, invitingly, with weedless beds on either +side, rich with untended flowers, and these two great panthers. I put my little +hands fearlessly on their soft fur, and caressed their round ears and the +sensitive corners under their ears, and played with them, and it was as though +they welcomed me home. There was a keen sense of home-coming in my mind, and +when presently a tall, fair girl appeared in the pathway and came to meet me, +smiling, and said Well?’ to me, and lifted me, and kissed me, and put me +down, and led me by the hand, there was no amazement, but only an impression of +delightful rightness, of being reminded of happy things that had in some +strange way been overlooked. There were broad steps, I remember, that came into +view between spikes of delphinium, and up these we went to a great avenue +between very old and shady dark trees. All down this avenue, you know, between +the red chapped stems, were marble seats of honour and statuary, and very tame +and friendly white doves . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“And along this avenue my girl-friend led me, looking down—I recall +the pleasant lines, the finely-modelled chin of her sweet kind +face—asking me questions in a soft, agreeable voice, and telling me +things, pleasant things I know, though what they were I was never able to +recall . . . And presently a little Capuchin monkey, very clean, with a fur of +ruddy brown and kindly hazel eyes, came down a tree to us and ran beside me, +looking up at me and grinning, and presently leapt to my shoulder. So we went +on our way in great happiness . . . .” +</p> + +<p> +He paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember little things. We passed an old man musing among laurels, I +remember, and a place gay with paroquets, and came through a broad shaded +colonnade to a spacious cool palace, full of pleasant fountains, full of +beautiful things, full of the quality and promise of heart’s desire. And +there were many things and many people, some that still seem to stand out +clearly and some that are a little vague, but all these people were beautiful +and kind. In some way—I don’t know how—it was conveyed to me +that they all were kind to me, glad to have me there, and filling me with +gladness by their gestures, by the touch of their hands, by the welcome and +love in their eyes. Yes—” +</p> + +<p> +He mused for awhile. “Playmates I found there. That was very much to me, +because I was a lonely little boy. They played delightful games in a +grass-covered court where there was a sun-dial set about with flowers. And as +one played one loved . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“But—it’s odd—there’s a gap in my memory. I +don’t remember the games we played. I never remembered. Afterwards, as a +child, I spent long hours trying, even with tears, to recall the form of that +happiness. I wanted to play it all over again—in my nursery—by +myself. No! All I remember is the happiness and two dear playfellows who were +most with me . . . . Then presently came a sombre dark woman, with a grave, +pale face and dreamy eyes, a sombre woman wearing a soft long robe of pale +purple, who carried a book and beckoned and took me aside with her into a +gallery above a hall—though my playmates were loth to have me go, and +ceased their game and stood watching as I was carried away. ‘Come back to +us!’ they cried. ‘Come back to us soon!’ I looked up at her +face, but she heeded them not at all. Her face was very gentle and grave. She +took me to a seat in the gallery, and I stood beside her, ready to look at her +book as she opened it upon her knee. The pages fell open. She pointed, and I +looked, marvelling, for in the living pages of that book I saw myself; it was a +story about myself, and in it were all the things that had happened to me since +ever I was born . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“It was wonderful to me, because the pages of that book were not +pictures, you understand, but realities.” +</p> + +<p> +Wallace paused gravely—looked at me doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” I said. “I understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“They were realities—yes, they must have been; people moved and +things came and went in them; my dear mother, whom I had near forgotten; then +my father, stern and upright, the servants, the nursery, all the familiar +things of home. Then the front door and the busy streets, with traffic to and +fro: I looked and marvelled, and looked half doubtfully again into the +woman’s face and turned the pages over, skipping this and that, to see +more of this book, and more, and so at last I came to myself hovering and +hesitating outside the green door in the long white wall, and felt again the +conflict and the fear. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And next?’ I cried, and would have turned on, but the cool +hand of the grave woman delayed me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Next?’ I insisted, and struggled gently with her hand, +pulling up her fingers with all my childish strength, and as she yielded and +the page came over she bent down upon me like a shadow and kissed my brow. +</p> + +<p> +“But the page did not show the enchanted garden, nor the panthers, nor +the girl who had led me by the hand, nor the playfellows who had been so loth +to let me go. It showed a long grey street in West Kensington, on that chill +hour of afternoon before the lamps are lit, and I was there, a wretched little +figure, weeping aloud, for all that I could do to restrain myself, and I was +weeping because I could not return to my dear play-fellows who had called after +me, ‘Come back to us! Come back to us soon!’ I was there. This was +no page in a book, but harsh reality; that enchanted place and the restraining +hand of the grave mother at whose knee I stood had gone—whither have they +gone?” +</p> + +<p> +He halted again, and remained for a time, staring into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! the wretchedness of that return!” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” I said after a minute or so. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little wretch I was—brought back to this grey world again! As +I realised the fulness of what had happened to me, I gave way to quite +ungovernable grief. And the shame and humiliation of that public weeping and my +disgraceful homecoming remain with me still. I see again the benevolent-looking +old gentleman in gold spectacles who stopped and spoke to me—prodding me +first with his umbrella. ‘Poor little chap,’ said he; ‘and +are you lost then?’—and me a London boy of five and more! And he +must needs bring in a kindly young policeman and make a crowd of me, and so +march me home. Sobbing, conspicuous and frightened, I came from the enchanted +garden to the steps of my father’s house. +</p> + +<p> +“That is as well as I can remember my vision of that garden—the +garden that haunts me still. Of course, I can convey nothing of that +indescribable quality of translucent unreality, that difference from the common +things of experience that hung about it all; but that—that is what +happened. If it was a dream, I am sure it was a day-time and altogether +extraordinary dream . . . . . . H’m!—naturally there followed a +terrible questioning, by my aunt, my father, the nurse, the +governess—everyone . . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“I tried to tell them, and my father gave me my first thrashing for +telling lies. When afterwards I tried to tell my aunt, she punished me again +for my wicked persistence. Then, as I said, everyone was forbidden to listen to +me, to hear a word about it. Even my fairy tale books were taken away from me +for a time—because I was ‘too imaginative.’ Eh? Yes, they did +that! My father belonged to the old school . . . . . And my story was driven +back upon myself. I whispered it to my pillow—my pillow that was often +damp and salt to my whispering lips with childish tears. And I added always to +my official and less fervent prayers this one heartfelt request: ‘Please +God I may dream of the garden. Oh! take me back to my garden! Take me back to +my garden!’ +</p> + +<p> +“I dreamt often of the garden. I may have added to it, I may have changed +it; I do not know . . . . . All this you understand is an attempt to +reconstruct from fragmentary memories a very early experience. Between that and +the other consecutive memories of my boyhood there is a gulf. A time came when +it seemed impossible I should ever speak of that wonder glimpse again.” +</p> + +<p> +I asked an obvious question. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “I don’t remember that I ever attempted +to find my way back to the garden in those early years. This seems odd to me +now, but I think that very probably a closer watch was kept on my movements +after this misadventure to prevent my going astray. No, it wasn’t until +you knew me that I tried for the garden again. And I believe there was a +period—incredible as it seems now—when I forgot the garden +altogether—when I was about eight or nine it may have been. Do you +remember me as a kid at Saint Athelstan’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t show any signs did I in those days of having a secret +dream?” +</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p> +He looked up with a sudden smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever play North-West Passage with me? . . . . . No, of course +you didn’t come my way!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was the sort of game,” he went on, “that every +imaginative child plays all day. The idea was the discovery of a North-West +Passage to school. The way to school was plain enough; the game consisted in +finding some way that wasn’t plain, starting off ten minutes early in +some almost hopeless direction, and working one’s way round through +unaccustomed streets to my goal. And one day I got entangled among some rather +low-class streets on the other side of Campden Hill, and I began to think that +for once the game would be against me and that I should get to school late. I +tried rather desperately a street that seemed a <i>cul de sac</i>, and found a +passage at the end. I hurried through that with renewed hope. ‘I shall do +it yet,’ I said, and passed a row of frowsy little shops that were +inexplicably familiar to me, and behold! there was my long white wall and the +green door that led to the enchanted garden! +</p> + +<p> +“The thing whacked upon me suddenly. Then, after all, that garden, that +wonderful garden, wasn’t a dream!” . . . . +</p> + +<p> +He paused. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose my second experience with the green door marks the world of +difference there is between the busy life of a schoolboy and the infinite +leisure of a child. Anyhow, this second time I didn’t for a moment think +of going in straight away. You see . . . For one thing my mind was full of the +idea of getting to school in time—set on not breaking my record for +punctuality. I must surely have felt <i>some</i> little desire at least to try +the door—yes, I must have felt that . . . . . But I seem to remember the +attraction of the door mainly as another obstacle to my overmastering +determination to get to school. I was immediately interested by this discovery +I had made, of course—I went on with my mind full of it—but I went +on. It didn’t check me. I ran past tugging out my watch, found I had ten +minutes still to spare, and then I was going downhill into familiar +surroundings. I got to school, breathless, it is true, and wet with +perspiration, but in time. I can remember hanging up my coat and hat . . . Went +right by it and left it behind me. Odd, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me thoughtfully. “Of course, I didn’t know then that +it wouldn’t always be there. School boys have limited imaginations. I +suppose I thought it was an awfully jolly thing to have it there, to know my +way back to it, but there was the school tugging at me. I expect I was a good +deal distraught and inattentive that morning, recalling what I could of the +beautiful strange people I should presently see again. Oddly enough I had no +doubt in my mind that they would be glad to see me . . . Yes, I must have +thought of the garden that morning just as a jolly sort of place to which one +might resort in the interludes of a strenuous scholastic career. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t go that day at all. The next day was a half holiday, and +that may have weighed with me. Perhaps, too, my state of inattention brought +down impositions upon me and docked the margin of time necessary for the +detour. I don’t know. What I do know is that in the meantime the +enchanted garden was so much upon my mind that I could not keep it to myself. +</p> + +<p> +“I told—What was his name?—a ferrety-looking youngster we +used to call Squiff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young Hopkins,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Hopkins it was. I did not like telling him, I had a feeling that in some +way it was against the rules to tell him, but I did. He was walking part of the +way home with me; he was talkative, and if we had not talked about the +enchanted garden we should have talked of something else, and it was +intolerable to me to think about any other subject. So I blabbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he told my secret. The next day in the play interval I found +myself surrounded by half a dozen bigger boys, half teasing and wholly curious +to hear more of the enchanted garden. There was that big Fawcett—you +remember him?—and Carnaby and Morley Reynolds. You weren’t there by +any chance? No, I think I should have remembered if you were . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“A boy is a creature of odd feelings. I was, I really believe, in spite +of my secret self-disgust, a little flattered to have the attention of these +big fellows. I remember particularly a moment of pleasure caused by the praise +of Crawshaw—you remember Crawshaw major, the son of Crawshaw the +composer?—who said it was the best lie he had ever heard. But at the same +time there was a really painful undertow of shame at telling what I felt was +indeed a sacred secret. That beast Fawcett made a joke about the girl in +green—.” +</p> + +<p> +Wallace’s voice sank with the keen memory of that shame. “I +pretended not to hear,” he said. “Well, then Carnaby suddenly +called me a young liar and disputed with me when I said the thing was true. I +said I knew where to find the green door, could lead them all there in ten +minutes. Carnaby became outrageously virtuous, and said I’d have +to—and bear out my words or suffer. Did you ever have Carnaby twist your +arm? Then perhaps you’ll understand how it went with me. I swore my story +was true. There was nobody in the school then to save a chap from Carnaby +though Crawshaw put in a word or so. Carnaby had got his game. I grew excited +and red-eared, and a little frightened, I behaved altogether like a silly +little chap, and the outcome of it all was that instead of starting alone for +my enchanted garden, I led the way presently—cheeks flushed, ears hot, +eyes smarting, and my soul one burning misery and shame—for a party of +six mocking, curious and threatening school-fellows. +</p> + +<p> +“We never found the white wall and the green door . . .” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean?—” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean I couldn’t find it. I would have found it if I could. +</p> + +<p> +“And afterwards when I could go alone I couldn’t find it. I never +found it. I seem now to have been always looking for it through my school-boy +days, but I’ve never come upon it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did the fellows—make it disagreeable?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beastly . . . . . Carnaby held a council over me for wanton lying. I +remember how I sneaked home and upstairs to hide the marks of my blubbering. +But when I cried myself to sleep at last it wasn’t for Carnaby, but for +the garden, for the beautiful afternoon I had hoped for, for the sweet friendly +women and the waiting playfellows and the game I had hoped to learn again, that +beautiful forgotten game . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“I believed firmly that if I had not told— . . . . . I had bad +times after that—crying at night and wool-gathering by day. For two terms +I slackened and had bad reports. Do you remember? Of course you would! It was +<i>you</i>—your beating me in mathematics that brought me back to the +grind again.” +</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p> +For a time my friend stared silently into the red heart of the fire. Then he +said: “I never saw it again until I was seventeen. +</p> + +<p> +“It leapt upon me for the third time—as I was driving to Paddington +on my way to Oxford and a scholarship. I had just one momentary glimpse. I was +leaning over the apron of my hansom smoking a cigarette, and no doubt thinking +myself no end of a man of the world, and suddenly there was the door, the wall, +the dear sense of unforgettable and still attainable things. +</p> + +<p> +“We clattered by—I too taken by surprise to stop my cab until we +were well past and round a corner. Then I had a queer moment, a double and +divergent movement of my will: I tapped the little door in the roof of the cab, +and brought my arm down to pull out my watch. ‘Yes, sir!’ said the +cabman, smartly. ‘Er—well—it’s nothing,’ I cried. +‘<i>My</i> mistake! We haven’t much time! Go on!’ and he went +on . . . +</p> + +<p> +“I got my scholarship. And the night after I was told of that I sat over +my fire in my little upper room, my study, in my father’s house, with his +praise—his rare praise—and his sound counsels ringing in my ears, +and I smoked my favourite pipe—the formidable bulldog of +adolescence—and thought of that door in the long white wall. ‘If I +had stopped,’ I thought, ‘I should have missed my scholarship, I +should have missed Oxford—muddled all the fine career before me! I begin +to see things better!’ I fell musing deeply, but I did not doubt then +this career of mine was a thing that merited sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +“Those dear friends and that clear atmosphere seemed very sweet to me, +very fine, but remote. My grip was fixing now upon the world. I saw another +door opening—the door of my career.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared again into the fire. Its red lights picked out a stubborn strength in +his face for just one flickering moment, and then it vanished again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well”, he said and sighed, “I have served that career. I +have done—much work, much hard work. But I have dreamt of the enchanted +garden a thousand dreams, and seen its door, or at least glimpsed its door, +four times since then. Yes—four times. For a while this world was so +bright and interesting, seemed so full of meaning and opportunity that the +half-effaced charm of the garden was by comparison gentle and remote. Who wants +to pat panthers on the way to dinner with pretty women and distinguished men? I +came down to London from Oxford, a man of bold promise that I have done +something to redeem. Something—and yet there have been disappointments . +. . . . +</p> + +<p> +“Twice I have been in love—I will not dwell on that—but once, +as I went to someone who, I know, doubted whether I dared to come, I took a +short cut at a venture through an unfrequented road near Earl’s Court, +and so happened on a white wall and a familiar green door. ‘Odd!’ +said I to myself, ‘but I thought this place was on Campden Hill. +It’s the place I never could find somehow—like counting +Stonehenge—the place of that queer day dream of mine.’ And I went +by it intent upon my purpose. It had no appeal to me that afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +“I had just a moment’s impulse to try the door, three steps aside +were needed at the most—though I was sure enough in my heart that it +would open to me—and then I thought that doing so might delay me on the +way to that appointment in which I thought my honour was involved. Afterwards I +was sorry for my punctuality—I might at least have peeped in I thought, +and waved a hand to those panthers, but I knew enough by this time not to seek +again belatedly that which is not found by seeking. Yes, that time made me very +sorry . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“Years of hard work after that and never a sight of the door. It’s +only recently it has come back to me. With it there has come a sense as though +some thin tarnish had spread itself over my world. I began to think of it as a +sorrowful and bitter thing that I should never see that door again. Perhaps I +was suffering a little from overwork—perhaps it was what I’ve heard +spoken of as the feeling of forty. I don’t know. But certainly the keen +brightness that makes effort easy has gone out of things recently, and that +just at a time with all these new political developments—when I ought to +be working. Odd, isn’t it? But I do begin to find life toilsome, its +rewards, as I come near them, cheap. I began a little while ago to want the +garden quite badly. Yes—and I’ve seen it three times.” +</p> + +<p> +“The garden?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—the door! And I haven’t gone in!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned over the table to me, with an enormous sorrow in his voice as he +spoke. “Thrice I have had my chance—<i>thrice!</i> If ever that +door offers itself to me again, I swore, I will go in out of this dust and +heat, out of this dry glitter of vanity, out of these toilsome futilities. I +will go and never return. This time I will stay . . . . . I swore it and when +the time came—<i>I didn’t go</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Three times in one year have I passed that door and failed to enter. +Three times in the last year. +</p> + +<p> +“The first time was on the night of the snatch division on the +Tenants’ Redemption Bill, on which the Government was saved by a majority +of three. You remember? No one on our side—perhaps very few on the +opposite side—expected the end that night. Then the debate collapsed like +eggshells. I and Hotchkiss were dining with his cousin at Brentford, we were +both unpaired, and we were called up by telephone, and set off at once in his +cousin’s motor. We got in barely in time, and on the way we passed my +wall and door—livid in the moonlight, blotched with hot yellow as the +glare of our lamps lit it, but unmistakable. ‘My God!’ cried I. +‘What?’ said Hotchkiss. ‘Nothing!’ I answered, and the +moment passed. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ve made a great sacrifice,’ I told the whip as I +got in. They all have,’ he said, and hurried by. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not see how I could have done otherwise then. And the next occasion +was as I rushed to my father’s bedside to bid that stern old man +farewell. Then, too, the claims of life were imperative. But the third time was +different; it happened a week ago. It fills me with hot remorse to recall it. I +was with Gurker and Ralphs—it’s no secret now you know that +I’ve had my talk with Gurker. We had been dining at Frobisher’s, +and the talk had become intimate between us. The question of my place in the +reconstructed ministry lay always just over the boundary of the discussion. +Yes—yes. That’s all settled. It needn’t be talked about yet, +but there’s no reason to keep a secret from you . . . . . +Yes—thanks! thanks! But let me tell you my story. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, on that night things were very much in the air. My position was a +very delicate one. I was keenly anxious to get some definite word from Gurker, +but was hampered by Ralphs’ presence. I was using the best power of my +brain to keep that light and careless talk not too obviously directed to the +point that concerns me. I had to. Ralphs’ behaviour since has more than +justified my caution . . . . . Ralphs, I knew, would leave us beyond the +Kensington High Street, and then I could surprise Gurker by a sudden frankness. +One has sometimes to resort to these little devices. . . . . And then it was +that in the margin of my field of vision I became aware once more of the white +wall, the green door before us down the road. +</p> + +<p> +“We passed it talking. I passed it. I can still see the shadow of +Gurker’s marked profile, his opera hat tilted forward over his prominent +nose, the many folds of his neck wrap going before my shadow and Ralphs’ +as we sauntered past. +</p> + +<p> +“I passed within twenty inches of the door. ‘If I say good-night to +them, and go in,’ I asked myself, ‘what will happen?’ And I +was all a-tingle for that word with Gurker. +</p> + +<p> +“I could not answer that question in the tangle of my other problems. +‘They will think me mad,’ I thought. ‘And suppose I vanish +now!—Amazing disappearance of a prominent politician!’ That weighed +with me. A thousand inconceivably petty worldlinesses weighed with me in that +crisis.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he turned on me with a sorrowful smile, and, speaking slowly; “Here +I am!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am!” he repeated, “and my chance has gone from me. +Three times in one year the door has been offered me—the door that goes +into peace, into delight, into a beauty beyond dreaming, a kindness no man on +earth can know. And I have rejected it, Redmond, and it has gone—” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I know. I am left now to work it out, to stick to the tasks that +held me so strongly when my moments came. You say, I have success—this +vulgar, tawdry, irksome, envied thing. I have it.” He had a walnut in his +big hand. “If that was my success,” he said, and crushed it, and +held it out for me to see. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me tell you something, Redmond. This loss is destroying me. For two +months, for ten weeks nearly now, I have done no work at all, except the most +necessary and urgent duties. My soul is full of inappeasable regrets. At +nights—when it is less likely I shall be recognised—I go out. I +wander. Yes. I wonder what people would think of that if they knew. A Cabinet +Minister, the responsible head of that most vital of all departments, wandering +alone—grieving—sometimes near audibly lamenting—for a door, +for a garden!” +</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p> +I can see now his rather pallid face, and the unfamiliar sombre fire that had +come into his eyes. I see him very vividly to-night. I sit recalling his words, +his tones, and last evening’s <i>Westminster Gazette</i> still lies on my +sofa, containing the notice of his death. At lunch to-day the club was busy +with him and the strange riddle of his fate. +</p> + +<p> +They found his body very early yesterday morning in a deep excavation near East +Kensington Station. It is one of two shafts that have been made in connection +with an extension of the railway southward. It is protected from the intrusion +of the public by a hoarding upon the high road, in which a small doorway has +been cut for the convenience of some of the workmen who live in that direction. +The doorway was left unfastened through a misunderstanding between two gangers, +and through it he made his way . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +My mind is darkened with questions and riddles. +</p> + +<p> +It would seem he walked all the way from the House that night—he has +frequently walked home during the past Session—and so it is I figure his +dark form coming along the late and empty streets, wrapped up, intent. And then +did the pale electric lights near the station cheat the rough planking into a +semblance of white? Did that fatal unfastened door awaken some memory? +</p> + +<p> +Was there, after all, ever any green door in the wall at all? +</p> + +<p> +I do not know. I have told his story as he told it to me. There are times when +I believe that Wallace was no more than the victim of the coincidence between a +rare but not unprecedented type of hallucination and a careless trap, but that +indeed is not my profoundest belief. You may think me superstitious if you +will, and foolish; but, indeed, I am more than half convinced that he had in +truth, an abnormal gift, and a sense, something—I know not +what—that in the guise of wall and door offered him an outlet, a secret +and peculiar passage of escape into another and altogether more beautiful +world. At any rate, you will say, it betrayed him in the end. But did it betray +him? There you touch the inmost mystery of these dreamers, these men of vision +and the imagination. We see our world fair and common, the hoarding and the +pit. By our daylight standard he walked out of security into darkness, danger +and death. But did he see like that? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE STAR</h2> + +<p> +It was on the first day of the New Year that the announcement was made, almost +simultaneously from three observatories, that the motion of the planet Neptune, +the outermost of all the planets that wheel about the sun, had become very +erratic. Ogilvy had already called attention to a suspected retardation in its +velocity in December. Such a piece of news was scarcely calculated to interest +a world the greater portion of whose inhabitants were unaware of the existence +of the planet Neptune, nor outside the astronomical profession did the +subsequent discovery of a faint remote speck of light in the region of the +perturbed planet cause any very great excitement. Scientific people, however, +found the intelligence remarkable enough, even before it became known that the +new body was rapidly growing larger and brighter, that its motion was quite +different from the orderly progress of the planets, and that the deflection of +Neptune and its satellite was becoming now of an unprecedented kind. +</p> + +<p> +Few people without a training in science can realise the huge isolation of the +solar system. The sun with its specks of planets, its dust of planetoids, and +its impalpable comets, swims in a vacant immensity that almost defeats the +imagination. Beyond the orbit of Neptune there is space, vacant so far as human +observation has penetrated, without warmth or light or sound, blank emptiness, +for twenty million times a million miles. That is the smallest estimate of the +distance to be traversed before the very nearest of the stars is attained. And, +saving a few comets more unsubstantial than the thinnest flame, no matter had +ever to human knowledge crossed this gulf of space, until early in the +twentieth century this strange wanderer appeared. A vast mass of matter it was, +bulky, heavy, rushing without warning out of the black mystery of the sky into +the radiance of the sun. By the second day it was clearly visible to any decent +instrument, as a speck with a barely sensible diameter, in the constellation +Leo near Regulus. In a little while an opera glass could attain it. +</p> + +<p> +On the third day of the new year the newspaper readers of two hemispheres were +made aware for the first time of the real importance of this unusual apparition +in the heavens. “A Planetary Collision,” one London paper headed +the news, and proclaimed Duchaine’s opinion that this strange new planet +would probably collide with Neptune. The leader writers enlarged upon the +topic; so that in most of the capitals of the world, on January 3rd, there was +an expectation, however vague of some imminent phenomenon in the sky; and as +the night followed the sunset round the globe, thousands of men turned their +eyes skyward to see—the old familiar stars just as they had always been. +</p> + +<p> +Until it was dawn in London and Pollux setting and the stars overhead grown +pale. The Winter’s dawn it was, a sickly filtering accumulation of +daylight, and the light of gas and candles shone yellow in the windows to show +where people were astir. But the yawning policeman saw the thing, the busy +crowds in the markets stopped agape, workmen going to their work betimes, +milkmen, the drivers of news-carts, dissipation going home jaded and pale, +homeless wanderers, sentinels on their beats, and in the country, labourers +trudging afield, poachers slinking home, all over the dusky quickening country +it could be seen—and out at sea by seamen watching for the day—a +great white star, come suddenly into the westward sky! +</p> + +<p> +Brighter it was than any star in our skies; brighter than the evening star at +its brightest. It still glowed out white and large, no mere twinkling spot of +light, but a small round clear shining disc, an hour after the day had come. +And where science has not reached, men stared and feared, telling one another +of the wars and pestilences that are foreshadowed by these fiery signs in the +Heavens. Sturdy Boers, dusky Hottentots, Gold Coast Negroes, Frenchmen, +Spaniards, Portuguese, stood in the warmth of the sunrise watching the setting +of this strange new star. +</p> + +<p> +And in a hundred observatories there had been suppressed excitement, rising +almost to shouting pitch, as the two remote bodies had rushed together; and a +hurrying to and fro, to gather photographic apparatus and spectroscope, and +this appliance and that, to record this novel astonishing sight, the +destruction of a world. For it was a world, a sister planet of our earth, far +greater than our earth indeed, that had so suddenly flashed into flaming death. +Neptune it was, had been struck, fairly and squarely, by the strange planet +from outer space and the heat of the concussion had incontinently turned two +solid globes into one vast mass of incandescence. Round the world that day, two +hours before the dawn, went the pallid great white star, fading only as it sank +westward and the sun mounted above it. Everywhere men marvelled at it, but of +all those who saw it none could have marvelled more than those sailors, +habitual watchers of the stars, who far away at sea had heard nothing of its +advent and saw it now rise like a pigmy moon and climb zenithward and hang +overhead and sink westward with the passing of the night. +</p> + +<p> +And when next it rose over Europe everywhere were crowds of watchers on hilly +slopes, on house-roofs, in open spaces, staring eastward for the rising of the +great new star. It rose with a white glow in front of it, like the glare of a +white fire, and those who had seen it come into existence the night before +cried out at the sight of it. “It is larger,” they cried. “It +is brighter!” And, indeed the moon a quarter full and sinking in the west +was in its apparent size beyond comparison, but scarcely in all its breadth had +it as much brightness now as the little circle of the strange new star. +</p> + +<p> +“It is brighter!” cried the people clustering in the streets. But +in the dim observatories the watchers held their breath and peered at one +another. “<i>It is nearer</i>,” they said. +“<i>Nearer!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +And voice after voice repeated, “It is nearer,” and the clicking +telegraph took that up, and it trembled along telephone wires, and in a +thousand cities grimy compositors fingered the type. “It is +nearer.” Men writing in offices, struck with a strange realisation, flung +down their pens, men talking in a thousand places suddenly came upon a +grotesque possibility in those words, “It is nearer.” It hurried +along wakening streets, it was shouted down the frost-stilled ways of quiet +villages; men who had read these things from the throbbing tape stood in +yellow-lit doorways shouting the news to the passersby. “It is +nearer.” Pretty women, flushed and glittering, heard the news told +jestingly between the dances, and feigned an intelligent interest they did not +feel. “Nearer! Indeed. How curious! How very, very clever people must be +to find out things like that!” +</p> + +<p> +Lonely tramps faring through the wintry night murmured those words to comfort +themselves—looking skyward. “It has need to be nearer, for the +night’s as cold as charity. Don’t seem much warmth from it if it +<i>is</i> nearer, all the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is a new star to me?” cried the weeping woman kneeling beside +her dead. +</p> + +<p> +The schoolboy, rising early for his examination work, puzzled it out for +himself—with the great white star shining broad and bright through the +frost-flowers of his window. “Centrifugal, centripetal,” he said, +with his chin on his fist. “Stop a planet in its flight, rob it of its +centrifugal force, what then? Centripetal has it, and down it falls into the +sun! And this—! +</p> + +<p> +“Do <i>we</i> come in the way? I wonder—” +</p> + +<p> +The light of that day went the way of its brethren, and with the later watches +of the frosty darkness rose the strange star again. And it was now so bright +that the waxing moon seemed but a pale yellow ghost of itself, hanging huge in +the sunset. In a South African City a great man had married, and the streets +were alight to welcome his return with his bride. “Even the skies have +illuminated,” said the flatterer. Under Capricorn, two negro lovers, +daring the wild beasts and evil spirits, for love of one another, crouched +together in a cane brake where the fire-flies hovered. “That is our +star,” they whispered, and felt strangely comforted by the sweet +brilliance of its light. +</p> + +<p> +The master mathematician sat in his private room and pushed the papers from +him. His calculations were already finished. In a small white phial there still +remained a little of the drug that had kept him awake and active for four long +nights. Each day, serene, explicit, patient as ever, he had given his lecture +to his students, and then had come back at once to this momentous calculation. +His face was grave, a little drawn and hectic from his drugged activity. For +some time he seemed lost in thought. Then he went to the window, and the blind +went up with a click. Half way up the sky, over the clustering roofs, chimneys +and steeples of the city, hung the star. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at it as one might look into the eyes of a brave enemy. “You +may kill me,” he said after a silence. “But I can hold +you—and all the universe for that matter—in the grip of this little +brain. I would not change. Even now.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the little phial. “There will be no need of sleep +again,” he said. The next day at noon—punctual to the minute, he +entered his lecture theatre, put his hat on the end of the table as his habit +was, and carefully selected a large piece of chalk. It was a joke among his +students that he could not lecture without that piece of chalk to fumble in his +fingers, and once he had been stricken to impotence by their hiding his supply. +He came and looked under his grey eyebrows at the rising tiers of young fresh +faces, and spoke with his accustomed studied commonness of phrasing. +“Circumstances have arisen—circumstances beyond my control,” +he said and paused, “which will debar me from completing the course I had +designed. It would seem, gentlemen, if I may put the thing clearly and briefly, +that—Man has lived in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +The students glanced at one another. Had they heard aright? Mad? Raised +eyebrows and grinning lips there were, but one or two faces remained intent +upon his calm grey-fringed face. “It will be interesting,” he was +saying, “to devote this morning to an exposition, so far as I can make it +clear to you, of the calculations that have led me to this conclusion. Let us +assume—” +</p> + +<p> +He turned towards the blackboard, meditating a diagram in the way that was +usual to him. “What was that about ‘lived in vain?’” +whispered one student to another. “Listen,” said the other, nodding +towards the lecturer. +</p> + +<p> +And presently they began to understand. +</p> + +<p> +That night the star rose later, for its proper eastward motion had carried it +some way across Leo towards Virgo, and its brightness was so great that the sky +became a luminous blue as it rose, and every star was hidden in its turn, save +only Jupiter near the zenith, Capella, Aldebaran, Sirius and the pointers of +the Bear. It was very white and beautiful. In many parts of the world that +night a pallid halo encircled it about. It was perceptibly larger; in the clear +refractive sky of the tropics it seemed as if it were nearly a quarter the size +of the moon. The frost was still on the ground in England, but the world was as +brightly lit as if it were midsummer moonlight. One could see to read quite +ordinary print by that cold clear light, and in the cities the lamps burnt +yellow and wan. +</p> + +<p> +And everywhere the world was awake that night, and throughout Christendom a +sombre murmur hung in the keen air over the country side like the belling of +bees in the heather, and this murmurous tumult grew to a clangour in the +cities. It was the tolling of the bells in a million belfry towers and +steeples, summoning the people to sleep no more, to sin no more, but to gather +in their churches and pray. And overhead, growing larger and brighter as the +earth rolled on its way and the night passed, rose the dazzling star. +</p> + +<p> +And the streets and houses were alight in all the cities, the shipyards glared, +and whatever roads led to high country were lit and crowded all night long. And +in all the seas about the civilised lands, ships with throbbing engines, and +ships with bellying sails, crowded with men and living creatures, were standing +out to ocean and the north. For already the warning of the master mathematician +had been telegraphed all over the world, and translated into a hundred tongues. +The new planet and Neptune, locked in a fiery embrace, were whirling headlong, +ever faster and faster towards the sun. Already every second this blazing mass +flew a hundred miles, and every second its terrific velocity increased. As it +flew now, indeed, it must pass a hundred million of miles wide of the earth and +scarcely affect it. But near its destined path, as yet only slightly perturbed, +spun the mighty planet Jupiter and his moons sweeping splendid round the sun. +Every moment now the attraction between the fiery star and the greatest of the +planets grew stronger. And the result of that attraction? Inevitably Jupiter +would be deflected from its orbit into an elliptical path, and the burning +star, swung by his attraction wide of its sunward rush, would “describe a +curved path” and perhaps collide with, and certainly pass very close to, +our earth. “Earthquakes, volcanic outbreaks, cyclones, sea waves, floods, +and a steady rise in temperature to I know not what limit”—so +prophesied the master mathematician. +</p> + +<p> +And overhead, to carry out his words, lonely and cold and livid, blazed the +star of the coming doom. +</p> + +<p> +To many who stared at it that night until their eyes ached, it seemed that it +was visibly approaching. And that night, too, the weather changed, and the +frost that had gripped all Central Europe and France and England softened +towards a thaw. +</p> + +<p> +But you must not imagine because I have spoken of people praying through the +night and people going aboard ships and people fleeing toward mountainous +country that the whole world was already in a terror because of the star. As a +matter of fact, use and wont still ruled the world, and save for the talk of +idle moments and the splendour of the night, nine human beings out of ten were +still busy at their common occupations. In all the cities the shops, save one +here and there, opened and closed at their proper hours, the doctor and the +undertaker plied their trades, the workers gathered in the factories, soldiers +drilled, scholars studied, lovers sought one another, thieves lurked and fled, +politicians planned their schemes. The presses of the newspapers roared through +the night, and many a priest of this church and that would not open his holy +building to further what he considered a foolish panic. The newspapers insisted +on the lesson of the year 1000—for then, too, people had anticipated the +end. The star was no star—mere gas—a comet; and were it a star it +could not possibly strike the earth. There was no precedent for such a thing. +Common sense was sturdy everywhere, scornful, jesting, a little inclined to +persecute the obdurate fearful. That night, at seven-fifteen by Greenwich time, +the star would be at its nearest to Jupiter. Then the world would see the turn +things would take. The master mathematician’s grim warnings were treated +by many as so much mere elaborate self-advertisement. Common sense at last, a +little heated by argument, signified its unalterable convictions by going to +bed. So, too, barbarism and savagery, already tired of the novelty, went about +their nightly business, and save for a howling dog here and there, the beast +world left the star unheeded. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, when at last the watchers in the European States saw the star rise, an +hour later it is true, but no larger than it had been the night before, there +were still plenty awake to laugh at the master mathematician—to take the +danger as if it had passed. +</p> + +<p> +But hereafter the laughter ceased. The star grew—it grew with a terrible +steadiness hour after hour, a little larger each hour, a little nearer the +midnight zenith, and brighter and brighter, until it had turned night into a +second day. Had it come straight to the earth instead of in a curved path, had +it lost no velocity to Jupiter, it must have leapt the intervening gulf in a +day, but as it was it took five days altogether to come by our planet. The next +night it had become a third the size of the moon before it set to English eyes, +and the thaw was assured. It rose over America near the size of the moon, but +blinding white to look at, and <i>hot</i>; and a breath of hot wind blew now +with its rising and gathering strength, and in Virginia, and Brazil, and down +the St. Lawrence valley, it shone intermittently through a driving reek of +thunder-clouds, flickering violet lightning, and hail unprecedented. In +Manitoba was a thaw and devastating floods. And upon all the mountains of the +earth the snow and ice began to melt that night, and all the rivers coming out +of high country flowed thick and turbid, and soon—in their upper +reaches—with swirling trees and the bodies of beasts and men. They rose +steadily, steadily in the ghostly brilliance, and came trickling over their +banks at last, behind the flying population of their valleys. +</p> + +<p> +And along the coast of Argentina and up the South Atlantic the tides were +higher than had ever been in the memory of man, and the storms drove the waters +in many cases scores of miles inland, drowning whole cities. And so great grew +the heat during the night that the rising of the sun was like the coming of a +shadow. The earthquakes began and grew until all down America from the Arctic +Circle to Cape Horn, hillsides were sliding, fissures were opening, and houses +and walls crumbling to destruction. The whole side of Cotopaxi slipped out in +one vast convulsion, and a tumult of lava poured out so high and broad and +swift and liquid that in one day it reached the sea. +</p> + +<p> +So the star, with the wan moon in its wake, marched across the Pacific, trailed +the thunderstorms like the hem of a robe, and the growing tidal wave that +toiled behind it, frothing and eager, poured over island and island and swept +them clear of men. Until that wave came at last—in a blinding light and +with the breath of a furnace, swift and terrible it came—a wall of water, +fifty feet high, roaring hungrily, upon the long coasts of Asia, and swept +inland across the plains of China. For a space the star, hotter now and larger +and brighter than the sun in its strength, showed with pitiless brilliance the +wide and populous country; towns and villages with their pagodas and trees, +roads, wide cultivated fields, millions of sleepless people staring in helpless +terror at the incandescent sky; and then, low and growing, came the murmur of +the flood. And thus it was with millions of men that night—a flight +nowhither, with limbs heavy with heat and breath fierce and scant, and the +flood like a wall swift and white behind. And then death. +</p> + +<p> +China was lit glowing white, but over Japan and Java and all the islands of +Eastern Asia the great star was a ball of dull red fire because of the steam +and smoke and ashes the volcanoes were spouting forth to salute its coming. +Above was the lava, hot gases and ash, and below the seething floods, and the +whole earth swayed and rumbled with the earthquake shocks. Soon the immemorial +snows of Thibet and the Himalaya were melting and pouring down by ten million +deepening converging channels upon the plains of Burmah and Hindostan. The +tangled summits of the Indian jungles were aflame in a thousand places, and +below the hurrying waters around the stems were dark objects that still +struggled feebly and reflected the blood-red tongues of fire. And in a +rudderless confusion a multitude of men and women fled down the broad +river-ways to that one last hope of men—the open sea. +</p> + +<p> +Larger grew the star, and larger, hotter, and brighter with a terrible +swiftness now. The tropical ocean had lost its phosphorescence, and the +whirling steam rose in ghostly wreaths from the black waves that plunged +incessantly, speckled with storm-tossed ships. +</p> + +<p> +And then came a wonder. It seemed to those who in Europe watched for the rising +of the star that the world must have ceased its rotation. In a thousand open +spaces of down and upland the people who had fled thither from the floods and +the falling houses and sliding slopes of hill watched for that rising in vain. +Hour followed hour through a terrible suspense, and the star rose not. Once +again men set their eyes upon the old constellations they had counted lost to +them forever. In England it was hot and clear overhead, though the ground +quivered perpetually, but in the tropics, Sirius and Capella and Aldebaran +showed through a veil of steam. And when at last the great star rose near ten +hours late, the sun rose close upon it, and in the centre of its white heart +was a disc of black. +</p> + +<p> +Over Asia it was the star had begun to fall behind the movement of the sky, and +then suddenly, as it hung over India, its light had been veiled. All the plain +of India from the mouth of the Indus to the mouths of the Ganges was a shallow +waste of shining water that night, out of which rose temples and palaces, +mounds and hills, black with people. Every minaret was a clustering mass of +people, who fell one by one into the turbid waters, as heat and terror overcame +them. The whole land seemed a-wailing and suddenly there swept a shadow across +that furnace of despair, and a breath of cold wind, and a gathering of clouds, +out of the cooling air. Men looking up, near blinded, at the star, saw that a +black disc was creeping across the light. It was the moon, coming between the +star and the earth. And even as men cried to God at this respite, out of the +East with a strange inexplicable swiftness sprang the sun. And then star, sun +and moon rushed together across the heavens. +</p> + +<p> +So it was that presently, to the European watchers, star and sun rose close +upon each other, drove headlong for a space and then slower, and at last came +to rest, star and sun merged into one glare of flame at the zenith of the sky. +The moon no longer eclipsed the star but was lost to sight in the brilliance of +the sky. And though those who were still alive regarded it for the most part +with that dull stupidity that hunger, fatigue, heat and despair engender, there +were still men who could perceive the meaning of these signs. Star and earth +had been at their nearest, had swung about one another, and the star had +passed. Already it was receding, swifter and swifter, in the last stage of its +headlong journey downward into the sun. +</p> + +<p> +And then the clouds gathered, blotting out the vision of the sky, the thunder +and lightning wove a garment round the world; all over the earth was such a +downpour of rain as men had never before seen, and where the volcanoes flared +red against the cloud canopy there descended torrents of mud. Everywhere the +waters were pouring off the land, leaving mud-silted ruins, and the earth +littered like a storm-worn beach with all that had floated, and the dead bodies +of the men and brutes, its children. For days the water streamed off the land, +sweeping away soil and trees and houses in the way, and piling huge dykes and +scooping out Titanic gullies over the country side. Those were the days of +darkness that followed the star and the heat. All through them, and for many +weeks and months, the earthquakes continued. +</p> + +<p> +But the star had passed, and men, hunger-driven and gathering courage only +slowly, might creep back to their ruined cities, buried granaries, and sodden +fields. Such few ships as had escaped the storms of that time came stunned and +shattered and sounding their way cautiously through the new marks and shoals of +once familiar ports. And as the storms subsided men perceived that everywhere +the days were hotter than of yore, and the sun larger, and the moon, shrunk to +a third of its former size, took now fourscore days between its new and new. +</p> + +<p> +But of the new brotherhood that grew presently among men, of the saving of laws +and books and machines, of the strange change that had come over Iceland and +Greenland and the shores of Baffin’s Bay, so that the sailors coming +there presently found them green and gracious, and could scarce believe their +eyes, this story does not tell. Nor of the movement of mankind now that the +earth was hotter, northward and southward towards the poles of the earth. It +concerns itself only with the coming and the passing of the Star. +</p> + +<p> +The Martian astronomers—for there are astronomers on Mars, although they +are very different beings from men—were naturally profoundly interested +by these things. They saw them from their own standpoint of course. +“Considering the mass and temperature of the missile that was flung +through our solar system into the sun,” one wrote, “it is +astonishing what a little damage the earth, which it missed so narrowly, has +sustained. All the familiar continental markings and the masses of the seas +remain intact, and indeed the only difference seems to be a shrinkage of the +white discoloration (supposed to be frozen water) round either pole.” +Which only shows how small the vastest of human catastrophes may seem, at a +distance of a few million miles. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON</h2> + +<p> +The man with the white face entered the carriage at Rugby. He moved slowly in +spite of the urgency of his porter, and even while he was still on the platform +I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped into the corner over against me with a +sigh, made an incomplete attempt to arrange his travelling shawl, and became +motionless, with his eyes staring vacantly. Presently he was moved by a sense +of my observation, looked up at me, and put out a spiritless hand for his +newspaper. Then he glanced again in my direction. +</p> + +<p> +I feigned to read. I feared I had unwittingly embarrassed him, and in a moment +I was surprised to find him speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“That book,” he repeated, pointing a lean finger, “is about +dreams.” +</p> + +<p> +“Obviously,” I answered, for it was Fortnum Roscoe’s Dream +States, and the title was on the cover. +</p> + +<p> +He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. “Yes,” he said at +last, “but they tell you nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +I did not catch his meaning for a second. +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t know,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +I looked a little more attentively at his face. +</p> + +<p> +“There are dreams,” he said, “and dreams.” +</p> + +<p> +That sort of proposition I never dispute. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose—” he hesitated. “Do you ever dream? I mean +vividly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dream very little,” I answered. “I doubt if I have three +vivid dreams in a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“Your dreams don’t mix with your memories?” he asked +abruptly. “You don’t find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did +it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and then. I +suppose few people do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does he say—?” He indicated the book. +</p> + +<p> +“Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation about intensity +of impression and the like to account for its not happening as a rule. I +suppose you know something of these theories—” +</p> + +<p> +“Very little—except that they are wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +His emaciated hand played with the strap of the window for a time. I prepared +to resume reading, and that seemed to precipitate his next remark. He leant +forward almost as though he would touch me. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there something called consecutive dreaming—that goes +on night after night?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe there is. There are cases given in most books on mental +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mental trouble! Yes. I daresay there are. It’s the right place for +them. But what I mean—” He looked at his bony knuckles. “Is +that sort of thing always dreaming? Is it dreaming? Or is it something else? +Mightn’t it be something else?” +</p> + +<p> +I should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the drawn anxiety of +his face. I remember now the look of his faded eyes and the lids red +stained—perhaps you know that look. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not just arguing about a matter of opinion,” he said. +“The thing’s killing me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dreams?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you call them dreams. Night after night. Vivid!—so vivid . . . +. this—” (he indicated the landscape that went streaming by the +window) “seems unreal in comparison! I can scarcely remember who I am, +what business I am on . . . .” +</p> + +<p> +He paused. “Even now—” +</p> + +<p> +“The dream is always the same—do you mean?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s over.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I died.” +</p> + +<p> +“Died?” +</p> + +<p> +“Smashed and killed, and now, so much of me as that dream was, is dead. +Dead forever. I dreamt I was another man, you know, living in a different part +of the world and in a different time. I dreamt that night after night. Night +after night I woke into that other life. Fresh scenes and fresh +happenings—until I came upon the last—” +</p> + +<p> +“When you died?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I died.” +</p> + +<p> +“And since then—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “Thank God! That was the end of the dream . . +.” +</p> + +<p> +It was clear I was in for this dream. And after all, I had an hour before me, +the light was fading fast, and Fortnum Roscoe has a dreary way with him. +“Living in a different time,” I said: “do you mean in some +different age?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Past?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, to come—to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“The year three thousand, for example?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what year it was. I did when I was asleep, when I was +dreaming, that is, but not now—not now that I am awake. There’s a +lot of things I have forgotten since I woke out of these dreams, though I knew +them at the time when I was—I suppose it was dreaming. They called the +year differently from our way of calling the year . . . What did they call +it?” He put his hand to his forehead. “No,” said he, “I +forget.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat smiling weakly. For a moment I feared he did not mean to tell me his +dream. As a rule I hate people who tell their dreams, but this struck me +differently. I proffered assistance even. “It began—” I +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“It was vivid from the first. I seemed to wake up in it suddenly. And +it’s curious that in these dreams I am speaking of I never remembered +this life I am living now. It seemed as if the dream life was enough while it +lasted. Perhaps—But I will tell you how I find myself when I do my best +to recall it all. I don’t remember anything clearly until I found myself +sitting in a sort of loggia looking out over the sea. I had been dozing, and +suddenly I woke up—fresh and vivid—not a bit +dreamlike—because the girl had stopped fanning me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the girl. You must not interrupt or you will put me out.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped abruptly. “You won’t think I’m mad?” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I answered. “You’ve been dreaming. Tell me your +dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“I woke up, I say, because the girl had stopped fanning me. I was not +surprised to find myself there or anything of that sort, you understand. I did +not feel I had fallen into it suddenly. I simply took it up at that point. +Whatever memory I had of this life, this nineteenth-century life, faded as I +woke, vanished like a dream. I knew all about myself, knew that my name was no +longer Cooper but Hedon, and all about my position in the world. I’ve +forgotten a lot since I woke—there’s a want of connection—but +it was all quite clear and matter of fact then.” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated again, gripping the window strap, putting his face forward and +looking up to me appealingly. +</p> + +<p> +“This seems bosh to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” I cried. “Go on. Tell me what this loggia was +like!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not really a loggia—I don’t know what to call it. It +faced south. It was small. It was all in shadow except the semicircle above the +balcony that showed the sky and sea and the corner where the girl stood. I was +on a couch—it was a metal couch with light striped cushions—and the +girl was leaning over the balcony with her back to me. The light of the sunrise +fell on her ear and cheek. Her pretty white neck and the little curls that +nestled there, and her white shoulder were in the sun, and all the grace of her +body was in the cool blue shadow. She was dressed—how can I describe it? +It was easy and flowing. And altogether there she stood, so that it came to me +how beautiful and desirable she was, as though I had never seen her before. And +when at last I sighed and raised myself upon my arm she turned her face to +me—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“I have lived three-and-fifty years in this world. I have had mother, +sisters, friends, wife and daughters—all their faces, the play of their +faces, I know. But the face of this girl—it is much more real to me. I +can bring it back into memory so that I see it again—I could draw it or +paint it. And after all—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped—but I said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“The face of a dream—the face of a dream. She was beautiful. Not +that beauty which is terrible, cold, and worshipful, like the beauty of a +saint; nor that beauty that stirs fierce passions; but a sort of radiation, +sweet lips that softened into smiles, and grave gray eyes. And she moved +gracefully, she seemed to have part with all pleasant and gracious +things—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, and his face was downcast and hidden. Then he looked up at me and +went on, making no further attempt to disguise his absolute belief in the +reality of his story. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I had thrown up my plans and ambitions, thrown up all I had +ever worked for or desired for her sake. I had been a master man away there in +the north, with influence and property and a great reputation, but none of it +had seemed worth having beside her. I had come to the place, this city of sunny +pleasures with her, and left all those things to wreck and ruin just to save a +remnant at least of my life. While I had been in love with her before I knew +that she had any care for me, before I had imagined that she would +dare—that we should dare, all my life had seemed vain and hollow, dust +and ashes. It was dust and ashes. Night after night and through the long days I +had longed and desired—my soul had beaten against the thing forbidden! +</p> + +<p> +“But it is impossible for one man to tell another just these things. +It’s emotion, it’s a tint, a light that comes and goes. Only while +it’s there, everything changes, everything. The thing is I came away and +left them in their Crisis to do what they could.” +</p> + +<p> +“Left whom?” I asked, puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“The people up in the north there. You see—in this dream, +anyhow—I had been a big man, the sort of man men come to trust in, to +group themselves about. Millions of men who had never seen me were ready to do +things and risk things because of their confidence in me. I had been playing +that game for years, that big laborious game, that vague, monstrous political +game amidst intrigues and betrayals, speech and agitation. It was a vast +weltering world, and at last I had a sort of leadership against the +Gang—you know it was called the Gang—a sort of compromise of +scoundrelly projects and base ambitions and vast public emotional stupidities +and catch-words—the Gang that kept the world noisy and blind year by +year, and all the while that it was drifting, drifting towards infinite +disaster. But I can’t expect you to understand the shades and +complications of the year—the year something or other ahead. I had it +all—down to the smallest details—in my dream. I suppose I had been +dreaming of it before I awoke, and the fading outline of some queer new +development I had imagined still hung about me as I rubbed my eyes. It was some +grubby affair that made me thank God for the sunlight. I sat up on the couch +and remained looking at the woman and rejoicing—rejoicing that I had come +away out of all that tumult and folly and violence before it was too late. +After all, I thought, this is life—love and beauty, desire and delight, +are they not worth all those dismal struggles for vague, gigantic ends? And I +blamed myself for having ever sought to be a leader when I might have given my +days to love. But then, thought I, if I had not spent my early days sternly and +austerely, I might have wasted myself upon vain and worthless women, and at the +thought all my being went out in love and tenderness to my dear mistress, my +dear lady, who had come at last and compelled me—compelled me by her +invincible charm for me—to lay that life aside. +</p> + +<p> +“‘You are worth it,’ I said, speaking without intending her +to hear; ‘you are worth it, my dearest one; worth pride and praise and +all things. Love! to have you is worth them all together.’ And at the +murmur of my voice she turned about. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Come and see,’ she cried—I can hear her +now—‘come and see the sunrise upon Monte Solaro.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I remember how I sprang to my feet and joined her at the balcony. She +put a white hand upon my shoulder and pointed towards great masses of +limestone, flushing, as it were, into life. I looked. But first I noted the +sunlight on her face caressing the lines of her cheeks and neck. How can I +describe to you the scene we had before us? We were at Capri—” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been there,” I said. “I have clambered up Monte +Solaro and drunk vero Capri—muddy stuff like cider—at the +summit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the man with the white face; “then perhaps you can +tell me—you will know if this is indeed Capri. For in this life I have +never been there. Let me describe it. We were in a little room, one of a vast +multitude of little rooms, very cool and sunny, hollowed out of the limestone +of a sort of cape, very high above the sea. The whole island, you know, was one +enormous hotel, complex beyond explaining, and on the other side there were +miles of floating hotels, and huge floating stages to which the flying machines +came. They called it a pleasure city. Of course, there was none of that in your +time—rather, I should say, is none of that now. Of course. +Now!—yes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, this room of ours was at the extremity of the cape, so that one +could see east and west. Eastward was a great cliff—a thousand feet high +perhaps—coldly gray except for one bright edge of gold, and beyond it the +Isle of the Sirens, and a falling coast that faded and passed into the hot +sunrise. And when one turned to the west, distinct and near was a little bay, a +little beach still in shadow. And out of that shadow rose Solaro straight and +tall, flushed and golden crested, like a beauty throned, and the white moon was +floating behind her in the sky. And before us from east to west stretched the +many-tinted sea all dotted with little sailing boats. +</p> + +<p> +“To the eastward, of course, these little boats were gray and very minute +and clear, but to the westward they were little boats of gold—shining +gold—almost like little flames. And just below us was a rock with an arch +worn through it. The blue sea-water broke to green and foam all round the rock, +and a galley came gliding out of the arch.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that rock.” I said. “I was nearly drowned there. It +is called the Faraglioni.” +</p> + +<p> +“I Faraglioni? Yes, she called it that,” answered the man with the +white face. “There was some story—but that—” +</p> + +<p> +He put his hand to his forehead again. “No,” he said, “I +forget that story.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that is the first thing I remember, the first dream I had, that +little shaded room and the beautiful air and sky and that dear lady of mine, +with her shining arms and her graceful robe, and how we sat and talked in half +whispers to one another. We talked in whispers not because there was any one to +hear, but because there was still such a freshness of mind between us that our +thoughts were a little frightened, I think, to find themselves at last in +words. And so they went softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Presently we were hungry and we went from our apartment, going by a +strange passage with a moving floor, until we came to the great breakfast +room—there was a fountain and music. A pleasant and joyful place it was, +with its sunlight and splashing, and the murmur of plucked strings. And we sat +and ate and smiled at one another, and I would not heed a man who was watching +me from a table near by. +</p> + +<p> +“And afterwards we went on to the dancing-hall. But I cannot describe +that hall. The place was enormous—larger than any building you have ever +seen—and in one place there was the old gate of Capri, caught into the +wall of a gallery high overhead. Light girders, stems and threads of gold, +burst from the pillars like fountains, streamed like an Aurora across the roof +and interlaced, like—like conjuring tricks. All about the great circle +for the dancers there were beautiful figures, strange dragons, and intricate +and wonderful grotesques bearing lights. The place was inundated with +artificial light that shamed the newborn day. And as we went through the throng +the people turned about and looked at us, for all through the world my name and +face were known, and how I had suddenly thrown up pride and struggle to come to +this place. And they looked also at the lady beside me, though half the story +of how at last she had come to me was unknown or mistold. And few of the men +who were there, I know, but judged me a happy man, in spite of all the shame +and dishonour that had come upon my name. +</p> + +<p> +“The air was full of music, full of harmonious scents, full of the rhythm +of beautiful motions. Thousands of beautiful people swarmed about the hall, +crowded the galleries, sat in a myriad recesses; they were dressed in splendid +colours and crowned with flowers; thousands danced about the great circle +beneath the white images of the ancient gods, and glorious processions of +youths and maidens came and went. We two danced, not the dreary monotonies of +your days—of this time, I mean—but dances that were beautiful, +intoxicating. And even now I can see my lady dancing—dancing joyously. +She danced, you know, with a serious face; she danced with a serious dignity, +and yet she was smiling at me and caressing me—smiling and caressing with +her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“The music was different,” he murmured. “It went—I +cannot describe it; but it was infinitely richer and more varied than any music +that has ever come to me awake. +</p> + +<p> +“And then—it was when we had done dancing—a man came to speak +to me. He was a lean, resolute man, very soberly clad for that place, and +already I had marked his face watching me in the breakfasting hall, and +afterwards as we went along the passage I had avoided his eye. But now, as we +sat in a little alcove, smiling at the pleasure of all the people who went to +and fro across the shining floor, he came and touched me, and spoke to me so +that I was forced to listen. And he asked that he might speak to me for a +little time apart. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ I said. ‘I have no secrets from this lady. What +do you want to tell me?’ +</p> + +<p> +“He said it was a trivial matter, or at least a dry matter, for a lady to +hear. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Perhaps for me to hear,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“He glanced at her, as though almost he would appeal to her. Then he +asked me suddenly if I had heard of a great and avenging declaration that +Evesham had made? Now, Evesham had always before been the man next to myself in +the leadership of that great party in the north. He was a forcible, hard, and +tactless man, and only I had been able to control and soften him. It was on his +account even more than my own, I think, that the others had been so dismayed at +my retreat. So this question about what he had done reawakened my old interest +in the life I had put aside just for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I have taken no heed of any news for many days,’ I said. +What has Evesham been saying?’ +</p> + +<p> +“And with that the man began, nothing loth, and I must confess even I was +struck by Evesham’s reckless folly in the wild and threatening words he +had used. And this messenger they had sent to me not only told me of +Evesham’s speech, but went on to ask counsel and to point out what need +they had of me. While he talked, my lady sat a little forward and watched his +face and mine. +</p> + +<p> +“My old habits of scheming and organising reasserted themselves. I could +even see myself suddenly returning to the north, and all the dramatic effect of +it. All that this man said witnessed to the disorder of the party indeed, but +not to its damage. I should go back stronger than I had come. And then I +thought of my lady. You see—how can I tell you? There were certain +peculiarities of our relationship—as things are I need not tell you about +that—which would render her presence with me impossible. I should have +had to leave her; indeed, I should have had to renounce her clearly and openly, +if I was to do all that I could do in the north. And the man knew that, even as +he talked to her and me, knew it as well as she did, that my steps to duty +were—first, separation, then abandonment. At the touch of that thought my +dream of a return was shattered. I turned on the man suddenly, as he was +imagining his eloquence was gaining ground with me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What have I to do with these things now?’ I said. ‘I +have done with them. Do you think I am coquetting with your people in coming +here?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ he said. ‘But—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why cannot you leave me alone. I have done with these things. I +have ceased to be anything but a private man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘But have you thought?—this +talk of war, these reckless challenges, these wild aggressions—’ +</p> + +<p> +“I stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ I cried. ‘I won’t hear you. I took count +of all those things, I weighed them—and I have come away.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He seemed to consider the possibility of persistence. He looked from me +to where the lady sat regarding us. +</p> + +<p> +“‘War,’ he said, as if he were speaking to himself, and then +turned slowly from me and walked away. +</p> + +<p> +“I stood, caught in the whirl of thoughts his appeal had set going. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard my lady’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Dear,’ she said; ‘but if they had need of +you—’ +</p> + +<p> +“She did not finish her sentence, she let it rest there. I turned to her +sweet face, and the balance of my mood swayed and reeled. +</p> + +<p> +“‘They want me only to do the thing they dare not do +themselves,’ I said. ‘If they distrust Evesham they must settle +with him themselves.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She looked at me doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“‘But war—’ she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw a doubt on her face that I had seen before, a doubt of herself and +me, the first shadow of the discovery that, seen strongly and completely, must +drive us apart for ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I was an older mind than hers, and I could sway her to this belief +or that. +</p> + +<p> +“‘My dear one,’ I said, ‘you must not trouble over +these things. There will be no war. Certainly there will be no war. The age of +wars is past. Trust me to know the justice of this case. They have no right +upon me, dearest, and no one has a right upon me. I have been free to choose my +life, and I have chosen this.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But war—,’ she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I sat down beside her. I put an arm behind her and took her hand in +mine. I set myself to drive that doubt away—I set myself to fill her mind +with pleasant things again. I lied to her, and in lying to her I lied also to +myself. And she was only too ready to believe me, only too ready to forget. +</p> + +<p> +“Very soon the shadow had gone again, and we were hastening to our +bathing-place in the Grotta del Bovo Marino, where it was our custom to bathe +every day. We swam and splashed one another, and in that buoyant water I seemed +to become something lighter and stronger than a man. And at last we came out +dripping and rejoicing and raced among the rocks. And then I put on a dry +bathing-dress, and we sat to bask in the sun, and presently I nodded, resting +my head against her knee, and she put her hand upon my hair and stroked it +softly and I dozed. And behold! as it were with the snapping of the string of a +violin, I was awakening, and I was in my own bed in Liverpool, in the life of +to-day. +</p> + +<p> +“Only for a time I could not believe that all these vivid moments had +been no more than the substance of a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“In truth, I could not believe it a dream for all the sobering reality of +things about me. I bathed and dressed as it were by habit, and as I shaved I +argued why I of all men should leave the woman I loved to go back to fantastic +politics in the hard and strenuous north. Even if Evesham did force the world +back to war, what was that to me? I was a man with the heart of a man, and why +should I feel the responsibility of a deity for the way the world might go? +</p> + +<p> +“You know that is not quite the way I think about affairs, about my real +affairs. I am a solicitor, you know, with a point of view. +</p> + +<p> +“The vision was so real, you must understand, so utterly unlike a dream +that I kept perpetually recalling little irrelevant details; even the ornament +of the book-cover that lay on my wife’s sewing-machine in the +breakfast-room recalled with the utmost vividness the gilt line that ran about +the seat in the alcove where I had talked with the messenger from my deserted +party. Have you ever heard of a dream that had a quality like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Like—?” +</p> + +<p> +“So that afterwards you remembered little details you had +forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought. I had never noticed the point before, but he was right. +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” I said. “That is what you never seem to do with +dreams.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered. “But that is just what I did. I am a +solicitor, you must understand, in Liverpool, and I could not help wondering +what the clients and business people I found myself talking to in my office +would think if I told them suddenly I was in love with a girl who would be born +a couple of hundred years or so hence, and worried about the politics of my +great-great-great-grandchildren. I was chiefly busy that day negotiating a +ninety-nine-year building lease. It was a private builder in a hurry, and we +wanted to tie him in every possible way. I had an interview with him, and he +showed a certain want of temper that sent me to bed still irritated. That night +I had no dream. Nor did I dream the next night, at least, to remember. +</p> + +<p> +“Something of that intense reality of conviction vanished. I began to +feel sure it was a dream. And then it came again. +</p> + +<p> +“When the dream came again, nearly four days later, it was very +different. I think it certain that four days had also elapsed in the dream. +Many things had happened in the north, and the shadow of them was back again +between us, and this time it was not so easily dispelled. I began I know with +moody musings. Why, in spite of all, should I go back, go back for all the rest +of my days to toil and stress, insults and perpetual dissatisfaction, simply to +save hundreds of millions of common people, whom I did not love, whom too often +I could do no other than despise, from the stress and anguish of war and +infinite misrule? And after all I might fail. They all sought their own narrow +ends, and why should not I—why should not I also live as a man? And out +of such thoughts her voice summoned me, and I lifted my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I found myself awake and walking. We had come out above the Pleasure +City, we were near the summit of Monte Solaro and looking towards the bay. It +was the late afternoon and very clear. Far away to the left Ischia hung in a +golden haze between sea and sky, and Naples was coldly white against the hills, +and before us was Vesuvius with a tall and slender streamer feathering at last +towards the south, and the ruins of Torre dell’ Annunziata and +Castellammare glittering and near.” +</p> + +<p> +I interrupted suddenly: “You have been to Capri, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only in this dream,” he said, “only in this dream. All +across the bay beyond Sorrento were the floating palaces of the Pleasure City +moored and chained. And northward were the broad floating stages that received +the aeroplanes. Aeroplanes fell out of the sky every afternoon, each bringing +its thousands of pleasure-seekers from the uttermost parts of the earth to +Capri and its delights. All these things, I say, stretched below. +</p> + +<p> +“But we noticed them only incidentally because of an unusual sight that +evening had to show. Five war aeroplanes that had long slumbered useless in the +distant arsenals of the Rhinemouth were manoeuvring now in the eastward sky. +Evesham had astonished the world by producing them and others, and sending them +to circle here and there. It was the threat material in the great game of bluff +he was playing, and it had taken even me by surprise. He was one of those +incredibly stupid energetic people who seem sent by heaven to create disasters. +His energy to the first glance seemed so wonderfully like capacity! But he had +no imagination, no invention, only a stupid, vast, driving force of will, and a +mad faith in his stupid idiot ‘luck’ to pull him through. I +remember how we stood upon the headland watching the squadron circling far +away, and how I weighed the full meaning of the sight, seeing clearly the way +things must go. And then even it was not too late. I might have gone back, I +think, and saved the world. The people of the north would follow me, I knew, +granted only that in one thing I respected their moral standards. The east and +south would trust me as they would trust no other northern man. And I knew I +had only to put it to her and she would have let me go . . . . Not because she +did not love me! +</p> + +<p> +“Only I did not want to go; my will was all the other way about. I had so +newly thrown off the incubus of responsibility: I was still so fresh a renegade +from duty that the daylight clearness of what I ought to do had no power at all +to touch my will. My will was to live, to gather pleasures and make my dear +lady happy. But though this sense of vast neglected duties had no power to draw +me, it could make me silent and preoccupied, it robbed the days I had spent of +half their brightness and roused me into dark meditations in the silence of the +night. And as I stood and watched Evesham’s aeroplanes sweep to and +fro—those birds of infinite ill omen—she stood beside me watching +me, perceiving the trouble indeed, but not perceiving it clearly—her eyes +questioning my face, her expression shaded with perplexity. Her face was gray +because the sunset was fading out of the sky. It was no fault of hers that she +held me. She had asked me to go from her, and again in the night time and with +tears she had asked me to go. +</p> + +<p> +“At last it was the sense of her that roused me from my mood. I turned +upon her suddenly and challenged her to race down the mountain slopes. +‘No,’ she said, as if I had jarred with her gravity, but I was +resolved to end that gravity, and make her run—no one can be very gray +and sad who is out of breath—and when she stumbled I ran with my hand +beneath her arm. We ran down past a couple of men, who turned back staring in +astonishment at my behaviour—they must have recognised my face. And half +way down the slope came a tumult in the air, clang-clank, clang-clank, and we +stopped, and presently over the hill-crest those war things came flying one +behind the other.” +</p> + +<p> +The man seemed hesitating on the verge of a description. +</p> + +<p> +“What were they like?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“They had never fought,” he said. “They were just like our +ironclads are nowadays; they had never fought. No one knew what they might do, +with excited men inside them; few even cared to speculate. They were great +driving things shaped like spear-heads without a shaft, with a propeller in the +place of the shaft.” +</p> + +<p> +“Steel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not steel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aluminum?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, nothing of that sort. An alloy that was very common—as +common as brass, for example. It was called—let me see—” He +squeezed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. “I am forgetting +everything,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And they carried guns?” +</p> + +<p> +“Little guns, firing high explosive shells. They fired the guns +backwards, out of the base of the leaf, so to speak, and rammed with the beak. +That was the theory, you know, but they had never been fought. No one could +tell exactly what was going to happen. And meanwhile I suppose it was very fine +to go whirling through the air like a flight of young swallows, swift and easy. +I guess the captains tried not to think too clearly what the real thing would +be like. And these flying war machines, you know, were only one sort of the +endless war contrivances that had been invented and had fallen into abeyance +during the long peace. There were all sorts of these things that people were +routing out and furbishing up; infernal things, silly things; things that had +never been tried; big engines, terrible explosives, great guns. You know the +silly way of these ingenious sort of men who make these things; they turn +‘em out as beavers build dams, and with no more sense of the rivers +they’re going to divert and the lands they’re going to flood! +</p> + +<p> +“As we went down the winding stepway to our hotel again, in the twilight, +I foresaw it all: I saw how clearly and inevitably things were driving for war +in Evesham’s silly, violent hands, and I had some inkling of what war was +bound to be under these new conditions. And even then, though I knew it was +drawing near the limit of my opportunity, I could find no will to go +back.” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“That was my last chance. +</p> + +<p> +“We didn’t go into the city until the sky was full of stars, so we +walked out upon the high terrace, to and fro, and—she counselled me to go +back. +</p> + +<p> +“‘My dearest,’ she said, and her sweet face looked up to me, +this is Death. This life you lead is Death. Go back to them, go back to your +duty—’ +</p> + +<p> +“She began to weep, saying, between her sobs, and clinging to my arm as +she said it, ‘Go back—Go back.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then suddenly she fell mute, and, glancing down at her face, I read in +an instant the thing she had thought to do. It was one of those moments when +one sees. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No!’ I said. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No?’ she asked, in surprise and I think a little fearful at +the answer to her thought. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nothing,’ I said, ‘shall send me back. Nothing! I +have chosen. Love, I have chosen, and the world must go. Whatever happens I +will live this life—I will live for you! It—nothing shall turn me +aside; nothing, my dear one. Even if you died—even if you +died—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes?’ she murmured, softly. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then—I also would die.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And before she could speak again I began to talk, talking +eloquently—as I could do in that life—talking to exalt love, to +make the life we were living seem heroic and glorious; and the thing I was +deserting something hard and enormously ignoble that it was a fine thing to set +aside. I bent all my mind to throw that glamour upon it, seeking not only to +convert her but myself to that. We talked, and she clung to me, torn too +between all that she deemed noble and all that she knew was sweet. And at last +I did make it heroic, made all the thickening disaster of the world only a sort +of glorious setting to our unparalleled love, and we two poor foolish souls +strutted there at last, clad in that splendid delusion, drunken rather with +that glorious delusion, under the still stars. +</p> + +<p> +“And so my moment passed. +</p> + +<p> +“It was my last chance. Even as we went to and fro there, the leaders of +the south and east were gathering their resolve, and the hot answer that +shattered Evesham’s bluffing for ever, took shape and waited. And, all +over Asia, and the ocean, and the South, the air and the wires were throbbing +with their warnings to prepare—prepare. +</p> + +<p> +“No one living, you know, knew what war was; no one could imagine, with +all these new inventions, what horror war might bring. I believe most people +still believed it would be a matter of bright uniforms and shouting charges and +triumphs and flags and bands—in a time when half the world drew its food +supply from regions ten thousand miles away—” +</p> + +<p> +The man with the white face paused. I glanced at him, and his face was intent +on the floor of the carriage. A little railway station, a string of loaded +trucks, a signal-box, and the back of a cottage, shot by the carriage window, +and a bridge passed with a clap of noise, echoing the tumult of the train. +</p> + +<p> +“After that,” he said, “I dreamt often. For three weeks of +nights that dream was my life. And the worst of it was there were nights when I +could not dream, when I lay tossing on a bed in this accursed life; and +there—somewhere lost to me—things were happening—momentous, +terrible things . . . I lived at nights—my days, my waking days, this +life I am living now, became a faded, far-away dream, a drab setting, the cover +of the book.” +</p> + +<p> +He thought. +</p> + +<p> +“I could tell you all, tell you every little thing in the dream, but as +to what I did in the daytime—no. I could not tell—I do not +remember. My memory—my memory has gone. The business of life slips from +me—” +</p> + +<p> +He leant forward, and pressed his hands upon his eyes. For a long time he said +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“The war burst like a hurricane.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared before him at unspeakable things. +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” I urged again. +</p> + +<p> +“One touch of unreality,” he said, in the low tone of a man who +speaks to himself, “and they would have been nightmares. But they were +not nightmares—they were not nightmares. No!” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for so long that it dawned upon me that there was a danger of +losing the rest of the story. But he went on talking again in the same tone of +questioning self-communion. +</p> + +<p> +“What was there to do but flight? I had not thought the war would touch +Capri—I had seemed to see Capri as being out of it all, as the contrast +to it all; but two nights after the whole place was shouting and bawling, every +woman almost and every other man wore a badge—Evesham’s +badge—and there was no music but a jangling war-song over and over again, +and everywhere men enlisting, and in the dancing halls they were drilling. The +whole island was awhirl with rumours; it was said, again and again, that +fighting had begun. I had not expected this. I had seen so little of the life +of pleasure that I had failed to reckon with this violence of the amateurs. And +as for me, I was out of it. I was like the man who might have prevented the +firing of a magazine. The time had gone. I was no one; the vainest stripling +with a badge counted for more than I. The crowd jostled us and bawled in our +ears; that accursed song deafened us; a woman shrieked at my lady because no +badge was on her, and we two went back to our own place again, ruffled and +insulted—my lady white and silent, and I aquiver with rage. So furious +was I, I could have quarrelled with her if I could have found one shade of +accusation in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“All my magnificence had gone from me. I walked up and down our rock +cell, and outside was the darkling sea and a light to the southward that flared +and passed and came again. +</p> + +<p> +“‘We must get out of this place,’ I said over and over. +‘I have made my choice, and I will have no hand in these troubles. I will +have nothing of this war. We have taken our lives out of all these things. This +is no refuge for us. Let us go.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And the next day we were already in flight from the war that covered the +world. +</p> + +<p> +“And all the rest was Flight—all the rest was Flight.” +</p> + +<p> +He mused darkly. +</p> + +<p> +“How much was there of it?” +</p> + +<p> +He made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“How many days?” +</p> + +<p> +His face was white and drawn and his hands were clenched. He took no heed of my +curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +I tried to draw him back to his story with questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you go?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you left Capri.” +</p> + +<p> +“South-west,” he said, and glanced at me for a second. “We +went in a boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I should have thought an aeroplane?” +</p> + +<p> +“They had been seized.” +</p> + +<p> +I questioned him no more. Presently I thought he was beginning again. He broke +out in an argumentative monotone: +</p> + +<p> +“But why should it be? If, indeed, this battle, this slaughter and stress +is life, why have we this craving for pleasure and beauty? If there is no +refuge, if there is no place of peace, and if all our dreams of quiet places +are a folly and a snare, why have we such dreams? Surely it was no ignoble +cravings, no base intentions, had brought us to this; it was Love had isolated +us. Love had come to me with her eyes and robed in her beauty, more glorious +than all else in life, in the very shape and colour of life, and summoned me +away. I had silenced all the voices, I had answered all the questions—I +had come to her. And suddenly there was nothing but War and Death!” +</p> + +<p> +I had an inspiration. “After all,” I said, “it could have +been only a dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dream!” he cried, flaming upon me, “a dream—when, +even now—” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time he became animated. A faint flush crept into his cheek. He +raised his open hand and clenched it, and dropped it to his knee. He spoke, +looking away from me, and for all the rest of the time he looked away. +“We are but phantoms!” he said, “and the phantoms of +phantoms, desires like cloud-shadows and wills of straw that eddy in the wind; +the days pass, use and wont carry us through as a train carries the shadow of +its lights—so be it! But one thing is real and certain, one thing is no +dream-stuff, but eternal and enduring. It is the centre of my life, and all +other things about it are subordinate or altogether vain. I loved her, that +woman of a dream. And she and I are dead together! +</p> + +<p> +“A dream! How can it be a dream, when it drenched a living life with +unappeasable sorrow, when it makes all that I have lived for and cared for, +worthless and unmeaning? +</p> + +<p> +“Until that very moment when she was killed I believed we had still a +chance of getting away,” he said. “All through the night and +morning that we sailed across the sea from Capri to Salerno, we talked of +escape. We were full of hope, and it clung about us to the end, hope for the +life together we should lead, out of it all, out of the battle and struggle, +the wild and empty passions, the empty arbitrary ‘thou shalt’ and +‘thou shalt not’ of the world. We were uplifted, as though our +quest was a holy thing, as though love for another was a mission . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“Even when from our boat we saw the fair face of that great rock +Capri—already scarred and gashed by the gun emplacements and +hiding-places that were to make it a fastness—we reckoned nothing of the +imminent slaughter, though the fury of preparation hung about in the puffs and +clouds of dust at a hundred points amidst the gray; but, indeed, I made a text +of that and talked. There, you know, was the rock, still beautiful for all its +scars, with its countless windows and arches and ways, tier upon tier, for a +thousand feet, a vast carving of gray, broken by vine-clad terraces, and lemon +and orange groves, and masses of agave and prickly pear, and puffs of almond +blossom. And out under the archway that is built over the Piccola Marina other +boats were coming; and as we came round the cape and within sight of the +mainland, another little string of boats came into view, driving before the +wind towards the south-west. In a little while a multitude had come out, the +remoter just little specks of ultramarine in the shadow of the eastward cliff. +</p> + +<p> +“‘It is love and reason,’ I said, ‘fleeing from all +this madness of war.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And though we presently saw a squadron of aeroplanes flying across the +southern sky we did not heed it. There it was—a line of little dots in +the sky—and then more, dotting the south-eastern horizon, and then still +more, until all that quarter of the sky was stippled with blue specks. Now they +were all thin little strokes of blue, and now one and now a multitude would +heel and catch the sun and become short flashes of light. They came, rising and +falling and growing larger, like some huge flight of gulls or rooks or +such-like birds, moving with a marvellous uniformity, and ever as they drew +nearer they spread over a greater width of sky. The southward wind flung itself +in an arrow-headed cloud athwart the sun. And then suddenly they swept round to +the eastward and streamed eastward, growing smaller and smaller and clearer and +clearer again until they vanished from the sky. And after that we noted to the +northward and very high Evesham’s fighting machines hanging high over +Naples like an evening swarm of gnats. +</p> + +<p> +“It seemed to have no more to do with us than a flight of birds. +</p> + +<p> +“Even the mutter of guns far away in the south-east seemed to us to +signify nothing . . . +</p> + +<p> +“Each day, each dream after that, we were still exalted, still seeking +that refuge where we might live and love. Fatigue had come upon us, pain and +many distresses. For though we were dusty and stained by our toilsome tramping, +and half starved and with the horror of the dead men we had seen and the flight +of the peasants—for very soon a gust of fighting swept up the +peninsula—with these things haunting our minds it still resulted only in +a deepening resolution to escape. Oh, but she was brave and patient! She who +had never faced hardship and exposure had courage for herself and me. We went +to and fro seeking an outlet, over a country all commandeered and ransacked by +the gathering hosts of war. Always we went on foot. At first there were other +fugitives, but we did not mingle with them. Some escaped northward, some were +caught in the torrent of peasantry that swept along the main roads; many gave +themselves into the hands of the soldiery and were sent northward. Many of the +men were impressed. But we kept away from these things; we had brought no money +to bribe a passage north, and I feared for my lady at the hands of these +conscript crowds. We had landed at Salerno, and we had been turned back from +Cava, and we had tried to cross towards Taranto by a pass over Mount Alburno, +but we had been driven back for want of food, and so we had come down among the +marshes by Paestum, where those great temples stand alone. I had some vague +idea that by Paestum it might be possible to find a boat or something, and take +once more to sea. And there it was the battle overtook us. +</p> + +<p> +“A sort of soul-blindness had me. Plainly I could see that we were being +hemmed in; that the great net of that giant Warfare had us in its toils. Many +times we had seen the levies that had come down from the north going to and +fro, and had come upon them in the distance amidst the mountains making ways +for the ammunition and preparing the mounting of the guns. Once we fancied they +had fired at us, taking us for spies—at any rate a shot had gone +shuddering over us. Several times we had hidden in woods from hovering +aeroplanes. +</p> + +<p> +“But all these things do not matter now, these nights of flight and pain +. . . We were in an open place near those great temples at Paestum, at last, on +a blank stony place dotted with spiky bushes, empty and desolate and so flat +that a grove of eucalyptus far away showed to the feet of its stems. How I can +see it! My lady was sitting down under a bush resting a little, for she was +very weak and weary, and I was standing up watching to see if I could tell the +distance of the firing that came and went. They were still, you know, fighting +far from each other, with those terrible new weapons that had never before been +used: guns that would carry beyond sight, and aeroplanes that would +do—What they would do no man could foretell. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew that we were between the two armies, and that they drew together. +I knew we were in danger, and that we could not stop there and rest! +</p> + +<p> +“Though all these things were in my mind, they were in the background. +They seemed to be affairs beyond our concern. Chiefly, I was thinking of my +lady. An aching distress filled me. For the first time she had owned herself +beaten and had fallen a-weeping. Behind me I could hear her sobbing, but I +would not turn round to her because I knew she had need of weeping, and had +held herself so far and so long for me. It was well, I thought, that she would +weep and rest and then we would toil on again, for I had no inkling of the +thing that hung so near. Even now I can see her as she sat there, her lovely +hair upon her shoulder, can mark again the deepening hollow of her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“‘If we had parted,’ she said, ‘if I had let you +go.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ said I. ‘Even now, I do not repent. I will not +repent; I made my choice, and I will hold on to the end.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And then— +</p> + +<p> +“Overhead in the sky flashed something and burst, and all about us I +heard the bullets making a noise like a handful of peas suddenly thrown. They +chipped the stones about us, and whirled fragments from the bricks and passed . +. . .” +</p> + +<p> +He put his hand to his mouth, and then moistened his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“At the flash I had turned about . . . +</p> + +<p> +“You know—she stood up— +</p> + +<p> +“She stood up, you know, and moved a step towards me—as though she +wanted to reach me— +</p> + +<p> +“And she had been shot through the heart.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and stared at me. I felt all that foolish incapacity an Englishman +feels on such occasions. I met his eyes for a moment, and then stared out of +the window. For a long space we kept silence. When at last I looked at him he +was sitting back in his corner, his arms folded, and his teeth gnawing at his +knuckles. +</p> + +<p> +He bit his nail suddenly, and stared at it. +</p> + +<p> +“I carried her,” he said, “towards the temples, in my +arms—as though it mattered. I don’t know why. They seemed a sort of +sanctuary, you know, they had lasted so long, I suppose. +</p> + +<p> +“She must have died almost instantly. Only—I talked to her all the +way.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence again. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen those temples,” I said abruptly, and indeed he had +brought those still, sunlit arcades of worn sandstone very vividly before me. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the brown one, the big brown one. I sat down on a fallen pillar +and held her in my arms . . . Silent after the first babble was over. And after +a little while the lizards came out and ran about again, as though nothing +unusual was going on, as though nothing had changed . . . It was tremendously +still there, the sun high and the shadows still; even the shadows of the weeds +upon the entablature were still—in spite of the thudding and banging that +went all about the sky. +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to remember that the aeroplanes came up out of the south, and +that the battle went away to the west. One aeroplane was struck, and overset +and fell. I remember that—though it didn’t interest me in the +least. It didn’t seem to signify. It was like a wounded gull, you +know—flapping for a time in the water. I could see it down the aisle of +the temple—a black thing in the bright blue water. +</p> + +<p> +“Three or four times shells burst about the beach, and then that ceased. +Each time that happened all the lizards scuttled in and hid for a space. That +was all the mischief done, except that once a stray bullet gashed the stone +hard by—made just a fresh bright surface. +</p> + +<p> +“As the shadows grew longer, the stillness seemed greater. +</p> + +<p> +“The curious thing,” he remarked, with the manner of a man who +makes a trivial conversation, “is that I didn’t +<i>think</i>—at all. I sat with her in my arms amidst the stones—in +a sort of lethargy—stagnant. +</p> + +<p> +“And I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember dressing +that day. I know I found myself in my office, with my letters all slit open in +front of me, and how I was struck by the absurdity of being there, seeing that +in reality I was sitting, stunned, in that Paestum Temple with a dead woman in +my arms. I read my letters like a machine. I have forgotten what they were +about.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, and there was a long silence. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I perceived that we were running down the incline from Chalk Farm to +Euston. I started at this passing of time. I turned on him with a brutal +question, with the tone of “Now or never.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did you dream again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to force himself to finish. His voice was very low. +</p> + +<p> +“Once more, and as it were only for a few instants. I seemed to have +suddenly awakened out of a great apathy, to have risen into a sitting position, +and the body lay there on the stones beside me. A gaunt body. Not her, you +know. So soon—it was not her . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“I may have heard voices. I do not know. Only I knew clearly that men +were coming into the solitude and that that was a last outrage. +</p> + +<p> +“I stood up and walked through the temple, and then there came into +sight—first one man with a yellow face, dressed in a uniform of dirty +white, trimmed with blue, and then several, climbing to the crest of the old +wall of the vanished city, and crouching there. They were little bright figures +in the sunlight, and there they hung, weapon in hand, peering cautiously before +them. +</p> + +<p> +“And further away I saw others and then more at another point in the +wall. It was a long lax line of men in open order. +</p> + +<p> +“Presently the man I had first seen stood up and shouted a command, and +his men came tumbling down the wall and into the high weeds towards the temple. +He scrambled down with them and led them. He came facing towards me, and when +he saw me he stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“At first I had watched these men with a mere curiosity, but when I had +seen they meant to come to the temple I was moved to forbid them. I shouted to +the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“‘You must not come here,’ I cried, ‘<i>I</i> am here. +I am here with my dead.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He stared, and then shouted a question back to me in some unknown +tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“I repeated what I had said. +</p> + +<p> +“He shouted again, and I folded my arms and stood still. Presently he +spoke to his men and came forward. He carried a drawn sword. +</p> + +<p> +“I signed to him to keep away, but he continued to advance. I told him +again very patiently and clearly: ‘You must not come here. These are old +temples and I am here with my dead.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Presently he was so close I could see his face clearly. It was a narrow +face, with dull gray eyes, and a black moustache. He had a scar on his upper +lip, and he was dirty and unshaven. He kept shouting unintelligible things, +questions, perhaps, at me. +</p> + +<p> +“I know now that he was afraid of me, but at the time that did not occur +to me. As I tried to explain to him, he interrupted me in imperious tones, +bidding me, I suppose, stand aside. +</p> + +<p> +“He made to go past me, and I caught hold of him. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw his face change at my grip. +</p> + +<p> +“‘You fool,’ I cried. ‘Don’t you know? She is +dead!’ +</p> + +<p> +“He started back. He looked at me with cruel eyes. I saw a sort of +exultant resolve leap into them—delight. Then, suddenly, with a scowl, he +swept his sword back—<i>so</i>—and thrust.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +I became aware of a change in the rhythm of the train. The brakes lifted their +voices and the carriage jarred and jerked. This present world insisted upon +itself, became clamourous. I saw through the steamy window huge electric lights +glaring down from tall masts upon a fog, saw rows of stationary empty carriages +passing by, and then a signal-box hoisting its constellation of green and red +into the murky London twilight, marched after them. I looked again at his drawn +features. +</p> + +<p> +“He ran me through the heart. It was with a sort of astonishment—no +fear, no pain—but just amazement, that I felt it pierce me, felt the +sword drive home into my body. It didn’t hurt, you know. It didn’t +hurt at all.” +</p> + +<p> +The yellow platform lights came into the field of view, passing first rapidly, +then slowly, and at last stopping with a jerk. Dim shapes of men passed to and +fro without. +</p> + +<p> +“Euston!” cried a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean—?” +</p> + +<p> +“There was no pain, no sting or smart. Amazement and then darkness +sweeping over everything. The hot, brutal face before me, the face of the man +who had killed me, seemed to recede. It swept out of existence—” +</p> + +<p> +“Euston!” clamoured the voices outside; “Euston!” +</p> + +<p> +The carriage door opened admitting a flood of sound, and a porter stood +regarding us. The sounds of doors slamming, and the hoof-clatter of cab-horses, +and behind these things the featureless remote roar of the London +cobble-stones, came to my ears. A truckload of lighted lamps blazed along the +platform. +</p> + +<p> +“A darkness, a flood of darkness that opened and spread and blotted out +all things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any luggage, sir?” said the porter. +</p> + +<p> +“And that was the end?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to hesitate. Then, almost inaudibly, he answered, +“<i>no</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t get to her. She was there on the other side of the +temple— And then—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I insisted. “Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nightmares,” he cried; “nightmares indeed! My God! Great +birds that fought and tore.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>THE CONE</h2> + +<p> +The night was hot and overcast, the sky red, rimmed with the lingering sunset +of mid-summer. They sat at the open window, trying to fancy the air was fresher +there. The trees and shrubs of the garden stood stiff and dark; beyond in the +roadway a gas-lamp burnt, bright orange against the hazy blue of the evening. +Farther were the three lights of the railway signal against the lowering sky. +The man and woman spoke to one another in low tones. +</p> + +<p> +“He does not suspect?” said the man, a little nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Not he,” she said peevishly, as though that too irritated her. +“He thinks of nothing but the works and the prices of fuel. He has no +imagination, no poetry.” +</p> + +<p> +“None of these men of iron have,” he said sententiously. +“They have no hearts.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>He</i> has not,” she said. She turned her discontented face +towards the window. The distant sound of a roaring and rushing drew nearer and +grew in volume; the house quivered; one heard the metallic rattle of the +tender. As the train passed, there was a glare of light above the cutting and a +driving tumult of smoke; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight black +oblongs—eight trucks—passed across the dim grey of the embankment, +and were suddenly extinguished one by one in the throat of the tunnel, which, +with the last, seemed to swallow down train, smoke, and sound in one abrupt +gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“This country was all fresh and beautiful once,” he said; +“and now—it is Gehenna. Down that way—nothing but pot-banks +and chimneys belching fire and dust into the face of heaven . . . . . But what +does it matter? An end comes, an end to all this cruelty . . . . . +<i>To-morrow</i>.” He spoke the last word in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>To-morrow</i>,” she said, speaking in a whisper too, and still +staring out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear!” he said, putting his hand on hers. +</p> + +<p> +She turned with a start, and their eyes searched one another’s. Hers +softened to his gaze. “My dear one!” she said, and then: “It +seems so strange—that you should have come into my life like +this—to open—” She paused. +</p> + +<p> +“To open?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“All this wonderful world—” she hesitated, and spoke still +more softly—“this world of <i>love</i> to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly the door clicked and closed. They turned their heads, and he +started violently back. In the shadow of the room stood a great shadowy +figure—silent. They saw the face dimly in the half-light, with +unexpressive dark patches under the penthouse brows. Every muscle in +Raut’s body suddenly became tense. When could the door have opened? What +had he heard? Had he heard all? What had he seen? A tumult of questions. +</p> + +<p> +The new-comer’s voice came at last, after a pause that seemed +interminable. “Well?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid I had missed you, Horrocks,” said the man at the +window, gripping the window-ledge with his hand. His voice was unsteady. +</p> + +<p> +The clumsy figure of Horrocks came forward out of the shadow. He made no answer +to Raut’s remark. For a moment he stood above them. +</p> + +<p> +The woman’s heart was cold within her. “I told Mr. Raut it was just +possible you might come back,” she said, in a voice that never quivered. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks, still silent, sat down abruptly in the chair by her little +work-table. His big hands were clenched; one saw now the fire of his eyes under +the shadow of his brows. He was trying to get his breath. His eyes went from +the woman he had trusted to the friend he had trusted, and then back to the +woman. +</p> + +<p> +By this time and for the moment all three half understood one another. Yet none +dared say a word to ease the pent-up things that choked them. +</p> + +<p> +It was the husband’s voice that broke the silence at last. +</p> + +<p> +“You wanted to see me?” he said to Raut. +</p> + +<p> +Raut started as he spoke. “I came to see you,” he said, resolved to +lie to the last. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Horrocks. +</p> + +<p> +“You promised,” said Raut, “to show me some fine effects of +moonlight and smoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“I promised to show you some fine effects of moonlight and smoke,” +repeated Horrocks in a colourless voice. +</p> + +<p> +“And I thought I might catch you to-night before you went down to the +works,” proceeded Raut, “and come with you.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another pause. Did the man mean to take the thing coolly? Did he +after all know? How long had he been in the room? Yet even at the moment when +they heard the door, their attitudes. . . . Horrocks glanced at the profile of +the woman, shadowy pallid in the half-light. Then he glanced at Raut, and +seemed to recover himself suddenly. “Of course,” he said, “I +promised to show you the works under their proper dramatic conditions. +It’s odd how I could have forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I am troubling you—” began Raut. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks started again. A new light had suddenly come into the sultry gloom of +his eyes. “Not in the least,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been telling Mr. Raut of all these contrasts of flame and +shadow you think so splendid?” said the woman, turning now to her husband +for the first time, her confidence creeping back again, her voice just one +half-note too high. “That dreadful theory of yours that machinery is +beautiful, and everything else in the world ugly. I thought he would not spare +you, Mr. Raut. It’s his great theory, his one discovery in art.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am slow to make discoveries,” said Horrocks grimly, damping her +suddenly. “But what I discover . . . . .” He stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing;” and suddenly he rose to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I promised to show you the works,” he said to Raut, and put his +big, clumsy hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And you are ready to +go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite,” said Raut, and stood up also. +</p> + +<p> +There was another pause. Each of them peered through the indistinctness of the +dusk at the other two. Horrocks’ hand still rested on Raut’s +shoulder. Raut half fancied still that the incident was trivial after all. But +Mrs. Horrocks knew her husband better, knew that grim quiet in his voice, and +the confusion in her mind took a vague shape of physical evil. “Very +well”, said Horrocks, and, dropping his hand, turned towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“My hat?” Raut looked round in the half-light. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my work-basket,” said Mrs. Horrocks, with a gust of +hysterical laughter. Their hands came together on the back of the chair. +“Here it is!” he said. She had an impulse to warn him in an +undertone, but she could not frame a word. “Don’t go!” and +“Beware of him!” struggled in her mind, and the swift moment +passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Got it?” said Horrocks, standing with the door half open. +</p> + +<p> +Raut stepped towards him. “Better say good-bye to Mrs. Horrocks,” +said the ironmaster, even more grimly quiet in his tone than before. +</p> + +<p> +Raut started and turned. “Good-evening, Mrs. Horrocks,” he said, +and their hands touched. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks held the door open with a ceremonial politeness unusual in him towards +men. Raut went out, and then, after a wordless look at her, her husband +followed. She stood motionless while Raut’s light footfall and her +husband’s heavy tread, like bass and treble, passed down the passage +together. The front door slammed heavily. She went to the window, moving +slowly, and stood watching—leaning forward. The two men appeared for a +moment at the gateway in the road, passed under the street lamp, and were +hidden by the black masses of the shrubbery. The lamp-light fell for a moment +on their faces, showing only unmeaning pale patches, telling nothing of what +she still feared, and doubted, and craved vainly to know. Then she sank down +into a crouching attitude in the big arm-chair, her eyes wide open and staring +out at the red lights from the furnaces that flickered in the sky. An hour +after she was still there, her attitude scarcely changed. +</p> + +<p> +The oppressive stillness of the evening weighed heavily upon Raut. They went +side by side down the road in silence, and in silence turned into the +cinder-made by-way that presently opened out the prospect of the valley. +</p> + +<p> +A blue haze, half dust, half mist, touched the long valley with mystery. Beyond +were Hanley and Etruria, grey and dark masses, outlined thinly by the rare +golden dots of the street lamps, and here and there a gaslit window, or the +yellow glare of some late-working factory or crowded public-house. Out of the +masses, clear and slender against the evening sky, rose a multitude of tall +chimneys, many of them reeking, a few smokeless during a season of +“play.” Here and there a pallid patch and ghostly stunted beehive +shapes showed the position of a pot-bank, or a wheel, black and sharp against +the hot lower sky, marked some colliery where they raise the iridescent coal of +the place. Nearer at hand was the broad stretch of railway, and half invisible +trains shunted—a steady puffing and rumbling, with every run a ringing +concussion and a rhythmic series of impacts, and a passage of intermittent +puffs of white steam across the further view. And to the left, between the +railway and the dark mass of the low hill beyond, dominating the whole view, +colossal, inky-black, and crowned with smoke and fitful flames, stood the great +cylinders of the Jeddah Company Blast Furnaces, the central edifices of the big +ironworks of which Horrocks was the manager. They stood heavy and threatening, +full of an incessant turmoil of flames and seething molten iron, and about the +feet of them rattled the rolling-mills, and the steam hammer beat heavily and +splashed the white iron sparks hither and thither. Even as they looked, a +truckful of fuel was shot into one of the giants, and the red flames gleamed +out, and a confusion of smoke and black dust came boiling upwards towards the +sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly you get some fine effects of colour with your furnaces,” +said Raut, breaking a silence that had become apprehensive. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning down at the +dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks beyond, frowning as if he were +thinking out some knotty problem. +</p> + +<p> +Raut glanced at him and away again. “At present your moonlight effect is +hardly ripe,” he continued, looking upward. “The moon is still +smothered by the vestiges of daylight.” +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has suddenly awakened. +“Vestiges of daylight? . . . . Of course, of course.” He too looked +up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer sky. “Come along,” he +said suddenly, and, gripping Raut’s arm in his hand, made a move towards +the path that dropped from them to the railway. +</p> + +<p> +Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in a moment that their +eyes came near to say. Horrocks’ hand tightened and then relaxed. He let +go, and before Raut was aware of it, they were arm in arm, and walking, one +unwillingly enough, down the path. +</p> + +<p> +“You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards Burslem,” +said Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding fast, and tightening +the grip of his elbow the while. “Little green lights and red and white +lights, all against the haze. You have an eye for effect, Raut. It’s a +fine effect. And look at those furnaces of mine, how they rise upon us as we +come down the hill. That to the right is my pet—seventy feet of him. I +packed him myself, and he’s boiled away cheerfully with iron in his guts +for five long years. I’ve a particular fancy for <i>him</i>. That line of +red there—a lovely bit of warm orange you’d call it, +Raut—that’s the puddlers’ furnaces, and there, in the hot +light, three black figures—did you see the white splash of the +steam-hammer then?—that’s the rolling mills. Come along! Clang, +clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin, Raut,—amazing +stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff comes from the mill. And, +squelch!—there goes the hammer again. Come along!” +</p> + +<p> +He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm twisted into +Raut’s with benumbing tightness. He had come striding down the black path +towards the railway as though he was possessed. Raut had not spoken a word, had +simply hung back against Horrocks’ pull with all his strength. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” he said now, laughing nervously, but with an undernote of +snarl in his voice, “why on earth are you nipping my arm off, Horrocks, +and dragging me along like this?” +</p> + +<p> +At length Horrocks released him. His manner changed again. “Nipping your +arm off?” he said. “Sorry. But it’s you taught me the trick +of walking in that friendly way.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t learnt the refinements of it yet then,” said +Raut, laughing artificially again. “By Jove! I’m black and +blue.” Horrocks offered no apology. They stood now near the bottom of the +hill, close to the fence that bordered the railway. The ironworks had grown +larger and spread out with their approach. They looked up to the blast furnaces +now instead of down; the further view of Etruria and Hanley had dropped out of +sight with their descent. Before them, by the stile rose a notice-board, +bearing still dimly visible, the words, “BEWARE OF THE TRAINS,” +half hidden by splashes of coaly mud. +</p> + +<p> +“Fine effects,” said Horrocks, waving his arm. “Here comes a +train. The puffs of smoke, the orange glare, the round eye of light in front of +it, the melodious rattle. Fine effects! But these furnaces of mine used to be +finer, before we shoved cones in their throats, and saved the gas.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” said Raut. “Cones?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cones, my man, cones. I’ll show you one nearer. The flames used to +flare out of the open throats, great—what is it?—pillars of cloud +by day, red and black smoke, and pillars of fire by night. Now we run it off in +pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the top is shut by a cone. +You’ll be interested in that cone.” +</p> + +<p> +“But every now and then,” said Raut, “you get a burst of fire +and smoke up there.” +</p> + +<p> +“The cone’s not fixed, it’s hung by a chain from a lever, and +balanced by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of course, +there’d be no way of getting fuel into the thing. Every now and then the +cone dips, and out comes the flare.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Raut. He looked over his shoulder. “The moon +gets brighter,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along,” said Horrocks abruptly, gripping his shoulder again, +and moving him suddenly towards the railway crossing. And then came one of +those swift incidents, vivid, but so rapid that they leave one doubtful and +reeling. Halfway across, Horrocks’ hand suddenly clenched upon him like a +vice, and swung him backward and through a half-turn, so that he looked up the +line. And there a chain of lamp-lit carriage-windows telescoped swiftly as it +came towards them, and the red and yellow lights of an engine grew larger and +larger, rushing down upon them. As he grasped what this meant, he turned his +face to Horrocks, and pushed with all his strength against the arm that held +him back between the rails. The struggle did not last a moment. Just as certain +as it was that Horrocks held him there, so certain was it that he had been +violently lugged out of danger. +</p> + +<p> +“Out of the way,” said Horrocks, with a gasp, as the train came +rattling by, and they stood panting by the gate into the ironworks. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not see it coming,” said Raut, still, even in spite of his +own apprehensions, trying to keep up an appearance of ordinary intercourse. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks answered with a grunt. “The cone,” he said, and then, as +one who recovers himself, “I thought you did not hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t,” said Raut. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t have had you run over then for the world,” said +Horrocks. +</p> + +<p> +“For a moment I lost my nerve,” said Raut. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks stood for half a minute, then turned abruptly towards the ironworks +again. “See how fine these great mounds of mine, these clinker-heaps, +look in the night! That truck yonder, up above there! Up it goes, and out-tilts +the slag. See the palpitating red stuff go sliding down the slope. As we get +nearer, the heap rises up and cuts the blast furnaces. See the quiver up above +the big one. Not that way! This way, between the heaps. That goes to the +puddling furnaces, but I want to show you the canal first.” He came and +took Raut by the elbow, and so they went along side by side. Raut answered +Horrocks vaguely. What, he asked himself, had really happened on the line? Was +he deluding himself with his own fancies, or had Horrocks actually held him +back in the way of the train? Had he just been within an ace of being murdered? +</p> + +<p> +Suppose this slouching, scowling monster <i>did</i> know anything? For a minute +or two then Raut was really afraid for his life, but the mood passed as he +reasoned with himself. After all, Horrocks might have heard nothing. At any +rate, he had pulled him out of the way in time. His odd manner might be due to +the mere vague jealousy he had shown once before. He was talking now of the +ash-heaps and the canal. “Eigh?” said Horrocks. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said Raut. “Rather! The haze in the moonlight. +Fine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Our canal,” said Horrocks, stopping suddenly. “Our canal by +moonlight and firelight is an immense effect. You’ve never seen it? Fancy +that! You’ve spent too many of your evenings philandering up in Newcastle +there. I tell you, for real florid effects—But you shall see. Boiling +water . . .” +</p> + +<p> +As they came out of the labyrinth of clinker-heaps and mounds of coal and ore, +the noises of the rolling-mill sprang upon them suddenly, loud, near, and +distinct. Three shadowy workmen went by and touched their caps to Horrocks. +Their faces were vague in the darkness. Raut felt a futile impulse to address +them, and before he could frame his words, they passed into the shadows. +Horrocks pointed to the canal close before them now: a weird-looking place it +seemed, in the blood-red reflections of the furnaces. The hot water that cooled +the tuyeres came into it, some fifty yards up—a tumultuous, almost +boiling affluent, and the steam rose up from the water in silent white wisps +and streaks, wrapping damply about them, an incessant succession of ghosts +coming up from the black and red eddies, a white uprising that made the head +swim. The shining black tower of the larger blast-furnace rose overhead out of +the mist, and its tumultuous riot filled their ears. Raut kept away from the +edge of the water, and watched Horrocks. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is red,” said Horrocks, “blood-red vapour as red and +hot as sin; but yonder there, where the moonlight falls on it, and it drives +across the clinker-heaps, it is as white as death.” +</p> + +<p> +Raut turned his head for a moment, and then came back hastily to his watch on +Horrocks. “Come along to the rolling-mills,” said Horrocks. The +threatening hold was not so evident that time, and Raut felt a little +reassured. But all the same, what on earth did Horrocks mean about “white +as death” and “red as sin?” Coincidence, perhaps? +</p> + +<p> +They went and stood behind the puddlers for a little while, and then through +the rolling-mills, where amidst an incessant din the deliberate steam-hammer +beat the juice out of the succulent iron, and black, half-naked Titans rushed +the plastic bars, like hot sealing-wax, between the wheels. “Come +on,” said Horrocks in Raut’s ear, and they went and peeped through +the little glass hole behind the tuyeres, and saw the tumbled fire writhing in +the pit of the blast-furnace. It left one eye blinded for a while. Then, with +green and blue patches dancing across the dark, they went to the lift by which +the trucks of ore and fuel and lime were raised to the top of the big cylinder. +</p> + +<p> +And out upon the narrow rail that overhung the furnace, Raut’s doubts +came upon him again. Was it wise to be here? If Horrocks did +know—everything! Do what he would, he could not resist a violent +trembling. Right under foot was a sheer depth of seventy feet. It was a +dangerous place. They pushed by a truck of fuel to get to the railing that +crowned the place. The reek of the furnace, a sulphurous vapor streaked with +pungent bitterness, seemed to make the distant hillside of Hanley quiver. The +moon was riding out now from among a drift of clouds, halfway up the sky above +the undulating wooded outlines of Newcastle. The steaming canal ran away from +below them under an indistinct bridge, and vanished into the dim haze of the +flat fields towards Burslem. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the cone I’ve been telling you of,” shouted +Horrocks; “and, below that, sixty feet of fire and molten metal, with the +air of the blast frothing through it like gas in soda-water.” +</p> + +<p> +Raut gripped the hand-rail tightly, and stared down at the cone. The heat was +intense. The boiling of the iron and the tumult of the blast made a thunderous +accompaniment to Horrocks’ voice. But the thing had to be gone through +now. Perhaps, after all . . . +</p> + +<p> +“In the middle,” bawled Horrocks, “temperature near a +thousand degrees. If <i>you</i> were dropped into it . . . . flash into flame +like a pinch of gunpowder in a candle. Put your hand out and feel the heat of +his breath. Why, even up here I’ve seen the rain-water boiling off the +trucks. And that cone there. It’s a damned sight too hot for roasting +cakes. The top side of it’s three hundred degrees.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three hundred degrees!” said Raut. +</p> + +<p> +“Three hundred centigrade, mind!” said Horrocks. “It will +boil the blood out of you in no time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eigh?” said Raut, and turned. +</p> + +<p> +“Boil the blood out of you in . . . No, you don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go!” screamed Raut. “Let go my arm!” +</p> + +<p> +With one hand he clutched at the hand-rail, then with both. For a moment the +two men stood swaying. Then suddenly, with a violent jerk, Horrocks had twisted +him from his hold. He clutched at Horrocks and missed, his foot went back into +empty air; in mid-air he twisted himself, and then cheek and shoulder and knee +struck the hot cone together. +</p> + +<p> +He clutched the chain by which the cone hung, and the thing sank an +infinitesimal amount as he struck it. A circle of glowing red appeared about +him, and a tongue of flame, released from the chaos within, flickered up +towards him. An intense pain assailed him at the knees, and he could smell the +singeing of his hands. He raised himself to his feet, and tried to climb up the +chain, and then something struck his head. Black and shining with the +moonlight, the throat of the furnace rose about him. +</p> + +<p> +Horrocks, he saw, stood above him by one of the trucks of fuel on the rail. The +gesticulating figure was bright and white in the moonlight, and shouting, +“Fizzle, you fool! Fizzle, you hunter of women! You hot-blooded hound! +Boil! boil! boil!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he caught up a handful of coal out of the truck, and flung it +deliberately, lump after lump, at Raut. +</p> + +<p> +“Horrocks!” cried Raut. “Horrocks!” +</p> + +<p> +He clung crying to the chain, pulling himself up from the burning of the cone. +Each missile Horrocks flung hit him. His clothes charred and glowed, and as he +struggled the cone dropped, and a rush of hot suffocating gas whooped out and +burned round him in a swift breath of flame. +</p> + +<p> +His human likeness departed from him. When the momentary red had passed, +Horrocks saw a charred, blackened figure, its head streaked with blood, still +clutching and fumbling with the chain, and writhing in agony—a cindery +animal, an inhuman, monstrous creature that began a sobbing intermittent +shriek. +</p> + +<p> +Abruptly, at the sight, the ironmaster’s anger passed. A deadly sickness +came upon him. The heavy odour of burning flesh came drifting up to his +nostrils. His sanity returned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“God have mercy upon me!” he cried. “O God! what have I +done?” +</p> + +<p> +He knew the thing below him, save that it still moved and felt, was already a +dead man—that the blood of the poor wretch must be boiling in his veins. +An intense realisation of that agony came to his mind, and overcame every other +feeling. For a moment he stood irresolute, and then, turning to the truck, he +hastily tilted its contents upon the struggling thing that had once been a man. +The mass fell with a thud, and went radiating over the cone. With the thud the +shriek ended, and a boiling confusion of smoke, dust, and flame came rushing up +towards him. As it passed, he saw the cone clear again. +</p> + +<p> +Then he staggered back, and stood trembling, clinging to the rail with both +hands. His lips moved, but no words came to them. +</p> + +<p> +Down below was the sound of voices and running steps. The clangour of rolling +in the shed ceased abruptly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>A MOONLIGHT FABLE</h2> + +<p> +There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit of clothes. +It was green and gold and woven so that I cannot describe how delicate and fine +it was, and there was a tie of orange fluffiness that tied up under his chin. +And the buttons in their newness shone like stars. He was proud and pleased by +his suit beyond measure, and stood before the long looking-glass when first he +put it on, so astonished and delighted with it that he could hardly turn +himself away. +</p> + +<p> +He wanted to wear it everywhere and show it to all sorts of people. He thought +over all the places he had ever visited and all the scenes he had ever heard +described, and tried to imagine what the feel of it would be if he were to go +now to those scenes and places wearing his shining suit, and he wanted to go +out forthwith into the long grass and the hot sunshine of the meadow wearing +it. Just to wear it! But his mother told him, “No.” She told him he +must take great care of his suit, for never would he have another nearly so +fine; he must save it and save it and only wear it on rare and great occasions. +It was his wedding suit, she said. And she took his buttons and twisted them up +with tissue paper for fear their bright newness should be tarnished, and she +tacked little guards over the cuffs and elbows and wherever the suit was most +likely to come to harm. He hated and resisted these things, but what could he +do? And at last her warnings and persuasions had effect and he consented to +take off his beautiful suit and fold it into its proper creases and put it +away. It was almost as though he gave it up again. But he was always thinking +of wearing it and of the supreme occasion when some day it might be worn +without the guards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and +delightfully, never caring, beautiful beyond measure. +</p> + +<p> +One night when he was dreaming of it, after his habit, he dreamed he took the +tissue paper from one of the buttons and found its brightness a little faded, +and that distressed him mightily in his dream. He polished the poor faded +button and polished it, and if anything it grew duller. He woke up and lay +awake thinking of the brightness a little dulled and wondering how he would +feel if perhaps when the great occasion (whatever it might be) should arrive, +one button should chance to be ever so little short of its first glittering +freshness, and for days and days that thought remained with him, distressingly. +And when next his mother let him wear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave +way to the temptation just to fumble off one little bit of tissue paper and see +if indeed the buttons were keeping as bright as ever. +</p> + +<p> +He went trimly along on his way to church full of this wild desire. For you +must know his mother did, with repeated and careful warnings, let him wear his +suit at times, on Sundays, for example, to and fro from church, when there was +no threatening of rain, no dust nor anything to injure it, with its buttons +covered and its protections tacked upon it and a sunshade in his hand to shadow +it if there seemed too strong a sunlight for its colours. And always, after +such occasions, he brushed it over and folded it exquisitely as she had taught +him, and put it away again. +</p> + +<p> +Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of his suit he obeyed, +always he obeyed them, until one strange night he woke up and saw the moonlight +shining outside his window. It seemed to him the moonlight was not common +moonlight, nor the night a common night, and for a while he lay quite drowsily +with this odd persuasion in his mind. Thought joined on to thought like things +that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he sat up in his little bed suddenly, +very alert, with his heart beating very fast and a quiver in his body from top +to toe. He had made up his mind. He knew now that he was going to wear his suit +as it should be worn. He had no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, terribly +afraid, but glad, glad. +</p> + +<p> +He got out of his bed and stood a moment by the window looking at the +moonshine-flooded garden and trembling at the thing he meant to do. The air was +full of a minute clamor of crickets and murmurings, of the infinitesimal +shouting of little living things. He went very gently across the creaking +boards, for fear that he might wake the sleeping house, to the big dark +clothes-press wherein his beautiful suit lay folded, and he took it out garment +by garment and softly and very eagerly tore off its tissue-paper covering and +its tacked protections, until there it was, perfect and delightful as he had +seen it when first his mother had given it to him—a long time it seemed +ago. Not a button had tarnished, not a thread had faded on this dear suit of +his; he was glad enough for weeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And +then back he went, soft and quick, to the window and looked out upon the garden +and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his buttons +twinkling like stars, before he got out on the sill and, making as little of a +rustling as he could, clambered down to the garden path below. He stood before +his mother’s house, and it was white and nearly as plain as by day, with +every window-blind but his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The trees cast +still shadows like intricate black lace upon the wall. +</p> + +<p> +The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden by day; +moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in phantom cobwebs from spray +to spray. Every flower was gleaming white or crimson black, and the air was +aquiver with the thridding of small crickets and nightingales singing unseen in +the depths of the trees. +</p> + +<p> +There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious shadows; and all +the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with iridescent jewels of dew. The +night was warmer than any night had ever been, the heavens by some miracle at +once vaster and nearer, and spite of the great ivory-tinted moon that ruled the +world, the sky was full of stars. +</p> + +<p> +The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite gladness. He stood +for a time like one awe-stricken, and then, with a queer small cry and holding +out his arms, he ran out as if he would embrace at once the whole warm round +immensity of the world. He did not follow the neat set paths that cut the +garden squarely, but thrust across the beds and through the wet, tall, scented +herbs, through the night stock and the nicotine and the clusters of phantom +white mallow flowers and through the thickets of southern-wood and lavender, +and knee-deep across a wide space of mignonette. He came to the great hedge and +he thrust his way through it, and though the thorns of the brambles scored him +deeply and tore threads from his wonderful suit, and though burs and goosegrass +and havers caught and clung to him, he did not care. He did not care, for he +knew it was all part of the wearing for which he had longed. “I am glad I +put on my suit,” he said; “I am glad I wore my suit.” +</p> + +<p> +Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what was the +duck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of silver moonshine all +noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver moonshine twisted and clotted +with strange patternings, and the little man ran down into its waters between +the thin black rushes, knee-deep and waist-deep and to his shoulders, smiting +the water to black and shining wavelets with either hand, swaying and shivering +wavelets, amid which the stars were netted in the tangled reflections of the +brooding trees upon the bank. He waded until he swam, and so he crossed the +pond and came out upon the other side, trailing, as it seemed to him, not +duckweed, but very silver in long, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went +through the transfigured tangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grass +of the farther bank. And so he came glad and breathless into the highroad. +“I am glad,” he said, “beyond measure, that I had clothes +that fitted this occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +The highroad ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the deep blue pit of +sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road between the singing +nightingales, and along it he went, running now and leaping, and now walking +and rejoicing, in the clothes his mother had made for him with tireless, loving +hands. The road was deep in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness, and +as he went a great dim moth came fluttering round his wet and shimmering and +hastening figure. At first he did not heed the moth, and then he waved his +hands at it and made a sort of dance with it as it circled round his head. +“Soft moth!” he cried, “dear moth! And wonderful night, +wonderful night of the world! Do you think my clothes are beautiful, dear moth? +As beautiful as your scales and all this silver vesture of the earth and +sky?” +</p> + +<p> +And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its velvet wings just +brushed his lips . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +And next morning they found him dead with his neck broken in the bottom of the +stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little bloody and foul and stained with +the duckweed from the pond. But his face was a face of such happiness that, had +you seen it, you would have understood indeed how that he had died happy, never +knowing the cool and streaming silver for the duckweed in the pond. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE DIAMOND MAKER</h2> + +<p> +Some business had detained me in Chancery Lane until nine in the evening, and +thereafter, having some inkling of a headache, I was disinclined either for +entertainment or further work. So much of the sky as the high cliffs of that +narrow canon of traffic left visible spoke of a serene night, and I determined +to make my way down to the Embankment, and rest my eyes and cool my head by +watching the variegated lights upon the river. Beyond comparison the night is +the best time for this place; a merciful darkness hides the dirt of the waters, +and the lights of this transitional age, red glaring orange, gas-yellow, and +electric white, are set in shadowy outlines of every possible shade between +grey and deep purple. Through the arches of Waterloo Bridge a hundred points of +light mark the sweep of the Embankment, and above its parapet rise the towers +of Westminster, warm grey against the starlight. The black river goes by with +only a rare ripple breaking its silence, and disturbing the reflections of the +lights that swim upon its surface. +</p> + +<p> +“A warm night,” said a voice at my side. +</p> + +<p> +I turned my head, and saw the profile of a man who was leaning over the parapet +beside me. It was a refined face, not unhandsome, though pinched and pale +enough, and the coat collar turned up and pinned round the throat marked his +status in life as sharply as a uniform. I felt I was committed to the price of +a bed and breakfast if I answered him. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him curiously. Would he have anything to tell me worth the money, +or was he the common incapable—incapable even of telling his own story? +There was a quality of intelligence in his forehead and eyes, and a certain +tremulousness in his nether lip that decided me. +</p> + +<p> +“Very warm,” said I; “but not too warm for us here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, still looking across the water, “it is +pleasant enough here . . . . just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is good,” he continued after a pause, “to find anything +so restful as this in London. After one has been fretting about business all +day, about getting on, meeting obligations, and parrying dangers, I do not know +what one would do if it were not for such pacific corners.” He spoke with +long pauses between the sentences. “You must know a little of the irksome +labour of the world, or you would not be here. But I doubt if you can be so +brain-weary and footsore as I am . . . . Bah! Sometimes I doubt if the game is +worth the candle. I feel inclined to throw the whole thing over—name, +wealth and position—and take to some modest trade. But I know if I +abandoned my ambition—hardly as she uses me—I should have nothing +but remorse left for the rest of my days.” +</p> + +<p> +He became silent. I looked at him in astonishment. If ever I saw a man +hopelessly hard-up it was the man in front of me. He was ragged and he was +dirty, unshaven and unkempt; he looked as though he had been left in a dust-bin +for a week. And he was talking to <i>me</i> of the irksome worries of a large +business. I almost laughed outright. Either he was mad or playing a sorry jest +on his own poverty. +</p> + +<p> +“If high aims and high positions,” said I, “have their +drawbacks of hard work and anxiety, they have their compensations. Influence, +the power of doing good, of assisting those weaker and poorer than ourselves; +and there is even a certain gratification in display . . . . . ” +</p> + +<p> +My banter under the circumstances was in very vile taste. I spoke on the spur +of the contrast of his appearance and speech. I was sorry even while I was +speaking. +</p> + +<p> +He turned a haggard but very composed face upon me. Said he: “I forgot +myself. Of course you would not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +He measured me for a moment. “No doubt it is very absurd. You will not +believe me even when I tell you, so that it is fairly safe to tell you. And it +will be a comfort to tell someone. I really have a big business in hand, a very +big business. But there are troubles just now. The fact is . . . . I make +diamonds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” said I, “you are out of work just at +present?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sick of being disbelieved,” he said impatiently, and suddenly +unbuttoning his wretched coat he pulled out a little canvas bag that was +hanging by a cord round his neck. From this he produced a brown pebble. +“I wonder if you know enough to know what that is?” He handed it to +me. +</p> + +<p> +Now, a year or so ago, I had occupied my leisure in taking a London science +degree, so that I have a smattering of physics and mineralogy. The thing was +not unlike an uncut diamond of the darker sort, though far too large, being +almost as big as the top of my thumb. I took it, and saw it had the form of a +regular octahedron, with the curved faces peculiar to the most precious of +minerals. I took out my penknife and tried to scratch it—vainly. Leaning +forward towards the gas-lamp, I tried the thing on my watch-glass, and scored a +white line across that with the greatest ease. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at my interlocutor with rising curiosity. “It certainly is +rather like a diamond. But, if so, it is a Behemoth of diamonds. Where did you +get it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you I made it,” he said. “Give it back to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He replaced it hastily and buttoned his jacket. “I will sell it you for +one hundred pounds,” he suddenly whispered eagerly. With that my +suspicions returned. The thing might, after all, be merely a lump of that +almost equally hard substance, corundum, with an accidental resemblance in +shape to the diamond. Or if it was a diamond, how came he by it, and why should +he offer it at a hundred pounds? +</p> + +<p> +We looked into one another’s eyes. He seemed eager, but honestly eager. +At that moment I believed it was a diamond he was trying to sell. Yet I am a +poor man, a hundred pounds would leave a visible gap in my fortunes and no sane +man would buy a diamond by gaslight from a ragged tramp on his personal +warranty only. Still, a diamond that size conjured up a vision of many +thousands of pounds. Then, thought I, such a stone could scarcely exist without +being mentioned in every book on gems, and again I called to mind the stories +of contraband and light-fingered Kaffirs at the Cape. I put the question of +purchase on one side. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get it?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“I made it.” +</p> + +<p> +I had heard something of Moissan, but I knew his artificial diamonds were very +small. I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to know something of this kind of thing. I will tell you a +little about myself. Perhaps then you may think better of the purchase.” +He turned round with his back to the river, and put his hands in his pockets. +He sighed. “I know you will not believe me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Diamonds,” he began—and as he spoke his voice lost its faint +flavour of the tramp and assumed something of the easy tone of an educated +man—“are to be made by throwing carbon out of combination in a +suitable flux and under a suitable pressure; the carbon crystallises out, not +as black-lead or charcoal-powder, but as small diamonds. So much has been known +to chemists for years, but no one yet had hit upon exactly the right flux in +which to melt up the carbon, or exactly the right pressure for the best +results. Consequently the diamonds made by chemists are small and dark, and +worthless as jewels. Now I, you know, have given up my life to this +problem—given my life to it. +</p> + +<p> +“I began to work at the conditions of diamond making when I was +seventeen, and now I am thirty-two. It seemed to me that it might take all the +thought and energies of a man for ten years, or twenty years, but, even if it +did, the game was still worth the candle. Suppose one to have at last just hit +the right trick before the secret got out and diamonds became as common as +coal, one might realize millions. Millions!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and looked for my sympathy. His eyes shone hungrily. “To +think,” said he, “that I am on the verge of it all, and here! +</p> + +<p> +“I had,” he proceeded, “about a thousand pounds when I was +twenty-one, and this, I thought, eked out by a little teaching, would keep my +researches going. A year or two was spent in study, at Berlin chiefly, and then +I continued on my own account. The trouble was the secrecy. You see, if once I +had let out what I was doing, other men might have been spurred on by my belief +in the practicability of the idea; and I do not pretend to be such a genius as +to have been sure of coming in first, in the case of a race for the discovery. +And you see it was important that if I really meant to make a pile, people +should not know it was an artificial process and capable of turning out +diamonds by the ton. So I had to work all alone. At first I had a little +laboratory, but as my resources began to run out I had to conduct my +experiments in a wretched unfurnished room in Kentish Town, where I slept at +last on a straw mattress on the floor among all my apparatus. The money simply +flowed away. I grudged myself everything except scientific appliances. I tried +to keep things going by a little teaching, but I am not a very good teacher, +and I have no university degree, nor very much education except in chemistry, +and I found I had to give a lot of time and labour for precious little money. +But I got nearer and nearer the thing. Three years ago I settled the problem of +the composition of the flux, and got near the pressure by putting this flux of +mine and a certain carbon composition into a closed-up gun-barrel, filling up +with water, sealing tightly, and heating.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather risky,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It burst, and smashed all my windows and a lot of my apparatus; but +I got a kind of diamond powder nevertheless. Following out the problem of +getting a big pressure upon the molten mixture from which the things were to +crystallise, I hit upon some researches of Daubree’s at the Paris +<i>Laboratorie des Poudres et Salpetres</i>. He exploded dynamite in a tightly +screwed steel cylinder, too strong to burst, and I found he could crush rocks +into a muck not unlike the South African bed in which diamonds are found. It +was a tremendous strain on my resources, but I got a steel cylinder made for my +purpose after his pattern. I put in all my stuff and my explosives, built up a +fire in my furnace, put the whole concern in, and—went out for a +walk.” +</p> + +<p> +I could not help laughing at his matter-of-fact manner. “Did you not +think it would blow up the house? Were there other people in the place?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was in the interest of science,” he said, ultimately. +“There was a costermonger family on the floor below, a begging-letter +writer in the room behind mine, and two flower-women were upstairs. Perhaps it +was a bit thoughtless. But possibly some of them were out. +</p> + +<p> +“When I came back the thing was just where I left it, among the white-hot +coals. The explosive hadn’t burst the case. And then I had a problem to +face. You know time is an important element in crystallisation. If you hurry +the process the crystals are small—it is only by prolonged standing that +they grow to any size. I resolved to let this apparatus cool for two years, +letting the temperature go down slowly during the time. And I was now quite out +of money; and with a big fire and the rent of my room, as well as my hunger to +satisfy, I had scarcely a penny in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“I can hardly tell you all the shifts I was put to while I was making the +diamonds. I have sold newspapers, held horses, opened cab-doors. For many weeks +I addressed envelopes. I had a place as assistant to a man who owned a barrow, +and used to call down one side of the road while he called down the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Once for a week I had absolutely nothing to do, and I begged. What a +week that was! One day the fire was going out and I had eaten nothing all day, +and a little chap taking his girl out, gave me sixpence—to show off. +Thank heaven for vanity! How the fish-shops smelt! But I went and spent it all +on coals, and had the furnace bright red again, and then—Well, hunger +makes a fool of a man. +</p> + +<p> +“At last, three weeks ago, I let the fire out. I took my cylinder and +unscrewed it while it was still so hot that it punished my hands, and I scraped +out the crumbling lava-like mass with a chisel, and hammered it into a powder +upon an iron plate. And I found three big diamonds and five small ones. As I +sat on the floor hammering, my door opened, and my neighbour, the +begging-letter writer came in. He was drunk—as he usually is. +‘Nerchist,’ said he. ‘You’re drunk,’ said I. +‘’Structive scoundrel,’ said he. ‘Go to your +father,’ said I, meaning the Father of Lies. ‘Never you +mind,’ said he, and gave me a cunning wink, and hiccuped, and leaning up +against the door, with his other eye against the door-post, began to babble of +how he had been prying in my room, and how he had gone to the police that +morning, and how they had taken down everything he had to +say—‘’siffiwas a ge’m,’ said he. Then I suddenly +realised I was in a hole. Either I should have to tell these police my little +secret, and get the whole thing blown upon, or be lagged as an Anarchist. So I +went up to my neighbour and took him by the collar, and rolled him about a bit, +and then I gathered up my diamonds and cleared out. The evening newspapers +called my den the Kentish Town Bomb Factory. And now I cannot part with the +things for love or money. +</p> + +<p> +“If I go in to respectable jewellers they ask me to wait, and go and +whisper to a clerk to fetch a policeman, and then I say I cannot wait. And I +found out a receiver of stolen goods, and he simply stuck to the one I gave him +and told me to prosecute if I wanted it back. I am going about now with several +hundred thousand pounds-worth of diamonds round my neck, and without either +food or shelter. You are the first person I have taken into my confidence. But +I like your face and I am hard-driven.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked into my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be madness,” said I, “for me to buy a diamond under +the circumstances. Besides, I do not carry hundreds of pounds about in my +pocket. Yet I more than half believe your story. I will, if you like, do this: +come to my office to-morrow . . . .” +</p> + +<p> +“You think I am a thief!” said he keenly. “You will tell the +police. I am not coming into a trap.” +</p> + +<p> +“Somehow I am assured you are no thief. Here is my card. Take that, +anyhow. You need not come to any appointment. Come when you will.” +</p> + +<p> +He took the card, and an earnest of my good-will. +</p> + +<p> +“Think better of it and come,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head doubtfully. “I will pay back your half-crown with +interest some day—such interest as will amaze you,” said he. +“Anyhow, you will keep the secret? . . . . Don’t follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +He crossed the road and went into the darkness towards the little steps under +the archway leading into Essex Street, and I let him go. And that was the last +I ever saw of him. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards I had two letters from him asking me to send bank-notes—not +cheques—to certain addresses. I weighed the matter over and took what I +conceived to be the wisest course. Once he called upon me when I was out. My +urchin described him as a very thin, dirty, and ragged man, with a dreadful +cough. He left no message. That was the finish of him so far as my story goes. +I wonder sometimes what has become of him. Was he an ingenious monomaniac, or a +fraudulent dealer in pebbles, or has he really made diamonds as he asserted? +The latter is just sufficiently credible to make me think at times that I have +missed the most brilliant opportunity of my life. He may of course be dead, and +his diamonds carelessly thrown aside—one, I repeat, was almost as big as +my thumb. Or he may be still wandering about trying to sell the things. It is +just possible he may yet emerge upon society, and, passing athwart my heavens +in the serene altitude sacred to the wealthy and the well-advertised, reproach +me silently for my want of enterprise. I sometimes think I might at least have +risked five pounds. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS</h2> + +<p> +The chief attendant of the three dynamos that buzzed and rattled at Camberwell, +and kept the electric railway going, came out of Yorkshire, and his name was +James Holroyd. He was a practical electrician, but fond of whisky, a heavy +red-haired brute with irregular teeth. He doubted the existence of the deity, +but accepted Carnot’s cycle, and he had read Shakespeare and found him +weak in chemistry. His helper came out of the mysterious East, and his name was +Azuma-zi. But Holroyd called him Pooh-bah. Holroyd liked a nigger because he +would stand kicking—a habit with Holroyd—and did not pry into the +machinery and try to learn the ways of it. Certain odd possibilities of the +negro mind brought into abrupt contact with the crown of our civilisation +Holroyd never fully realised, though just at the end he got some inkling of +them. +</p> + +<p> +To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology. He was, perhaps, more negroid than +anything else, though his hair was curly rather than frizzy, and his nose had a +bridge. Moreover, his skin was brown rather than black, and the whites of his +eyes were yellow. His broad cheekbones and narrow chin gave his face something +of the viperine V. His head, too, was broad behind, and low and narrow at the +forehead, as if his brain had been twisted round in the reverse way to a +European’s. He was short of stature and still shorter of English. In +conversation he made numerous odd noises of no known marketable value, and his +infrequent words were carved and wrought into heraldic grotesqueness. Holroyd +tried to elucidate his religious beliefs, and—especially after +whisky—lectured to him against superstition and missionaries. Azuma-zi, +however, shirked the discussion of his gods, even though he was kicked for it. +</p> + +<p> +Azuma-zi had come, clad in white but insufficient raiment, out of the stokehole +of the <i>Lord Clive</i>, from the Straits Settlements, and beyond, into +London. He had heard even in his youth of the greatness and riches of London, +where all the women are white and fair, and even the beggars in the streets are +white, and he arrived, with newly earned gold coins in his pocket, to worship +at the shrine of civilisation. The day of his landing was a dismal one; the sky +was dun, and a wind-worried drizzle filtered down to the greasy streets, but he +plunged boldly into the delights of Shadwell, and was presently cast up, +shattered in health, civilised in costume, penniless and, except in matters of +the direst necessity, practically a dumb animal, to toil for James Holroyd and +to be bullied by him in the dynamo shed at Camberwell. And to James Holroyd +bullying was a labour of love. +</p> + +<p> +There were three dynamos with their engines at Camberwell. The two that had +been there since the beginning were small machines; the larger one was new. The +smaller machines made a reasonable noise; their straps hummed over the drums, +every now and then the brushes buzzed and fizzled, and the air churned +steadily, whoo! whoo! whoo! between their poles. One was loose in its +foundations and kept the shed vibrating. But the big dynamo drowned these +little noises altogether with the sustained drone of its iron core, which +somehow set part of the ironwork humming. The place made the visitor’s +head reel with the throb, throb, throb of the engines, the rotation of the big +wheels, the spinning ball-valves, the occasional spittings of the steam, and +over all the deep, unceasing, surging note of the big dynamo. This last noise +was from an engineering point of view a defect, but Azuma-zi accounted it unto +the monster for mightiness and pride. +</p> + +<p> +If it were possible we would have the noises of that shed always about the +reader as he reads, we would tell all our story to such an accompaniment. It +was a steady stream of din, from which the ear picked out first one thread and +then another; there was the intermittent snorting, panting, and seething of the +steam engines, the suck and thud of their pistons, the dull beat on the air as +the spokes of the great driving-wheels came round, a note the leather straps +made as they ran tighter and looser, and a fretful tumult from the dynamos; and +over all, sometimes inaudible, as the ear tired of it, and then creeping back +upon the senses again, was this trombone note of the big machine. The floor +never felt steady and quiet beneath one’s feet, but quivered and jarred. +It was a confusing, unsteady place, and enough to send anyone’s thoughts +jerking into odd zigzags. And for three months, while the big strike of the +engineers was in progress, Holroyd, who was a blackleg, and Azuma-zi, who was a +mere black, were never out of the stir and eddy of it, but slept and fed in the +little wooden shanty between the shed and the gates. +</p> + +<p> +Holroyd delivered a theological lecture on the text of his big machine soon +after Azuma-zi came. He had to shout to be heard in the din. “Look at +that,” said Holroyd; “where’s your ‘eathen idol to +match ‘im?” And Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd was +inaudible, and then Azuma-zi heard: “Kill a hundred men. Twelve per cent. +on the ordinary shares,” said Holroyd, “and that’s something +like a Gord!” +</p> + +<p> +Holroyd was proud of his big dynamo, and expatiated upon its size and power to +Azuma-zi until heaven knows what odd currents of thought that and the incessant +whirling and shindy set up within the curly black cranium. He would explain in +the most graphic manner the dozen or so ways in which a man might be killed by +it, and once he gave Azuma-zi a shock as a sample of its quality. After that, +in the breathing-times of his labour—it was heavy labour, being not only +his own, but most of Holroyd’s—Azuma-zi would sit and watch the big +machine. Now and then the brushes would sparkle and spit blue flashes, at which +Holroyd would swear, but all the rest was as smooth and rhythmic as breathing. +The band ran shouting over the shaft, and ever behind one as one watched was +the complacent thud of the piston. So it lived all day in this big airy shed, +with him and Holroyd to wait upon it; not prisoned up and slaving to drive a +ship as the other engines he knew—mere captive devils of the British +Solomon—had been, but a machine enthroned. Those two smaller dynamos, +Azuma-zi by force of contrast despised; the large one he privately christened +the Lord of the Dynamos. They were fretful and irregular, but the big dynamo +was steady. How great it was! How serene and easy in its working! Greater and +calmer even than the Buddhas he had seen at Rangoon, and yet not motionless, +but living! The great black coils spun, spun, spun, the rings ran round under +the brushes, and the deep note of its coil steadied the whole. It affected +Azuma-zi queerly. +</p> + +<p> +Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watch the Lord of the +Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade the yard porter to get whisky, +although his proper place was not in the dynamo shed but behind the engines, +and, moreover, if Holroyd caught him skulking he got hit for it with a rod of +stout copper wire. He would go and stand close to the colossus and look up at +the great leather band running overhead. There was a black patch on the band +that came round, and it pleased him somehow among all the clatter to watch this +return again and again. Odd thoughts spun with the whirl of it. Scientific +people tell us that savages give souls to rocks and trees—and a machine +is a thousand times more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was +practically a savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper than his +slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and hands. His father +before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindred blood it may be had +splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut. +</p> + +<p> +He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and handling the great +dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished and cleaned it until the metal +parts were blinding in the sun. He felt a mysterious sense of service in doing +this. He would go up to it and touch its spinning coils gently. The gods he had +worshipped were all far away. The people in London hid their gods. +</p> + +<p> +At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape in thoughts and at +last in acts. When he came into the roaring shed one morning he salaamed to the +Lord of the Dynamos, and then when Holroyd was away, he went and whispered to +the thundering machine that he was its servant, and prayed it to have pity on +him and save him from Holroyd. As he did so a rare gleam of light came in +through the open archway of the throbbing machine-shed, and the Lord of the +Dynamos, as he whirled and roared, was radiant with pale gold. Then Azuma-zi +knew that his service was acceptable to his Lord. After that he did not feel so +lonely as he had done, and he had indeed been very much alone in London. And +even when his work time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the shed. +</p> + +<p> +Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi went presently to the Lord +of the Dynamos and whispered, “Thou seest, O my Lord!” and the +angry whir of the machinery seemed to answer him. Thereafter it appeared to him +that whenever Holroyd came into the shed a different note came into the sounds +of the dynamo. “My Lord bides his time,” said Azuma-zi to himself. +“The iniquity of the fool is not yet ripe.” And he waited and +watched for the day of reckoning. One day there was evidence of short +circuiting, and Holroyd, making an unwary examination—it was in the +afternoon—got a rather severe shock. Azuma-zi from behind the engine saw +him jump off and curse at the peccant coil. +</p> + +<p> +“He is warned,” said Azuma-zi to himself. “Surely my Lord is +very patient.” +</p> + +<p> +Holroyd had at first initiated his “nigger” into such elementary +conceptions of the dynamo’s working as would enable him to take temporary +charge of the shed in his absence. But when he noticed the manner in which +Azuma-zi hung about the monster he became suspicious. He dimly perceived his +assistant was “up to something,” and connecting him with the +anointing of the coils with oil that had rotted the varnish in one place, he +issued an edict, shouted above the confusion of the machinery, +“Don’t ‘ee go nigh that big dynamo any more, Pooh-bah, or +a’ll take thy skin off!” Besides, if it pleased Azuma-zi to be near +the big machine, it was plain sense and decency to keep him away from it. +</p> + +<p> +Azuma-zi obeyed at the time, but later he was caught bowing before the Lord of +the Dynamos. At which Holroyd twisted his arm and kicked him as he turned to go +away. As Azuma-zi presently stood behind the engine and glared at the back of +the hated Holroyd, the noises of the machinery took a new rhythm, and sounded +like four words in his native tongue. +</p> + +<p> +It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-zi was mad. The +incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may have churned up his little store +of knowledge and his big store of superstitious fancy, at last, into something +akin to frenzy. At any rate, when the idea of making Holroyd a sacrifice to the +Dynamo Fetich was thus suggested to him, it filled him with a strange tumult of +exultant emotion. +</p> + +<p> +That night the two men and their black shadows were alone in the shed together. +The shed was lit with one big arc light that winked and flickered purple. The +shadows lay black behind the dynamos, the ball governors of the engines whirled +from light to darkness, and their pistons beat loud and steady. The world +outside seen through the open end of the shed seemed incredibly dim and remote. +It seemed absolutely silent, too, since the riot of the machinery drowned every +external sound. Far away was the black fence of the yard with grey shadowy +houses behind, and above was the deep blue sky and the pale little stars. +Azuma-zi suddenly walked across the centre of the shed above which the leather +bands were running, and went into the shadow by the big dynamo. Holroyd heard a +click, and the spin of the armature changed. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you dewin’ with that switch?” he bawled in +surprise. “Han’t I told you—” +</p> + +<p> +Then he saw the set expression of Azuma-zi’s eyes as the Asiatic came out +of the shadow towards him. +</p> + +<p> +In another moment the two men were grappling fiercely in front of the great +dynamo. +</p> + +<p> +“You coffee-headed fool!” gasped Holroyd, with a brown hand at his +throat. “Keep off those contact rings.” In another moment he was +tripped and reeling back upon the Lord of the Dynamos. He instinctively +loosened his grip upon his antagonist to save himself from the machine. +</p> + +<p> +The messenger, sent in furious haste from the station to find out what had +happened in the dynamo shed, met Azuma-zi at the porter’s lodge by the +gate. Azuma-zi tried to explain something, but the messenger could make nothing +of the black’s incoherent English, and hurried on to the shed. The +machines were all noisily at work, and nothing seemed to be disarranged. There +was, however, a queer smell of singed hair. Then he saw an odd-looking crumpled +mass clinging to the front of the big dynamo, and, approaching, recognised the +distorted remains of Holroyd. +</p> + +<p> +The man stared and hesitated a moment. Then he saw the face, and shut his eyes +convulsively. He turned on his heel before he opened them, so that he should +not see Holroyd again, and went out of the shed to get advice and help. +</p> + +<p> +When Azuma-zi saw Holroyd die in the grip of the Great Dynamo he had been a +little scared about the consequences of his act. Yet he felt strangely elated, +and knew that the favour of the Lord Dynamo was upon him. His plan was already +settled when he met the man coming from the station, and the scientific manager +who speedily arrived on the scene jumped at the obvious conclusion of suicide. +This expert scarcely noticed Azuma-zi, except to ask a few questions. Did he +see Holroyd kill himself? Azuma-zi explained that he had been out of sight at +the engine furnace until he heard a difference in the noise from the dynamo. It +was not a difficult examination, being untinctured by suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +The distorted remains of Holroyd, which the electrician removed from the +machine, were hastily covered by the porter with a coffee-stained tablecloth. +Somebody, by a happy inspiration, fetched a medical man. The expert was chiefly +anxious to get the machine at work again, for seven or eight trains had stopped +midway in the stuffy tunnels of the electric railway. Azuma-zi, answering or +misunderstanding the questions of the people who had by authority or impudence +come into the shed, was presently sent back to the stoke-hole by the scientific +manager. Of course a crowd collected outside the gates of the yard—a +crowd, for no known reason, always hovers for a day or two near the scene of a +sudden death in London; two or three reporters percolated somehow into the +engine-shed, and one even got to Azuma-zi; but the scientific expert cleared +them out again, being himself an amateur journalist. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the body was carried away, and public interest departed with it. +Azuma-zi remained very quietly at his furnace, seeing over and over again in +the coals a figure that wriggled violently and became still. An hour after the +murder, to anyone coming into the shed it would have looked exactly as if +nothing had ever happened there. Peeping presently from his engine-room the +black saw the Lord Dynamo spin and whirl beside his little brothers, and the +driving wheels were beating round, and the steam in the pistons went thud, +thud, exactly as it had been earlier in the evening. After all, from the +mechanical point of view, it had been a most insignificant incident—the +mere temporary deflection of a current. But now the slender form and slender +shadow of the scientific manager replaced the sturdy outline of Holroyd +travelling up and down the lane of light upon the vibrating floor under the +straps between the engines and the dynamos. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I not served my Lord?” said Azuma-zi inaudibly, from his +shadow, and the note of the great dynamo rang out full and clear. As he looked +at the big whirling mechanism the strange fascination of it that had been a +little in abeyance since Holroyd’s death, resumed its sway. +</p> + +<p> +Never had Azuma-zi seen a man killed so swiftly and pitilessly. The big humming +machine had slain its victim without wavering for a second from its steady +beating. It was indeed a mighty god. +</p> + +<p> +The unconscious scientific manager stood with his back to him, scribbling on a +piece of paper. His shadow lay at the foot of the monster. +</p> + +<p> +“Was the Lord Dynamo still hungry? His servant was ready.” +</p> + +<p> +Azuma-zi made a stealthy step forward; then stopped. The scientific manager +suddenly stopped writing, and walked down the shed to the endmost of the +dynamos, and began to examine the brushes. +</p> + +<p> +Azuma-zi hesitated, and then slipped across noiselessly into shadow by the +switch. There he waited. Presently the manager’s footsteps could be heard +returning. He stopped in his old position, unconscious of the stoker crouching +ten feet away from him. Then the big dynamo suddenly fizzled, and in another +moment Azuma-zi had sprung out of the darkness upon him. +</p> + +<p> +First, the scientific manager was gripped round the body and swung towards the +big dynamo, then, kicking with his knee and forcing his antagonist’s head +down with his hands, he loosened the grip on his waist and swung round away +from the machine. Then the black grasped him again, putting a curly head +against his chest, and they swayed and panted as it seemed for an age or so. +Then the scientific manager was impelled to catch a black ear in his teeth and +bite furiously. The black yelled hideously. +</p> + +<p> +They rolled over on the floor, and the black, who had apparently slipped from +the vice of the teeth or parted with some ear—the scientific manager +wondered which at the time—tried to throttle him. The scientific manager +was making some ineffectual attempts to claw something with his hands and to +kick, when the welcome sound of quick footsteps sounded on the floor. The next +moment Azuma-zi had left him and darted towards the big dynamo. There was a +splutter amid the roar. +</p> + +<p> +The officer of the company who had entered, stood staring as Azuma-zi caught +the naked terminals in his hands, gave one horrible convulsion, and then hung +motionless from the machine, his face violently distorted. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m jolly glad you came in when you did,” said the +scientific manager, still sitting on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the still quivering figure. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not a nice death to die, apparently—but it is +quick.” +</p> + +<p> +The official was still staring at the body. He was a man of slow apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +The scientific manager got up on his feet rather awkwardly. He ran his fingers +along his collar thoughtfully, and moved his head to and fro several times. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Holroyd! I see now.” Then almost mechanically he went towards +the switch in the shadow and turned the current into the railway circuit again. +As he did so the singed body loosened its grip upon the machine and fell +forward on its face. The core of the dynamo roared out loud and clear, and the +armature beat the air. +</p> + +<p> +So ended prematurely the Worship of the Dynamo Deity, perhaps the most +short-lived of all religions. Yet withal it could at least boast a Martyrdom +and a Human Sacrifice. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND</h2> + +<p> +Three hundred miles and more from Chimborazo, one hundred from the snows of +Cotopaxi, in the wildest wastes of Ecuador’s Andes, there lies that +mysterious mountain valley, cut off from all the world of men, the Country of +the Blind. Long years ago that valley lay so far open to the world that men +might come at last through frightful gorges and over an icy pass into its +equable meadows, and thither indeed men came, a family or so of Peruvian +half-breeds fleeing from the lust and tyranny of an evil Spanish ruler. Then +came the stupendous outbreak of Mindobamba, when it was night in Quito for +seventeen days, and the water was boiling at Yaguachi and all the fish floating +dying even as far as Guayaquil; everywhere along the Pacific slopes there were +land-slips and swift thawings and sudden floods, and one whole side of the old +Arauca crest slipped and came down in thunder, and cut off the Country of the +Blind for ever from the exploring feet of men. But one of these early settlers +had chanced to be on the hither side of the gorges when the world had so +terribly shaken itself, and he perforce had to forget his wife and his child +and all the friends and possessions he had left up there, and start life over +again in the lower world. He started it again but ill, blindness overtook him, +and he died of punishment in the mines; but the story he told begot a legend +that lingers along the length of the Cordilleras of the Andes to this day. +</p> + +<p> +He told of his reason for venturing back from that fastness, into which he had +first been carried lashed to a llama, beside a vast bale of gear, when he was a +child. The valley, he said, had in it all that the heart of man could +desire—sweet water, pasture, an even climate, slopes of rich brown soil +with tangles of a shrub that bore an excellent fruit, and on one side great +hanging forests of pine that held the avalanches high. Far overhead, on three +sides, vast cliffs of grey-green rock were capped by cliffs of ice; but the +glacier stream came not to them, but flowed away by the farther slopes, and +only now and then huge ice masses fell on the valley side. In this valley it +neither rained nor snowed, but the abundant springs gave a rich green pasture, +that irrigation would spread over all the valley space. The settlers did well +indeed there. Their beasts did well and multiplied, and but one thing marred +their happiness. Yet it was enough to mar it greatly. A strange disease had +come upon them and had made all the children born to them there—and, +indeed, several older children also—blind. It was to seek some charm or +antidote against this plague of blindness that he had with fatigue and danger +and difficulty returned down the gorge. In those days, in such cases, men did +not think of germs and infections, but of sins, and it seemed to him that the +reason of this affliction must lie in the negligence of these priestless +immigrants to set up a shrine so soon as they entered the valley. He wanted a +shrine—a handsome, cheap, effectual shrine—to be erected in the +valley; he wanted relics and such-like potent things of faith, blessed objects +and mysterious medals and prayers. In his wallet he had a bar of native silver +for which he would not account; he insisted there was none in the valley with +something of the insistence of an inexpert liar. They had all clubbed their +money and ornaments together, having little need for such treasure up there, he +said, to buy them holy help against their ill. I figure this dim-eyed young +mountaineer, sunburnt, gaunt, and anxious, hat brim clutched feverishly, a man +all unused to the ways of the lower world, telling this story to some +keen-eyed, attentive priest before the great convulsion; I can picture him +presently seeking to return with pious and infallible remedies against that +trouble, and the infinite dismay with which he must have faced the tumbled +vastness where the gorge had once come out. But the rest of his story of +mischances is lost to me, save that I know of his evil death after several +years. Poor stray from that remoteness! The stream that had once made the gorge +now bursts from the mouth of a rocky cave, and the legend his poor, ill-told +story set going developed into the legend of a race of blind men somewhere +“over there” one may still hear to-day. +</p> + +<p> +And amidst the little population of that now isolated and forgotten valley the +disease ran its course. The old became groping, the young saw but dimly, and +the children that were born to them never saw at all. But life was very easy in +that snow-rimmed basin, lost to all the world, with neither thorns nor briers, +with no evil insects nor any beasts save the gentle breed of llamas they had +lugged and thrust and followed up the beds of the shrunken rivers in the gorges +up which they had come. The seeing had become purblind so gradually that they +scarcely noticed their loss. They guided the sightless youngsters hither and +thither until they knew the whole valley marvellously, and when at last sight +died out among them the race lived on. They had even time to adapt themselves +to the blind control of fire, which they made carefully in stoves of stone. +They were a simple strain of people at the first, unlettered, only slightly +touched with the Spanish civilisation, but with something of a tradition of the +arts of old Peru and of its lost philosophy. Generation followed generation. +They forgot many things; they devised many things. Their tradition of the +greater world they came from became mythical in colour and uncertain. In all +things save sight they were strong and able, and presently chance sent one who +had an original mind and who could talk and persuade among them, and then +afterwards another. These two passed, leaving their effects, and the little +community grew in numbers and in understanding, and met and settled social and +economic problems that arose. Generation followed generation. Generation +followed generation. There came a time when a child was born who was fifteen +generations from that ancestor who went out of the valley with a bar of silver +to seek God’s aid, and who never returned. Thereabout it chanced that a +man came into this community from the outer world. And this is the story of +that man. +</p> + +<p> +He was a mountaineer from the country near Quito, a man who had been down to +the sea and had seen the world, a reader of books in an original way, an acute +and enterprising man, and he was taken on by a party of Englishmen who had come +out to Ecuador to climb mountains, to replace one of their three Swiss guides +who had fallen ill. He climbed here and he climbed there, and then came the +attempt on Parascotopetl, the Matterhorn of the Andes, in which he was lost to +the outer world. The story of that accident has been written a dozen times. +Pointer’s narrative is the best. He tells how the little party worked +their difficult and almost vertical way up to the very foot of the last and +greatest precipice, and how they built a night shelter amidst the snow upon a +little shelf of rock, and, with a touch of real dramatic power, how presently +they found Nunez had gone from them. They shouted, and there was no reply; +shouted and whistled, and for the rest of that night they slept no more. +</p> + +<p> +As the morning broke they saw the traces of his fall. It seems impossible he +could have uttered a sound. He had slipped eastward towards the unknown side of +the mountain; far below he had struck a steep slope of snow, and ploughed his +way down it in the midst of a snow avalanche. His track went straight to the +edge of a frightful precipice, and beyond that everything was hidden. Far, far +below, and hazy with distance, they could see trees rising out of a narrow, +shut-in valley—the lost Country of the Blind. But they did not know it +was the lost Country of the Blind, nor distinguish it in any way from any other +narrow streak of upland valley. Unnerved by this disaster, they abandoned their +attempt in the afternoon, and Pointer was called away to the war before he +could make another attack. To this day Parascotopetl lifts an unconquered +crest, and Pointer’s shelter crumbles unvisited amidst the snows. +</p> + +<p> +And the man who fell survived. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the slope he fell a thousand feet, and came down in the midst of +a cloud of snow upon a snow-slope even steeper than the one above. Down this he +was whirled, stunned and insensible, but without a bone broken in his body; and +then at last came to gentler slopes, and at last rolled out and lay still, +buried amidst a softening heap of the white masses that had accompanied and +saved him. He came to himself with a dim fancy that he was ill in bed; then +realized his position with a mountaineer’s intelligence and worked +himself loose and, after a rest or so, out until he saw the stars. He rested +flat upon his chest for a space, wondering where he was and what had happened +to him. He explored his limbs, and discovered that several of his buttons were +gone and his coat turned over his head. His knife had gone from his pocket and +his hat was lost, though he had tied it under his chin. He recalled that he had +been looking for loose stones to raise his piece of the shelter wall. His +ice-axe had disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +He decided he must have fallen, and looked up to see, exaggerated by the +ghastly light of the rising moon, the tremendous flight he had taken. For a +while he lay, gazing blankly at the vast, pale cliff towering above, rising +moment by moment out of a subsiding tide of darkness. Its phantasmal, +mysterious beauty held him for a space, and then he was seized with a paroxysm +of sobbing laughter . . . . +</p> + +<p> +After a great interval of time he became aware that he was near the lower edge +of the snow. Below, down what was now a moon-lit and practicable slope, he saw +the dark and broken appearance of rock-strewn turf. He struggled to his feet, +aching in every joint and limb, got down painfully from the heaped loose snow +about him, went downward until he was on the turf, and there dropped rather +than lay beside a boulder, drank deep from the flask in his inner pocket, and +instantly fell asleep . . . . +</p> + +<p> +He was awakened by the singing of birds in the trees far below. +</p> + +<p> +He sat up and perceived he was on a little alp at the foot of a vast precipice +that sloped only a little in the gully down which he and his snow had come. +Over against him another wall of rock reared itself against the sky. The gorge +between these precipices ran east and west and was full of the morning +sunlight, which lit to the westward the mass of fallen mountain that closed the +descending gorge. Below him it seemed there was a precipice equally steep, but +behind the snow in the gully he found a sort of chimney-cleft dripping with +snow-water, down which a desperate man might venture. He found it easier than +it seemed, and came at last to another desolate alp, and then after a rock +climb of no particular difficulty, to a steep slope of trees. He took his +bearings and turned his face up the gorge, for he saw it opened out above upon +green meadows, among which he now glimpsed quite distinctly a cluster of stone +huts of unfamiliar fashion. At times his progress was like clambering along the +face of a wall, and after a time the rising sun ceased to strike along the +gorge, the voices of the singing birds died away, and the air grew cold and +dark about him. But the distant valley with its houses was all the brighter for +that. He came presently to talus, and among the rocks he noted—for he was +an observant man—an unfamiliar fern that seemed to clutch out of the +crevices with intense green hands. He picked a frond or so and gnawed its +stalk, and found it helpful. +</p> + +<p> +About midday he came at last out of the throat of the gorge into the plain and +the sunlight. He was stiff and weary; he sat down in the shadow of a rock, +filled up his flask with water from a spring and drank it down, and remained +for a time, resting before he went on to the houses. +</p> + +<p> +They were very strange to his eyes, and indeed the whole aspect of that valley +became, as he regarded it, queerer and more unfamiliar. The greater part of its +surface was lush green meadow, starred with many beautiful flowers, irrigated +with extraordinary care, and bearing evidence of systematic cropping piece by +piece. High up and ringing the valley about was a wall, and what appeared to be +a circumferential water channel, from which the little trickles of water that +fed the meadow plants came, and on the higher slopes above this flocks of +llamas cropped the scanty herbage. Sheds, apparently shelters or feeding-places +for the llamas, stood against the boundary wall here and there. The irrigation +streams ran together into a main channel down the centre of the valley, and +this was enclosed on either side by a wall breast high. This gave a singularly +urban quality to this secluded place, a quality that was greatly enhanced by +the fact that a number of paths paved with black and white stones, and each +with a curious little kerb at the side, ran hither and thither in an orderly +manner. The houses of the central village were quite unlike the casual and +higgledy-piggledy agglomeration of the mountain villages he knew; they stood in +a continuous row on either side of a central street of astonishing cleanness, +here and there their parti-coloured facade was pierced by a door, and not a +solitary window broke their even frontage. They were parti-coloured with +extraordinary irregularity, smeared with a sort of plaster that was sometimes +grey, sometimes drab, sometimes slate-coloured or dark brown; and it was the +sight of this wild plastering first brought the word “blind” into +the thoughts of the explorer. “The good man who did that,” he +thought, “must have been as blind as a bat.” +</p> + +<p> +He descended a steep place, and so came to the wall and channel that ran about +the valley, near where the latter spouted out its surplus contents into the +deeps of the gorge in a thin and wavering thread of cascade. He could now see a +number of men and women resting on piled heaps of grass, as if taking a siesta, +in the remoter part of the meadow, and nearer the village a number of recumbent +children, and then nearer at hand three men carrying pails on yokes along a +little path that ran from the encircling wall towards the houses. These latter +were clad in garments of llama cloth and boots and belts of leather, and they +wore caps of cloth with back and ear flaps. They followed one another in single +file, walking slowly and yawning as they walked, like men who have been up all +night. There was something so reassuringly prosperous and respectable in their +bearing that after a moment’s hesitation Nunez stood forward as +conspicuously as possible upon his rock, and gave vent to a mighty shout that +echoed round the valley. +</p> + +<p> +The three men stopped, and moved their heads as though they were looking about +them. They turned their faces this way and that, and Nunez gesticulated with +freedom. But they did not appear to see him for all his gestures, and after a +time, directing themselves towards the mountains far away to the right, they +shouted as if in answer. Nunez bawled again, and then once more, and as he +gestured ineffectually the word “blind” came up to the top of his +thoughts. “The fools must be blind,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +When at last, after much shouting and wrath, Nunez crossed the stream by a +little bridge, came through a gate in the wall, and approached them, he was +sure that they were blind. He was sure that this was the Country of the Blind +of which the legends told. Conviction had sprung upon him, and a sense of great +and rather enviable adventure. The three stood side by side, not looking at +him, but with their ears directed towards him, judging him by his unfamiliar +steps. They stood close together like men a little afraid, and he could see +their eyelids closed and sunken, as though the very balls beneath had shrunk +away. There was an expression near awe on their faces. +</p> + +<p> +“A man,” one said, in hardly recognisable Spanish. “A man it +is—a man or a spirit—coming down from the rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +But Nunez advanced with the confident steps of a youth who enters upon life. +All the old stories of the lost valley and the Country of the Blind had come +back to his mind, and through his thoughts ran this old proverb, as if it were +a refrain:— +</p> + +<p> +“In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” +</p> + +<p> +And very civilly he gave them greeting. He talked to them and used his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Where does he come from, brother Pedro?” asked one. +</p> + +<p> +“Down out of the rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Over the mountains I come,” said Nunez, “out of the country +beyond there—where men can see. From near Bogota—where there are a +hundred thousands of people, and where the city passes out of sight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sight?” muttered Pedro. “Sight?” +</p> + +<p> +“He comes,” said the second blind man, “out of the +rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +The cloth of their coats, Nunez saw was curious fashioned, each with a +different sort of stitching. +</p> + +<p> +They startled him by a simultaneous movement towards him, each with a hand +outstretched. He stepped back from the advance of these spread fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Come hither,” said the third blind man, following his motion and +clutching him neatly. +</p> + +<p> +And they held Nunez and felt him over, saying no word further until they had +done so. +</p> + +<p> +“Carefully,” he cried, with a finger in his eye, and found they +thought that organ, with its fluttering lids, a queer thing in him. They went +over it again. +</p> + +<p> +“A strange creature, Correa,” said the one called Pedro. +“Feel the coarseness of his hair. Like a llama’s hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rough he is as the rocks that begot him,” said Correa, +investigating Nunez’s unshaven chin with a soft and slightly moist hand. +“Perhaps he will grow finer.” +</p> + +<p> +Nunez struggled a little under their examination, but they gripped him firm. +</p> + +<p> +“Carefully,” he said again. +</p> + +<p> +“He speaks,” said the third man. “Certainly he is a +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh!” said Pedro, at the roughness of his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“And you have come into the world?” asked Pedro. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Out</i> of the world. Over mountains and glaciers; right over above +there, half-way to the sun. Out of the great, big world that goes down, twelve +days’ journey to the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +They scarcely seemed to heed him. “Our fathers have told us men may be +made by the forces of Nature,” said Correa. “It is the warmth of +things, and moisture, and rottenness—rottenness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us lead him to the elders,” said Pedro. +</p> + +<p> +“Shout first,” said Correa, “lest the children be afraid. +This is a marvellous occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +So they shouted, and Pedro went first and took Nunez by the hand to lead him to +the houses. +</p> + +<p> +He drew his hand away. “I can see,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“See?” said Correa. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; see,” said Nunez, turning towards him, and stumbled against +Pedro’s pail. +</p> + +<p> +“His senses are still imperfect,” said the third blind man. +“He stumbles, and talks unmeaning words. Lead him by the hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you will,” said Nunez, and was led along laughing. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed they knew nothing of sight. +</p> + +<p> +Well, all in good time he would teach them. +</p> + +<p> +He heard people shouting, and saw a number of figures gathering together in the +middle roadway of the village. +</p> + +<p> +He found it tax his nerve and patience more than he had anticipated, that first +encounter with the population of the Country of the Blind. The place seemed +larger as he drew near to it, and the smeared plasterings queerer, and a crowd +of children and men and women (the women and girls he was pleased to note had, +some of them, quite sweet faces, for all that their eyes were shut and sunken) +came about him, holding on to him, touching him with soft, sensitive hands, +smelling at him, and listening at every word he spoke. Some of the maidens and +children, however, kept aloof as if afraid, and indeed his voice seemed coarse +and rude beside their softer notes. They mobbed him. His three guides kept +close to him with an effect of proprietorship, and said again and again, +“A wild man out of the rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bogota,” he said. “Bogota. Over the mountain crests.” +</p> + +<p> +“A wild man—using wild words,” said Pedro. “Did you +hear that— +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bogota?</i> His mind has hardly formed yet. He has only the +beginnings of speech.” +</p> + +<p> +A little boy nipped his hand. “Bogota!” he said mockingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye! A city to your village. I come from the great world—where men +have eyes and see.” +</p> + +<p> +“His name’s Bogota,” they said. +</p> + +<p> +“He stumbled,” said Correa—“stumbled twice as we came +hither.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring him in to the elders.” +</p> + +<p> +And they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as black as pitch, +save at the end there faintly glowed a fire. The crowd closed in behind him and +shut out all but the faintest glimmer of day, and before he could arrest +himself he had fallen headlong over the feet of a seated man. His arm, +outflung, struck the face of someone else as he went down; he felt the soft +impact of features and heard a cry of anger, and for a moment he struggled +against a number of hands that clutched him. It was a one-sided fight. An +inkling of the situation came to him and he lay quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“I fell down,” he said; “I couldn’t see in this pitchy +darkness.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause as if the unseen persons about him tried to understand his +words. Then the voice of Correa said: “He is but newly formed. He +stumbles as he walks and mingles words that mean nothing with his +speech.” +</p> + +<p> +Others also said things about him that he heard or understood imperfectly. +</p> + +<p> +“May I sit up?” he asked, in a pause. “I will not struggle +against you again.” +</p> + +<p> +They consulted and let him rise. +</p> + +<p> +The voice of an older man began to question him, and Nunez found himself trying +to explain the great world out of which he had fallen, and the sky and +mountains and such-like marvels, to these elders who sat in darkness in the +Country of the Blind. And they would believe and understand nothing whatever +that he told them, a thing quite outside his expectation. They would not even +understand many of his words. For fourteen generations these people had been +blind and cut off from all the seeing world; the names for all the things of +sight had faded and changed; the story of the outer world was faded and changed +to a child’s story; and they had ceased to concern themselves with +anything beyond the rocky slopes above their circling wall. Blind men of genius +had arisen among them and questioned the shreds of belief and tradition they +had brought with them from their seeing days, and had dismissed all these +things as idle fancies and replaced them with new and saner explanations. Much +of their imagination had shrivelled with their eyes, and they had made for +themselves new imaginations with their ever more sensitive ears and +finger-tips. Slowly Nunez realised this: that his expectation of wonder and +reverence at his origin and his gifts was not to be borne out; and after his +poor attempt to explain sight to them had been set aside as the confused +version of a new-made being describing the marvels of his incoherent +sensations, he subsided, a little dashed, into listening to their instruction. +And the eldest of the blind men explained to him life and philosophy and +religion, how that the world (meaning their valley) had been first an empty +hollow in the rocks, and then had come first inanimate things without the gift +of touch, and llamas and a few other creatures that had little sense, and then +men, and at last angels, whom one could hear singing and making fluttering +sounds, but whom no one could touch at all, which puzzled Nunez greatly until +he thought of the birds. +</p> + +<p> +He went on to tell Nunez how this time had been divided into the warm and the +cold, which are the blind equivalents of day and night, and how it was good to +sleep in the warm and work during the cold, so that now, but for his advent, +the whole town of the blind would have been asleep. He said Nunez must have +been specially created to learn and serve the wisdom they had acquired, and +that for all his mental incoherency and stumbling behaviour he must have +courage and do his best to learn, and at that all the people in the door-way +murmured encouragingly. He said the night—for the blind call their day +night—was now far gone, and it behooved everyone to go back to sleep. He +asked Nunez if he knew how to sleep, and Nunez said he did, but that before +sleep he wanted food. They brought him food, llama’s milk in a bowl and +rough salted bread, and led him into a lonely place to eat out of their +hearing, and afterwards to slumber until the chill of the mountain evening +roused them to begin their day again. But Nunez slumbered not at all. +</p> + +<p> +Instead, he sat up in the place where they had left him, resting his limbs and +turning the unanticipated circumstances of his arrival over and over in his +mind. +</p> + +<p> +Every now and then he laughed, sometimes with amusement and sometimes with +indignation. +</p> + +<p> +“Unformed mind!” he said. “Got no senses yet! They little +know they’ve been insulting their Heaven-sent King and master . . . . . +</p> + +<p> +“I see I must bring them to reason. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me think. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me think.” +</p> + +<p> +He was still thinking when the sun set. +</p> + +<p> +Nunez had an eye for all beautiful things, and it seemed to him that the glow +upon the snow-fields and glaciers that rose about the valley on every side was +the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His eyes went from that inaccessible +glory to the village and irrigated fields, fast sinking into the twilight, and +suddenly a wave of emotion took him, and he thanked God from the bottom of his +heart that the power of sight had been given him. +</p> + +<p> +He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village. +</p> + +<p> +“Yaho there, Bogota! Come hither!” +</p> + +<p> +At that he stood up, smiling. He would show these people once and for all what +sight would do for a man. They would seek him, but not find him. +</p> + +<p> +“You move not, Bogota,” said the voice. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from the path. +</p> + +<p> +“Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed.” +</p> + +<p> +Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He stopped, amazed. +</p> + +<p> +The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path towards him. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped back into the pathway. “Here I am,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you not come when I called you?” said the blind man. +“Must you be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you +walk?” +</p> + +<p> +Nunez laughed. “I can see it,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no such word as <i>see</i>,” said the blind man, after a +pause. “Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet.” +</p> + +<p> +Nunez followed, a little annoyed. +</p> + +<p> +“My time will come,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll learn,” the blind man answered. “There is much +to learn in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has no one told you, ‘In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man +is King?’” +</p> + +<p> +“What is blind?” asked the blind man, carelessly, over his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind still incognito, as +a clumsy and useless stranger among his subjects. +</p> + +<p> +It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than he had supposed, +and in the meantime, while he meditated his <i>coup d’etat</i>, he did +what he was told and learnt the manners and customs of the Country of the +Blind. He found working and going about at night a particularly irksome thing, +and he decided that that should be the first thing he would change. +</p> + +<p> +They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the elements of +virtue and happiness as these things can be understood by men. They toiled, but +not oppressively; they had food and clothing sufficient for their needs; they +had days and seasons of rest; they made much of music and singing, and there +was love among them and little children. It was marvellous with what confidence +and precision they went about their ordered world. Everything, you see, had +been made to fit their needs; each of the radiating paths of the valley area +had a constant angle to the others, and was distinguished by a special notch +upon its kerbing; all obstacles and irregularities of path or meadow had long +since been cleared away; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from +their special needs. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they could +hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces away—could +hear the very beating of his heart. Intonation had long replaced expression +with them, and touches gesture, and their work with hoe and spade and fork was +as free and confident as garden work can be. Their sense of smell was +extraordinarily fine; they could distinguish individual differences as readily +as a dog can, and they went about the tending of llamas, who lived among the +rocks above and came to the wall for food and shelter, with ease and +confidence. It was only when at last Nunez sought to assert himself that he +found how easy and confident their movements could be. +</p> + +<p> +He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion. +</p> + +<p> +He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. “Look you +here, you people,” he said. “There are things you do not understand +in me.” +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice one or two of them attended to him; they sat with faces downcast +and ears turned intelligently towards him, and he did his best to tell them +what it was to see. Among his hearers was a girl, with eyelids less red and +sunken than the others, so that one could almost fancy she was hiding eyes, +whom especially he hoped to persuade. He spoke of the beauties of sight, of +watching the mountains, of the sky and the sunrise, and they heard him with +amused incredulity that presently became condemnatory. They told him there were +indeed no mountains at all, but that the end of the rocks where the llamas +grazed was indeed the end of the world; thence sprang a cavernous roof of the +universe, from which the dew and the avalanches fell; and when he maintained +stoutly the world had neither end nor roof such as they supposed, they said his +thoughts were wicked. So far as he could describe sky and clouds and stars to +them it seemed to them a hideous void, a terrible blankness in the place of the +smooth roof to things in which they believed—it was an article of faith +with them that the cavern roof was exquisitely smooth to the touch. He saw that +in some manner he shocked them, and gave up that aspect of the matter +altogether, and tried to show them the practical value of sight. One morning he +saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards the central houses, +but still too far off for hearing or scent, and he told them as much. “In +a little while,” he prophesied, “Pedro will be here.” An old +man remarked that Pedro had no business on path Seventeen, and then, as if in +confirmation, that individual as he drew near turned and went transversely into +path Ten, and so back with nimble paces towards the outer wall. They mocked +Nunez when Pedro did not arrive, and afterwards, when he asked Pedro questions +to clear his character, Pedro denied and outfaced him, and was afterwards +hostile to him. +</p> + +<p> +Then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping meadows towards +the wall with one complaisant individual, and to him he promised to describe +all that happened among the houses. He noted certain goings and comings, but +the things that really seemed to signify to these people happened inside of or +behind the windowless houses—the only things they took note of to test +him by—and of those he could see or tell nothing; and it was after the +failure of this attempt, and the ridicule they could not repress, that he +resorted to force. He thought of seizing a spade and suddenly smiting one or +two of them to earth, and so in fair combat showing the advantage of eyes. He +went so far with that resolution as to seize his spade, and then he discovered +a new thing about himself, and that was that it was impossible for him to hit a +blind man in cold blood. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated, and found them all aware that he had snatched up the spade. They +stood all alert, with their heads on one side, and bent ears towards him for +what he would do next. +</p> + +<p> +“Put that spade down,” said one, and he felt a sort of helpless +horror. He came near obedience. +</p> + +<p> +Then he had thrust one backwards against a house wall, and fled past him and +out of the village. +</p> + +<p> +He went athwart one of their meadows, leaving a track of trampled grass behind +his feet, and presently sat down by the side of one of their ways. He felt +something of the buoyancy that comes to all men in the beginning of a fight, +but more perplexity. He began to realise that you cannot even fight happily +with creatures who stand upon a different mental basis to yourself. Far away he +saw a number of men carrying spades and sticks come out of the street of houses +and advance in a spreading line along the several paths towards him. They +advanced slowly, speaking frequently to one another, and ever and again the +whole cordon would halt and sniff the air and listen. +</p> + +<p> +The first time they did this Nunez laughed. But afterwards he did not laugh. +</p> + +<p> +One struck his trail in the meadow grass and came stooping and feeling his way +along it. +</p> + +<p> +For five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon, and then his +vague disposition to do something forthwith became frantic. He stood up, went a +pace or so towards the circumferential wall, turned, and went back a little +way. There they all stood in a crescent, still and listening. +</p> + +<p> +He also stood still, gripping his spade very tightly in both hands. Should he +charge them? +</p> + +<p> +The pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of “In the Country of the Blind +the One-Eyed Man is King.” +</p> + +<p> +Should he charge them? +</p> + +<p> +He looked back at the high and unclimbable wall behind—unclimbable +because of its smooth plastering, but withal pierced with many little doors and +at the approaching line of seekers. Behind these others were now coming out of +the street of houses. +</p> + +<p> +Should he charge them? +</p> + +<p> +“Bogota!” called one. “Bogota! where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +He gripped his spade still tighter and advanced down the meadows towards the +place of habitations, and directly he moved they converged upon him. +“I’ll hit them if they touch me,” he swore; “by Heaven, +I will. I’ll hit.” He called aloud, “Look here, I’m +going to do what I like in this valley! Do you hear? I’m going to do what +I like and go where I like.” +</p> + +<p> +They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving rapidly. It was like +playing blind man’s buff with everyone blindfolded except one. “Get +hold of him!” cried one. He found himself in the arc of a loose curve of +pursuers. He felt suddenly he must be active and resolute. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand,” he cried, in a voice that was meant +to be great and resolute, and which broke. “You are blind and I can see. +Leave me alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bogota! Put down that spade and come off the grass!” +</p> + +<p> +The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced a gust of anger. +“I’ll hurt you,” he said, sobbing with emotion. “By +Heaven, I’ll hurt you! Leave me alone!” +</p> + +<p> +He began to run—not knowing clearly where to run. He ran from the nearest +blind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He stopped, and then made a dash +to escape from their closing ranks. He made for where a gap was wide, and the +men on either side, with a quick perception of the approach of his paces, +rushed in on one another. He sprang forward, and then saw he must be caught, +and <i>swish!</i> the spade had struck. He felt the soft thud of hand and arm, +and the man was down with a yell of pain, and he was through. +</p> + +<p> +Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again, and blind men, +whirling spades and stakes, were running with a reasoned swiftness hither and +thither. +</p> + +<p> +He heard steps behind him just in time, and found a tall man rushing forward +and swiping at the sound of him. He lost his nerve, hurled his spade a yard +wide of this antagonist, and whirled about and fled, fairly yelling as he +dodged another. +</p> + +<p> +He was panic-stricken. He ran furiously to and fro, dodging when there was no +need to dodge, and, in his anxiety to see on every side of him at once, +stumbling. For a moment he was down and they heard his fall. Far away in the +circumferential wall a little doorway looked like Heaven, and he set off in a +wild rush for it. He did not even look round at his pursuers until it was +gained, and he had stumbled across the bridge, clambered a little way among the +rocks, to the surprise and dismay of a young llama, who went leaping out of +sight, and lay down sobbing for breath. +</p> + +<p> +And so his <i>coup d’etat</i> came to an end. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed outside the wall of the valley of the blind for two nights and days +without food or shelter, and meditated upon the Unexpected. During these +meditations he repeated very frequently and always with a profounder note of +derision the exploded proverb: “In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed +Man is King.” He thought chiefly of ways of fighting and conquering these +people, and it grew clear that for him no practicable way was possible. He had +no weapons, and now it would be hard to get one. +</p> + +<p> +The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and he could not find +it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind man. Of course, if he did +that, he might then dictate terms on the threat of assassinating them all. +But—Sooner or later he must sleep! . . . . +</p> + +<p> +He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be comfortable under pine +boughs while the frost fell at night, and—with less confidence—to +catch a llama by artifice in order to try to kill it—perhaps by hammering +it with a stone—and so finally, perhaps, to eat some of it. But the +llamas had a doubt of him and regarded him with distrustful brown eyes and spat +when he drew near. Fear came on him the second day and fits of shivering. +Finally he crawled down to the wall of the Country of the Blind and tried to +make his terms. He crawled along by the stream, shouting, until two blind men +came out to the gate and talked to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I was mad,” he said. “But I was only newly made.” +</p> + +<p> +They said that was better. +</p> + +<p> +He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had done. +</p> + +<p> +Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill now, and they took +that as a favourable sign. +</p> + +<p> +They asked him if he still thought he could “<i>see</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “That was folly. The word means nothing. Less +than nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +They asked him what was overhead. +</p> + +<p> +“About ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above the +world—of rock—and very, very smooth. So smooth—so beautifully +smooth . .” He burst again into hysterical tears. “Before you ask +me any more, give me some food or I shall die!” +</p> + +<p> +He expected dire punishments, but these blind people were capable of +toleration. They regarded his rebellion as but one more proof of his general +idiocy and inferiority, and after they had whipped him they appointed him to do +the simplest and heaviest work they had for anyone to do, and he, seeing no +other way of living, did submissively what he was told. +</p> + +<p> +He was ill for some days and they nursed him kindly. That refined his +submission. But they insisted on his lying in the dark, and that was a great +misery. And blind philosophers came and talked to him of the wicked levity of +his mind, and reproved him so impressively for his doubts about the lid of rock +that covered their cosmic <i>casserole</i> that he almost doubted whether +indeed he was not the victim of hallucination in not seeing it overhead. +</p> + +<p> +So Nunez became a citizen of the Country of the Blind, and these people ceased +to be a generalised people and became individualities to him, and familiar to +him, while the world beyond the mountains became more and more remote and +unreal. There was Yacob, his master, a kindly man when not annoyed; there was +Pedro, Yacob’s nephew; and there was Medina-sarote, who was the youngest +daughter of Yacob. She was little esteemed in the world of the blind, because +she had a clear-cut face and lacked that satisfying, glossy smoothness that is +the blind man’s ideal of feminine beauty, but Nunez thought her beautiful +at first, and presently the most beautiful thing in the whole creation. Her +closed eyelids were not sunken and red after the common way of the valley, but +lay as though they might open again at any moment; and she had long eyelashes, +which were considered a grave disfigurement. And her voice was weak and did not +satisfy the acute hearing of the valley swains. So that she had no lover. +</p> + +<p> +There came a time when Nunez thought that, could he win her, he would be +resigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his days. +</p> + +<p> +He watched her; he sought opportunities of doing her little services and +presently he found that she observed him. Once at a rest-day gathering they sat +side by side in the dim starlight, and the music was sweet. His hand came upon +hers and he dared to clasp it. Then very tenderly she returned his pressure. +And one day, as they were at their meal in the darkness, he felt her hand very +softly seeking him, and as it chanced the fire leapt then, and he saw the +tenderness of her face. +</p> + +<p> +He sought to speak to her. +</p> + +<p> +He went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer moonlight spinning. +The light made her a thing of silver and mystery. He sat down at her feet and +told her he loved her, and told her how beautiful she seemed to him. He had a +lover’s voice, he spoke with a tender reverence that came near to awe, +and she had never before been touched by adoration. She made him no definite +answer, but it was clear his words pleased her. +</p> + +<p> +After that he talked to her whenever he could take an opportunity. The valley +became the world for him, and the world beyond the mountains where men lived by +day seemed no more than a fairy tale he would some day pour into her ears. Very +tentatively and timidly he spoke to her of sight. +</p> + +<p> +Sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies, and she listened to his +description of the stars and the mountains and her own sweet white-lit beauty +as though it was a guilty indulgence. She did not believe, she could only half +understand, but she was mysteriously delighted, and it seemed to him that she +completely understood. +</p> + +<p> +His love lost its awe and took courage. Presently he was for demanding her of +Yacob and the elders in marriage, but she became fearful and delayed. And it +was one of her elder sisters who first told Yacob that Medina-sarote and Nunez +were in love. +</p> + +<p> +There was from the first very great opposition to the marriage of Nunez and +Medina-sarote; not so much because they valued her as because they held him as +a being apart, an idiot, incompetent thing below the permissible level of a +man. Her sisters opposed it bitterly as bringing discredit on them all; and old +Yacob, though he had formed a sort of liking for his clumsy, obedient serf, +shook his head and said the thing could not be. The young men were all angry at +the idea of corrupting the race, and one went so far as to revile and strike +Nunez. He struck back. Then for the first time he found an advantage in seeing, +even by twilight, and after that fight was over no one was disposed to raise a +hand against him. But they still found his marriage impossible. +</p> + +<p> +Old Yacob had a tenderness for his last little daughter, and was grieved to +have her weep upon his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, my dear, he’s an idiot. He has delusions; he can’t +do anything right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” wept Medina-sarote. “But he’s better than he +was. He’s getting better. And he’s strong, dear father, and +kind—stronger and kinder than any other man in the world. And he loves +me—and, father, I love him.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable, and, +besides—what made it more distressing—he liked Nunez for many +things. So he went and sat in the windowless council-chamber with the other +elders and watched the trend of the talk, and said, at the proper time, +“He’s better than he was. Very likely, some day, we shall find him +as sane as ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had an idea. He was a +great doctor among these people, their medicine-man, and he had a very +philosophical and inventive mind, and the idea of curing Nunez of his +peculiarities appealed to him. One day when Yacob was present he returned to +the topic of Nunez. “I have examined Nunez,” he said, “and +the case is clearer to me. I think very probably he might be cured.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is what I have always hoped,” said old Yacob. +</p> + +<p> +“His brain is affected,” said the blind doctor. +</p> + +<p> +The elders murmured assent. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, <i>what</i> affects it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said old Yacob. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>This</i>,” said the doctor, answering his own question. +“Those queer things that are called the eyes, and which exist to make an +agreeable depression in the face, are diseased, in the case of Nunez, in such a +way as to affect his brain. They are greatly distended, he has eyelashes, and +his eyelids move, and consequently his brain is in a state of constant +irritation and distraction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said old Yacob. “Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in order to cure +him complete, all that we need to do is a simple and easy surgical +operation—namely, to remove these irritant bodies.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then he will be sane?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable citizen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven for science!” said old Yacob, and went forth at once +to tell Nunez of his happy hopes. +</p> + +<p> +But Nunez’s manner of receiving the good news struck him as being cold +and disappointing. +</p> + +<p> +“One might think,” he said, “from the tone you take that you +did not care for my daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind surgeons. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> do not want me,” he said, “to lose my gift of +sight?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“My world is sight.” +</p> + +<p> +Her head drooped lower. +</p> + +<p> +“There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little things—the +flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and softness on a piece of +fur, the far sky with its drifting dawn of clouds, the sunsets and the stars. +And there is <i>you</i>. For you alone it is good to have sight, to see your +sweet, serene face, your kindly lips, your dear, beautiful hands folded +together. . . . . It is these eyes of mine you won, these eyes that hold me to +you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I must touch you, hear you, and never see +you again. I must come under that roof of rock and stone and darkness, that +horrible roof under which your imaginations stoop . . . <i>No</i>; <i>you</i> +would not have me do that?” +</p> + +<p> +A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped and left the thing a +question. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” she said, “sometimes—” She paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he said, a little apprehensively. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish sometimes—you would not talk like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it’s pretty—it’s your imagination. I love it, +but <i>now</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +He felt cold. “<i>Now?</i>” he said, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +She sat quite still. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—you think—I should be better, better +perhaps—” +</p> + +<p> +He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger perhaps, anger at the dull +course of fate, but also sympathy for her lack of understanding—a +sympathy near akin to pity. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Dear</i>,” he said, and he could see by her whiteness how +tensely her spirit pressed against the things she could not say. He put his +arms about her, he kissed her ear, and they sat for a time in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were to consent to this?” he said at last, in a voice that +was very gentle. +</p> + +<p> +She flung her arms about him, weeping wildly. “Oh, if you would,” +she sobbed, “if only you would!” +</p> + +<p> +For a week before the operation that was to raise him from his servitude and +inferiority to the level of a blind citizen Nunez knew nothing of sleep, and +all through the warm, sunlit hours, while the others slumbered happily, he sat +brooding or wandered aimlessly, trying to bring his mind to bear on his +dilemma. He had given his answer, he had given his consent, and still he was +not sure. And at last work-time was over, the sun rose in splendour over the +golden crests, and his last day of vision began for him. He had a few minutes +with Medina-sarote before she went apart to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall see no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear heart!” she answered, and pressed his hands with all her +strength. +</p> + +<p> +“They will hurt you but little,” she said; “and you are going +through this pain, you are going through it, dear lover, for <i>me</i> . . . . +Dear, if a woman’s heart and life can do it, I will repay you. My dearest +one, my dearest with the tender voice, I will repay.” +</p> + +<p> +He was drenched in pity for himself and her. +</p> + +<p> +He held her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers and looked on her sweet +face for the last time. “Good-bye!” he whispered to that dear +sight, “good-bye!” +</p> + +<p> +And then in silence he turned away from her. +</p> + +<p> +She could hear his slow retreating footsteps, and something in the rhythm of +them threw her into a passion of weeping. +</p> + +<p> +He walked away. +</p> + +<p> +He had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows were beautiful +with white narcissus, and there remain until the hour of his sacrifice should +come, but as he walked he lifted up his eyes and saw the morning, the morning +like an angel in golden armour, marching down the steeps . . . . +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that before this splendour he and this blind world in the +valley, and his love and all, were no more than a pit of sin. +</p> + +<p> +He did not turn aside as he had meant to do, but went on and passed through the +wall of the circumference and out upon the rocks, and his eyes were always upon +the sunlit ice and snow. +</p> + +<p> +He saw their infinite beauty, and his imagination soared over them to the +things beyond he was now to resign for ever! +</p> + +<p> +He thought of that great free world that he was parted from, the world that was +his own, and he had a vision of those further slopes, distance beyond distance, +with Bogota, a place of multitudinous stirring beauty, a glory by day, a +luminous mystery by night, a place of palaces and fountains and statues and +white houses, lying beautifully in the middle distance. He thought how for a +day or so one might come down through passes drawing ever nearer and nearer to +its busy streets and ways. He thought of the river journey, day by day, from +great Bogota to the still vaster world beyond, through towns and villages, +forest and desert places, the rushing river day by day, until its banks +receded, and the big steamers came splashing by and one had reached the +sea—the limitless sea, with its thousand islands, its thousands of +islands, and its ships seen dimly far away in their incessant journeyings round +and about that greater world. And there, unpent by mountains, one saw the +sky—the sky, not such a disc as one saw it here, but an arch of +immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps in which the circling stars were floating . +. . . +</p> + +<p> +His eyes began to scrutinise the great curtain of the mountains with a keener +inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +For example; if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney there, then one +might come out high among those stunted pines that ran round in a sort of shelf +and rose still higher and higher as it passed above the gorge. And then? That +talus might be managed. Thence perhaps a climb might be found to take him up to +the precipice that came below the snow; and if that chimney failed, then +another farther to the east might serve his purpose better. And then? Then one +would be out upon the amber-lit snow there, and half-way up to the crest of +those beautiful desolations. And suppose one had good fortune! +</p> + +<p> +He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and regarded it with +folded arms. +</p> + +<p> +He thought of Medina-sarote, and she had become small and remote. +</p> + +<p> +He turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day had come to him. +</p> + +<p> +Then very circumspectly he began his climb. +</p> + +<p> +When sunset came he was not longer climbing, but he was far and high. His +clothes were torn, his limbs were bloodstained, he was bruised in many places, +but he lay as if he were at his ease, and there was a smile on his face. +</p> + +<p> +From where he rested the valley seemed as if it were in a pit and nearly a mile +below. Already it was dim with haze and shadow, though the mountain summits +around him were things of light and fire. The mountain summits around him were +things of light and fire, and the little things in the rocks near at hand were +drenched with light and beauty, a vein of green mineral piercing the grey, a +flash of small crystal here and there, a minute, minutely-beautiful orange +lichen close beside his face. There were deep, mysterious shadows in the gorge, +blue deepening into purple, and purple into a luminous darkness, and overhead +was the illimitable vastness of the sky. But he heeded these things no longer, +but lay quite still there, smiling as if he were content now merely to have +escaped from the valley of the Blind, in which he had thought to be King. And +the glow of the sunset passed, and the night came, and still he lay there, +under the cold, clear stars. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOOR IN THE WALL AND OTHER STORIES ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 456-h.htm or 456-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/456/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6fb460 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #456 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/456) diff --git a/old/456.txt b/old/456.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10941ca --- /dev/null +++ b/old/456.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5334 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Door in the Wall And Other Stories, by H. G. Wells + +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: The Door in the Wall And Other Stories + +Author: H. G. Wells + +Release Date: July 22, 2005 [EBook #456] +[This file was first posted in March, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOOR IN THE WALL AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska. +The equipment: an IBM-compatible 486/50, a Hewlett-Packard +ScanJet IIc flatbed scanner, and Calera Recognition Systems' +M/600 Series Professional OCR software and RISC accelerator board +donated by Calera Recognition Systems. + + + + + + + + +THE DOOR +IN THE WALL +And Other Stories + +BY +H. G. WELLS + + + + + + +CONTENTS + +The Door in the Wall 5 +The Star 27 +A Dream of Armageddon 43 +The Cone 75 +A Moonlight Fable 91 +The Diamond Maker 99 +The Lord of the Dynamos 111 +The Country of the Blind 125 + + + + + +THE DOOR IN THE WALL +AND OTHER STORIES + + + +THE DOOR IN THE WALL + +I + +One confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace told +me this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thought +that so far as he was concerned it was a true story. + +He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction that +I could not do otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning, +in my own flat, I woke to a different atmosphere, and as I lay in +bed and recalled the things he had told me, stripped of the glamour +of his earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed shaded table +light, the shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and the +pleasant bright things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the +dinner we had shared, making them for the time a bright little +world quite cut off from every-day realities, I saw it all as +frankly incredible. "He was mystifying!" I said, and then: "How +well he did it!. . . . . It isn't quite the thing I should have +expected him, of all people, to do well." + +Afterwards, as I sat up in bed and sipped my morning tea, I +found myself trying to account for the flavour of reality that +perplexed me in his impossible reminiscences, by supposing they did +in some way suggest, present, convey--I hardly know which word to +use--experiences it was otherwise impossible to tell. + +Well, I don't resort to that explanation now. I have got over +my intervening doubts. I believe now, as I believed at the moment +of telling, that Wallace did to the very best of his ability strip +the truth of his secret for me. But whether he himself saw, or +only thought he saw, whether he himself was the possessor of an +inestimable privilege, or the victim of a fantastic dream, I cannot +pretend to guess. Even the facts of his death, which ended my +doubts forever, throw no light on that. That much the reader must +judge for himself. + +I forget now what chance comment or criticism of mine moved so +reticent a man to confide in me. He was, I think, defending +himself against an imputation of slackness and unreliability I had +made in relation to a great public movement in which he had +disappointed me. But he plunged suddenly. "I have" he said, "a +preoccupation--" + +"I know," he went on, after a pause that he devoted to the +study of his cigar ash, "I have been negligent. The fact is--it +isn't a case of ghosts or apparitions--but--it's an odd thing to +tell of, Redmond--I am haunted. I am haunted by something--that +rather takes the light out of things, that fills me with longings +. . . . ." + +He paused, checked by that English shyness that so often +overcomes us when we would speak of moving or grave or beautiful +things. "You were at Saint Athelstan's all through," he said, and +for a moment that seemed to me quite irrelevant. "Well"--and he +paused. Then very haltingly at first, but afterwards more easily, +he began to tell of the thing that was hidden in his life, the +haunting memory of a beauty and a happiness that filled his heart +with insatiable longings that made all the interests and spectacle +of worldly life seem dull and tedious and vain to him. + +Now that I have the clue to it, the thing seems written +visibly in his face. I have a photograph in which that look of +detachment has been caught and intensified. It reminds me of what +a woman once said of him--a woman who had loved him greatly. +"Suddenly," she said, "the interest goes out of him. He forgets +you. He doesn't care a rap for you--under his very nose . . . . ." + +Yet the interest was not always out of him, and when he was +holding his attention to a thing Wallace could contrive to be an +extremely successful man. His career, indeed, is set with +successes. He left me behind him long ago; he soared up over my +head, and cut a figure in the world that I couldn't cut--anyhow. +He was still a year short of forty, and they say now that he would +have been in office and very probably in the new Cabinet if he had +lived. At school he always beat me without effort--as it were by +nature. We were at school together at Saint Athelstan's College in +West Kensington for almost all our school time. He came into the +school as my co-equal, but he left far above me, in a blaze of +scholarships and brilliant performance. Yet I think I made a fair +average running. And it was at school I heard first of the Door in +the Wall--that I was to hear of a second time only a month before +his death. + +To him at least the Door in the Wall was a real door leading +through a real wall to immortal realities. Of that I am now quite +assured. + +And it came into his life early, when he was a little fellow +between five and six. I remember how, as he sat making his +confession to me with a slow gravity, he reasoned and reckoned the +date of it. "There was," he said, "a crimson Virginia creeper in +it--all one bright uniform crimson in a clear amber sunshine +against a white wall. That came into the impression somehow, +though I don't clearly remember how, and there were horse-chestnut +leaves upon the clean pavement outside the green door. They were +blotched yellow and green, you know, not brown nor dirty, so that +they must have been new fallen. I take it that means October. I +look out for horse-chestnut leaves every year, and I ought to know. + +"If I'm right in that, I was about five years and four months old." + +He was, he said, rather a precocious little boy--he learned to +talk at an abnormally early age, and he was so sane and +"old-fashioned," as people say, that he was permitted an amount of +initiative that most children scarcely attain by seven or eight. +His mother died when he was born, and he was under the less +vigilant and authoritative care of a nursery governess. His father +was a stern, preoccupied lawyer, who gave him little attention, and +expected great things of him. For all his brightness he found life +a little grey and dull I think. And one day he wandered. + +He could not recall the particular neglect that enabled him to +get away, nor the course he took among the West Kensington roads. +All that had faded among the incurable blurs of memory. But the +white wall and the green door stood out quite distinctly. + +As his memory of that remote childish experience ran, he did +at the very first sight of that door experience a peculiar emotion, +an attraction, a desire to get to the door and open it and walk in. +And at the same time he had the clearest conviction that either it +was unwise or it was wrong of him--he could not tell which--to +yield to this attraction. He insisted upon it as a curious thing +that he knew from the very beginning--unless memory has played him +the queerest trick--that the door was unfastened, and that he could +go in as he chose. + +I seem to see the figure of that little boy, drawn and +repelled. And it was very clear in his mind, too, though why it +should be so was never explained, that his father would be very +angry if he went through that door. + +Wallace described all these moments of hesitation to me with +the utmost particularity. He went right past the door, and then, +with his hands in his pockets, and making an infantile attempt to +whistle, strolled right along beyond the end of the wall. There he +recalls a number of mean, dirty shops, and particularly that of a +plumber and decorator, with a dusty disorder of earthenware pipes, +sheet lead ball taps, pattern books of wall paper, and tins of +enamel. He stood pretending to examine these things, and coveting, +passionately desiring the green door. + +Then, he said, he had a gust of emotion. He made a run for +it, lest hesitation should grip him again, he went plump with +outstretched hand through the green door and let it slam behind +him. And so, in a trice, he came into the garden that has haunted +all his life. + +It was very difficult for Wallace to give me his full sense of +that garden into which he came. + +There was something in the very air of it that exhilarated, +that gave one a sense of lightness and good happening and well +being; there was something in the sight of it that made all its +colour clean and perfect and subtly luminous. In the instant of +coming into it one was exquisitely glad--as only in rare moments +and when one is young and joyful one can be glad in this world. +And everything was beautiful there . . . . . + +Wallace mused before he went on telling me. "You see," he +said, with the doubtful inflection of a man who pauses at +incredible things, "there were two great panthers there . . . Yes, +spotted panthers. And I was not afraid. There was a long wide +path with marble-edged flower borders on either side, and these two +huge velvety beasts were playing there with a ball. One looked up +and came towards me, a little curious as it seemed. It came right +up to me, rubbed its soft round ear very gently against the small +hand I held out and purred. It was, I tell you, an enchanted +garden. I know. And the size? Oh! it stretched far and wide, +this way and that. I believe there were hills far away. Heaven +knows where West Kensington had suddenly got to. And somehow it +was just like coming home. + +"You know, in the very moment the door swung to behind me, I +forgot the road with its fallen chestnut leaves, its cabs and +tradesmen's carts, I forgot the sort of gravitational pull back to +the discipline and obedience of home, I forgot all hesitations and +fear, forgot discretion, forgot all the intimate realities of this +life. I became in a moment a very glad and wonder-happy little +boy--in another world. It was a world with a different quality, a +warmer, more penetrating and mellower light, with a faint clear +gladness in its air, and wisps of sun-touched cloud in the blueness +of its sky. And before me ran this long wide path, invitingly, +with weedless beds on either side, rich with untended flowers, and +these two great panthers. I put my little hands fearlessly on +their soft fur, and caressed their round ears and the sensitive +corners under their ears, and played with them, and it was as +though they welcomed me home. There was a keen sense of +home-coming in my mind, and when presently a tall, fair girl +appeared in the pathway and came to meet me, smiling, and said +'Well?' to me, and lifted me, and kissed me, and put me down, and +led me by the hand, there was no amazement, but only an impression +of delightful rightness, of being reminded of happy things that had +in some strange way been overlooked. There were broad steps, I +remember, that came into view between spikes of delphinium, and up +these we went to a great avenue between very old and shady dark +trees. All down this avenue, you know, between the red chapped +stems, were marble seats of honour and statuary, and very tame and +friendly white doves . . . . . + +"And along this avenue my girl-friend led me, looking down--I +recall the pleasant lines, the finely-modelled chin of her sweet +kind face--asking me questions in a soft, agreeable voice, and +telling me things, pleasant things I know, though what they were I +was never able to recall . . . And presently a little Capuchin +monkey, very clean, with a fur of ruddy brown and kindly hazel +eyes, came down a tree to us and ran beside me, looking up at me +and grinning, and presently leapt to my shoulder. So we went on +our way in great happiness . . . ." + +He paused. + +"Go on," I said. + +"I remember little things. We passed an old man musing among +laurels, I remember, and a place gay with paroquets, and came +through a broad shaded colonnade to a spacious cool palace, full of +pleasant fountains, full of beautiful things, full of the quality +and promise of heart's desire. And there were many things and many +people, some that still seem to stand out clearly and some that are +a little vague, but all these people were beautiful and kind. In +some way--I don't know how--it was conveyed to me that they all +were kind to me, glad to have me there, and filling me with +gladness by their gestures, by the touch of their hands, by the +welcome and love in their eyes. Yes--" + +He mused for awhile. "Playmates I found there. That was very +much to me, because I was a lonely little boy. They played +delightful games in a grass-covered court where there was a +sun-dial set about with flowers. And as one played one loved . . . . + +"But--it's odd--there's a gap in my memory. I don't remember the +games we played. I never remembered. Afterwards, as a child, I +spent long hours trying, even with tears, to recall the form of that +happiness. I wanted to play it all over again--in my nursery--by +myself. No! All I remember is the happiness and two dear +playfellows who were most with me . . . . Then presently came a +sombre dark woman, with a grave, pale face and dreamy eyes, a +sombre woman wearing a soft long robe of pale purple, who carried +a book and beckoned and took me aside with her into a gallery above +a hall--though my playmates were loth to have me go, and ceased +their game and stood watching as I was carried away. 'Come back to +us!' they cried. 'Come back to us soon!' I looked up at her face, +but she heeded them not at all. Her face was very gentle and +grave. She took me to a seat in the gallery, and I stood beside +her, ready to look at her book as she opened it upon her knee. The +pages fell open. She pointed, and I looked, marvelling, for in the +living pages of that book I saw myself; it was a story about +myself, and in it were all the things that had happened to me since +ever I was born . . . . + +"It was wonderful to me, because the pages of that book were +not pictures, you understand, but realities." + +Wallace paused gravely--looked at me doubtfully. + +"Go on," I said. "I understand." + +"They were realities--yes, they must have been; people moved +and things came and went in them; my dear mother, whom I had near +forgotten; then my father, stern and upright, the servants, the +nursery, all the familiar things of home. Then the front door and +the busy streets, with traffic to and fro: I looked and marvelled, +and looked half doubtfully again into the woman's face and turned +the pages over, skipping this and that, to see more of this book, +and more, and so at last I came to myself hovering and hesitating +outside the green door in the long white wall, and felt again the +conflict and the fear. + +"'And next?' I cried, and would have turned on, but the cool +hand of the grave woman delayed me. + +"'Next?' I insisted, and struggled gently with her hand, +pulling up her fingers with all my childish strength, and as she +yielded and the page came over she bent down upon me like a shadow +and kissed my brow. + +"But the page did not show the enchanted garden, nor the +panthers, nor the girl who had led me by the hand, nor the +playfellows who had been so loth to let me go. It showed a long +grey street in West Kensington, on that chill hour of afternoon +before the lamps are lit, and I was there, a wretched little +figure, weeping aloud, for all that I could do to restrain myself, +and I was weeping because I could not return to my dear +play-fellows who had called after me, 'Come back to us! Come back +to us soon!' I was there. This was no page in a book, but harsh +reality; that enchanted place and the restraining hand of the grave +mother at whose knee I stood had gone--whither have they gone?" + +He halted again, and remained for a time, staring into the fire. + +"Oh! the wretchedness of that return!" he murmured. + +"Well?" I said after a minute or so. + +"Poor little wretch I was--brought back to this grey world +again! As I realised the fulness of what had happened to me, I +gave way to quite ungovernable grief. And the shame and +humiliation of that public weeping and my disgraceful homecoming +remain with me still. I see again the benevolent-looking old +gentleman in gold spectacles who stopped and spoke to me--prodding +me first with his umbrella. 'Poor little chap,' said he; 'and are +you lost then?'--and me a London boy of five and more! And he must +needs bring in a kindly young policeman and make a crowd of me, and +so march me home. Sobbing, conspicuous and frightened, I came from +the enchanted garden to the steps of my father's house. + +"That is as well as I can remember my vision of that +garden--the garden that haunts me still. Of course, I can convey +nothing of that indescribable quality of translucent unreality, +that difference from the common things of experience that hung +about it all; but that--that is what happened. If it was a dream, +I am sure it was a day-time and altogether extraordinary dream . . +. . . . H'm!--naturally there followed a terrible questioning, by +my aunt, my father, the nurse, the governess--everyone . . . . . . + +"I tried to tell them, and my father gave me my first +thrashing for telling lies. When afterwards I tried to tell my +aunt, she punished me again for my wicked persistence. Then, as I +said, everyone was forbidden to listen to me, to hear a word about +it. Even my fairy tale books were taken away from me for a +time--because I was 'too imaginative.' Eh? Yes, they did that! My +father belonged to the old school . . . . . And my story was driven +back upon myself. I whispered it to my pillow--my pillow that was +often damp and salt to my whispering lips with childish tears. And +I added always to my official and less fervent prayers this one +heartfelt request: 'Please God I may dream of the garden. Oh! take +me back to my garden! Take me back to my garden!' + +"I dreamt often of the garden. I may have added to it, I may +have changed it; I do not know . . . . . All this you understand +is an attempt to reconstruct from fragmentary memories a very early +experience. Between that and the other consecutive memories of my +boyhood there is a gulf. A time came when it seemed impossible I +should ever speak of that wonder glimpse again." + +I asked an obvious question. + +"No," he said. "I don't remember that I ever attempted to +find my way back to the garden in those early years. This seems +odd to me now, but I think that very probably a closer watch was +kept on my movements after this misadventure to prevent my going +astray. No, it wasn't until you knew me that I tried for the +garden again. And I believe there was a period--incredible as it +seems now--when I forgot the garden altogether--when I was about +eight or nine it may have been. Do you remember me as a kid at +Saint Athelstan's?" + +"Rather!" + +"I didn't show any signs did I in those days of having a secret dream?" + + +II + + +He looked up with a sudden smile. + +"Did you ever play North-West Passage with me? . . . . . No, +of course you didn't come my way!" + +"It was the sort of game," he went on, "that every imaginative +child plays all day. The idea was the discovery of a North-West +Passage to school. The way to school was plain enough; the game +consisted in finding some way that wasn't plain, starting off ten +minutes early in some almost hopeless direction, and working one's +way round through unaccustomed streets to my goal. And one day I +got entangled among some rather low-class streets on the other side +of Campden Hill, and I began to think that for once the game would +be against me and that I should get to school late. I tried rather +desperately a street that seemed a _cul de sac_, and found a +passage at the end. I hurried through that with renewed hope. 'I +shall do it yet,' I said, and passed a row of frowsy little shops +that were inexplicably familiar to me, and behold! there was my +long white wall and the green door that led to the enchanted +garden! + +"The thing whacked upon me suddenly. Then, after all, that garden, +that wonderful garden, wasn't a dream!" . . . . + +He paused. + +"I suppose my second experience with the green door marks the +world of difference there is between the busy life of a schoolboy +and the infinite leisure of a child. Anyhow, this second time I +didn't for a moment think of going in straight away. You see . . . +For one thing my mind was full of the idea of getting to school +in time--set on not breaking my record for punctuality. I must +surely have felt _some_ little desire at least to try the +door--yes, I must have felt that . . . . . But I seem to remember +the attraction of the door mainly as another obstacle to my +overmastering determination to get to school. I was immediately +interested by this discovery I had made, of course--I went on with +my mind full of it--but I went on. It didn't check me. I ran past +tugging out my watch, found I had ten minutes still to spare, and +then I was going downhill into familiar surroundings. I got to +school, breathless, it is true, and wet with perspiration, but in +time. I can remember hanging up my coat and hat . . . Went right +by it and left it behind me. Odd, eh?" + +He looked at me thoughtfully. "Of course, I didn't know then +that it wouldn't always be there. School boys have limited +imaginations. I suppose I thought it was an awfully jolly thing to +have it there, to know my way back to it, but there was the school +tugging at me. I expect I was a good deal distraught and +inattentive that morning, recalling what I could of the beautiful +strange people I should presently see again. Oddly enough I had no +doubt in my mind that they would be glad to see me . . . Yes, I +must have thought of the garden that morning just as a jolly sort +of place to which one might resort in the interludes of a strenuous +scholastic career. + +"I didn't go that day at all. The next day was a half +holiday, and that may have weighed with me. Perhaps, too, my state +of inattention brought down impositions upon me and docked the +margin of time necessary for the detour. I don't know. What I do +know is that in the meantime the enchanted garden was so much upon +my mind that I could not keep it to myself. + +"I told--What was his name?--a ferrety-looking youngster we +used to call Squiff." + +"Young Hopkins," said I. + +"Hopkins it was. I did not like telling him, I had a feeling +that in some way it was against the rules to tell him, but I did. +He was walking part of the way home with me; he was talkative, and +if we had not talked about the enchanted garden we should have +talked of something else, and it was intolerable to me to think +about any other subject. So I blabbed. + +"Well, he told my secret. The next day in the play interval +I found myself surrounded by half a dozen bigger boys, half teasing +and wholly curious to hear more of the enchanted garden. There was +that big Fawcett--you remember him?--and Carnaby and Morley +Reynolds. You weren't there by any chance? No, I think I should +have remembered if you were . . . . . + +"A boy is a creature of odd feelings. I was, I really +believe, in spite of my secret self-disgust, a little flattered to +have the attention of these big fellows. I remember particularly +a moment of pleasure caused by the praise of Crawshaw--you remember +Crawshaw major, the son of Crawshaw the composer?--who said it was +the best lie he had ever heard. But at the same time there was a +really painful undertow of shame at telling what I felt was indeed +a sacred secret. That beast Fawcett made a joke about the girl in +green--." + +Wallace's voice sank with the keen memory of that shame. "I +pretended not to hear," he said. "Well, then Carnaby suddenly +called me a young liar and disputed with me when I said the thing +was true. I said I knew where to find the green door, could lead +them all there in ten minutes. Carnaby became outrageously +virtuous, and said I'd have to--and bear out my words or suffer. +Did you ever have Carnaby twist your arm? Then perhaps you'll +understand how it went with me. I swore my story was true. There +was nobody in the school then to save a chap from Carnaby though +Crawshaw put in a word or so. Carnaby had got his game. I grew +excited and red-eared, and a little frightened, I behaved +altogether like a silly little chap, and the outcome of it all was +that instead of starting alone for my enchanted garden, I led the +way presently--cheeks flushed, ears hot, eyes smarting, and my soul +one burning misery and shame--for a party of six mocking, curious +and threatening school-fellows. + +"We never found the white wall and the green door . . ." + +"You mean?--" + +"I mean I couldn't find it. I would have found it if I could. + +"And afterwards when I could go alone I couldn't find it. I +never found it. I seem now to have been always looking for it +through my school-boy days, but I've never come upon it again." + +"Did the fellows--make it disagreeable?" + +"Beastly . . . . . Carnaby held a council over me for wanton +lying. I remember how I sneaked home and upstairs to hide the +marks of my blubbering. But when I cried myself to sleep at last +it wasn't for Carnaby, but for the garden, for the beautiful +afternoon I had hoped for, for the sweet friendly women and the +waiting playfellows and the game I had hoped to learn again, that +beautiful forgotten game . . . . . + +"I believed firmly that if I had not told-- . . . . . I had +bad times after that--crying at night and wool-gathering by day. +For two terms I slackened and had bad reports. Do you remember? +Of course you would! It was _you_--your beating me in mathematics +that brought me back to the grind again." + + +III + + +For a time my friend stared silently into the red heart of the +fire. Then he said: "I never saw it again until I was seventeen. + +"It leapt upon me for the third time--as I was driving to +Paddington on my way to Oxford and a scholarship. I had just one +momentary glimpse. I was leaning over the apron of my hansom +smoking a cigarette, and no doubt thinking myself no end of a man +of the world, and suddenly there was the door, the wall, the dear +sense of unforgettable and still attainable things. + +"We clattered by--I too taken by surprise to stop my cab until +we were well past and round a corner. Then I had a queer moment, +a double and divergent movement of my will: I tapped the little +door in the roof of the cab, and brought my arm down to pull out my +watch. 'Yes, sir!' said the cabman, smartly. 'Er--well--it's +nothing,' I cried. '_My_ mistake! We haven't much time! Go +on!' and he went on . . . + +"I got my scholarship. And the night after I was told of that +I sat over my fire in my little upper room, my study, in my +father's house, with his praise--his rare praise--and his sound +counsels ringing in my ears, and I smoked my favourite pipe--the +formidable bulldog of adolescence--and thought of that door in the +long white wall. 'If I had stopped,' I thought, 'I should have +missed my scholarship, I should have missed Oxford--muddled all the +fine career before me! I begin to see things better!' I fell +musing deeply, but I did not doubt then this career of mine was a +thing that merited sacrifice. + +"Those dear friends and that clear atmosphere seemed very +sweet to me, very fine, but remote. My grip was fixing now upon +the world. I saw another door opening--the door of my career." + +He stared again into the fire. Its red lights picked out a +stubborn strength in his face for just one flickering moment, and +then it vanished again. + +"Well", he said and sighed, "I have served that career. I +have done--much work, much hard work. But I have dreamt of the +enchanted garden a thousand dreams, and seen its door, or at least +glimpsed its door, four times since then. Yes--four times. For a +while this world was so bright and interesting, seemed so full of +meaning and opportunity that the half-effaced charm of the garden +was by comparison gentle and remote. Who wants to pat panthers on +the way to dinner with pretty women and distinguished men? I came +down to London from Oxford, a man of bold promise that I have done +something to redeem. Something--and yet there have been +disappointments . . . . . + +"Twice I have been in love--I will not dwell on that--but +once, as I went to someone who, I know, doubted whether I dared to +come, I took a short cut at a venture through an unfrequented road +near Earl's Court, and so happened on a white wall and a familiar +green door. 'Odd!' said I to myself, 'but I thought this place was +on Campden Hill. It's the place I never could find somehow--like +counting Stonehenge--the place of that queer day dream of mine.' +And I went by it intent upon my purpose. It had no appeal to me +that afternoon. + +"I had just a moment's impulse to try the door, three steps +aside were needed at the most--though I was sure enough in my heart +that it would open to me--and then I thought that doing so might +delay me on the way to that appointment in which I thought my +honour was involved. Afterwards I was sorry for my punctuality--I +might at least have peeped in I thought, and waved a hand to those +panthers, but I knew enough by this time not to seek again +belatedly that which is not found by seeking. Yes, that time made +me very sorry . . . . . + +"Years of hard work after that and never a sight of the door. +It's only recently it has come back to me. With it there has come +a sense as though some thin tarnish had spread itself over my world. +I began to think of it as a sorrowful and bitter thing that I should +never see that door again. Perhaps I was suffering a little from +overwork--perhaps it was what I've heard spoken of as the feeling +of forty. I don't know. But certainly the keen brightness that +makes effort easy has gone out of things recently, and that just +at a time with all these new political developments--when I ought to +be working. Odd, isn't it? But I do begin to find life toilsome, +its rewards, as I come near them, cheap. I began a little while ago +to want the garden quite badly. Yes--and I've seen it three times." + +"The garden?" + +"No--the door! And I haven't gone in!" + +He leaned over the table to me, with an enormous sorrow in his +voice as he spoke. "Thrice I have had my chance--_thrice!_ If ever +that door offers itself to me again, I swore, I will go in out of +this dust and heat, out of this dry glitter of vanity, out of these +toilsome futilities. I will go and never return. This time I will +stay . . . . . I swore it and when the time came--_I didn't go_. + +"Three times in one year have I passed that door and failed to +enter. Three times in the last year. + +"The first time was on the night of the snatch division on the +Tenants' Redemption Bill, on which the Government was saved by a +majority of three. You remember? No one on our side--perhaps very +few on the opposite side--expected the end that night. Then the +debate collapsed like eggshells. I and Hotchkiss were dining with +his cousin at Brentford, we were both unpaired, and we were called +up by telephone, and set off at once in his cousin's motor. We got +in barely in time, and on the way we passed my wall and door--livid +in the moonlight, blotched with hot yellow as the glare of our +lamps lit it, but unmistakable. 'My God!' cried I. 'What?' said +Hotchkiss. 'Nothing!' I answered, and the moment passed. + +"'I've made a great sacrifice,' I told the whip as I got in. +'They all have,' he said, and hurried by. + +"I do not see how I could have done otherwise then. And the +next occasion was as I rushed to my father's bedside to bid that +stern old man farewell. Then, too, the claims of life were +imperative. But the third time was different; it happened a week +ago. It fills me with hot remorse to recall it. I was with Gurker +and Ralphs--it's no secret now you know that I've had my talk with +Gurker. We had been dining at Frobisher's, and the talk had become +intimate between us. The question of my place in the reconstructed +ministry lay always just over the boundary of the discussion. +Yes--yes. That's all settled. It needn't be talked about yet, but +there's no reason to keep a secret from you . . . . . Yes--thanks! +thanks! But let me tell you my story. + +"Then, on that night things were very much in the air. My +position was a very delicate one. I was keenly anxious to get some +definite word from Gurker, but was hampered by Ralphs' presence. +I was using the best power of my brain to keep that light and +careless talk not too obviously directed to the point that concerns +me. I had to. Ralphs' behaviour since has more than justified my +caution . . . . . Ralphs, I knew, would leave us beyond the +Kensington High Street, and then I could surprise Gurker by a +sudden frankness. One has sometimes to resort to these little +devices. . . . . And then it was that in the margin of my field of +vision I became aware once more of the white wall, the green door +before us down the road. + +"We passed it talking. I passed it. I can still see the +shadow of Gurker's marked profile, his opera hat tilted forward +over his prominent nose, the many folds of his neck wrap going +before my shadow and Ralphs' as we sauntered past. + +"I passed within twenty inches of the door. 'If I say +good-night to them, and go in,' I asked myself, 'what will happen?' +And I was all a-tingle for that word with Gurker. + +"I could not answer that question in the tangle of my other +problems. 'They will think me mad,' I thought. 'And suppose I +vanish now!--Amazing disappearance of a prominent politician!' +That weighed with me. A thousand inconceivably petty worldlinesses +weighed with me in that crisis." + +Then he turned on me with a sorrowful smile, and, speaking +slowly; "Here I am!" he said. + +"Here I am!" he repeated, "and my chance has gone from me. +Three times in one year the door has been offered me--the door that +goes into peace, into delight, into a beauty beyond dreaming, a +kindness no man on earth can know. And I have rejected it, +Redmond, and it has gone--" + +"How do you know?" + +"I know. I know. I am left now to work it out, to stick to +the tasks that held me so strongly when my moments came. You say, +I have success--this vulgar, tawdry, irksome, envied thing. I have +it." He had a walnut in his big hand. "If that was my success," +he said, and crushed it, and held it out for me to see. + +"Let me tell you something, Redmond. This loss is destroying +me. For two months, for ten weeks nearly now, I have done no work +at all, except the most necessary and urgent duties. My soul is +full of inappeasable regrets. At nights--when it is less likely I +shall be recognised--I go out. I wander. Yes. I wonder what +people would think of that if they knew. A Cabinet Minister, the +responsible head of that most vital of all departments, wandering +alone--grieving--sometimes near audibly lamenting--for a door, for +a garden!" + + +IV + + +I can see now his rather pallid face, and the unfamiliar +sombre fire that had come into his eyes. I see him very vividly +to-night. I sit recalling his words, his tones, and last evening's +_Westminster Gazette_ still lies on my sofa, containing the +notice of his death. At lunch to-day the club was busy with him +and the strange riddle of his fate. + +They found his body very early yesterday morning in a deep +excavation near East Kensington Station. It is one of two shafts +that have been made in connection with an extension of the railway +southward. It is protected from the intrusion of the public by a +hoarding upon the high road, in which a small doorway has been +cut for the convenience of some of the workmen who live in +that direction. The doorway was left unfastened through a +misunderstanding between two gangers, and through it he made his +way . . . . . + +My mind is darkened with questions and riddles. + +It would seem he walked all the way from the House that +night--he has frequently walked home during the past Session--and +so it is I figure his dark form coming along the late and empty +streets, wrapped up, intent. And then did the pale electric lights +near the station cheat the rough planking into a semblance of +white? Did that fatal unfastened door awaken some memory? + +Was there, after all, ever any green door in the wall at all? + +I do not know. I have told his story as he told it to me. +There are times when I believe that Wallace was no more than the +victim of the coincidence between a rare but not unprecedented type +of hallucination and a careless trap, but that indeed is not my +profoundest belief. You may think me superstitious if you will, +and foolish; but, indeed, I am more than half convinced that he had +in truth, an abnormal gift, and a sense, something--I know not +what--that in the guise of wall and door offered him an outlet, a +secret and peculiar passage of escape into another and altogether +more beautiful world. At any rate, you will say, it betrayed him +in the end. But did it betray him? There you touch the inmost +mystery of these dreamers, these men of vision and the imagination. +We see our world fair and common, the hoarding and the pit. By our +daylight standard he walked out of security into darkness, danger +and death. But did he see like that? + + + + +THE STAR + +It was on the first day of the New Year that the announcement +was made, almost simultaneously from three observatories, that the +motion of the planet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets +that wheel about the sun, had become very erratic. Ogilvy had +already called attention to a suspected retardation in its velocity +in December. Such a piece of news was scarcely calculated to +interest a world the greater portion of whose inhabitants were +unaware of the existence of the planet Neptune, nor outside the +astronomical profession did the subsequent discovery of a faint +remote speck of light in the region of the perturbed planet cause +any very great excitement. Scientific people, however, found the +intelligence remarkable enough, even before it became known that +the new body was rapidly growing larger and brighter, that its +motion was quite different from the orderly progress of the +planets, and that the deflection of Neptune and its satellite was +becoming now of an unprecedented kind. + +Few people without a training in science can realise the huge +isolation of the solar system. The sun with its specks of planets, +its dust of planetoids, and its impalpable comets, swims in a +vacant immensity that almost defeats the imagination. Beyond the +orbit of Neptune there is space, vacant so far as human observation +has penetrated, without warmth or light or sound, blank emptiness, +for twenty million times a million miles. That is the smallest +estimate of the distance to be traversed before the very nearest of +the stars is attained. And, saving a few comets more unsubstantial +than the thinnest flame, no matter had ever to human knowledge +crossed this gulf of space, until early in the twentieth century +this strange wanderer appeared. A vast mass of matter it was, +bulky, heavy, rushing without warning out of the black mystery of +the sky into the radiance of the sun. By the second day it was +clearly visible to any decent instrument, as a speck with a barely +sensible diameter, in the constellation Leo near Regulus. In a +little while an opera glass could attain it. + +On the third day of the new year the newspaper readers of two +hemispheres were made aware for the first time of the real +importance of this unusual apparition in the heavens. "A Planetary +Collision," one London paper headed the news, and proclaimed +Duchaine's opinion that this strange new planet would probably +collide with Neptune. The leader writers enlarged upon the topic; +so that in most of the capitals of the world, on January 3rd, there +was an expectation, however vague of some imminent phenomenon in +the sky; and as the night followed the sunset round the globe, +thousands of men turned their eyes skyward to see--the old familiar +stars just as they had always been. + +Until it was dawn in London and Pollux setting and the stars +overhead grown pale. The Winter's dawn it was, a sickly filtering +accumulation of daylight, and the light of gas and candles shone +yellow in the windows to show where people were astir. But the +yawning policeman saw the thing, the busy crowds in the markets +stopped agape, workmen going to their work betimes, milkmen, the +drivers of news-carts, dissipation going home jaded and pale, +homeless wanderers, sentinels on their beats, and in the country, +labourers trudging afield, poachers slinking home, all over the +dusky quickening country it could be seen--and out at sea by seamen +watching for the day--a great white star, come suddenly into the +westward sky! + +Brighter it was than any star in our skies; brighter than the +evening star at its brightest. It still glowed out white and +large, no mere twinkling spot of light, but a small round clear +shining disc, an hour after the day had come. And where science +has not reached, men stared and feared, telling one another of the +wars and pestilences that are foreshadowed by these fiery signs in +the Heavens. Sturdy Boers, dusky Hottentots, Gold Coast Negroes, +Frenchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, stood in the warmth of the +sunrise watching the setting of this strange new star. + +And in a hundred observatories there had been suppressed +excitement, rising almost to shouting pitch, as the two remote +bodies had rushed together; and a hurrying to and fro, to gather +photographic apparatus and spectroscope, and this appliance and +that, to record this novel astonishing sight, the destruction of a +world. For it was a world, a sister planet of our earth, far +greater than our earth indeed, that had so suddenly flashed into +flaming death. Neptune it was, had been struck, fairly and +squarely, by the strange planet from outer space and the heat of +the concussion had incontinently turned two solid globes into one +vast mass of incandescence. Round the world that day, two hours +before the dawn, went the pallid great white star, fading only as +it sank westward and the sun mounted above it. Everywhere men +marvelled at it, but of all those who saw it none could have +marvelled more than those sailors, habitual watchers of the stars, +who far away at sea had heard nothing of its advent and saw it now +rise like a pigmy moon and climb zenithward and hang overhead and +sink westward with the passing of the night. + +And when next it rose over Europe everywhere were crowds of +watchers on hilly slopes, on house-roofs, in open spaces, staring +eastward for the rising of the great new star. It rose with a +white glow in front of it, like the glare of a white fire, and +those who had seen it come into existence the night before cried +out at the sight of it. "It is larger," they cried. "It is +brighter!" And, indeed the moon a quarter full and sinking in the +west was in its apparent size beyond comparison, but scarcely in +all its breadth had it as much brightness now as the little circle +of the strange new star. + +"It is brighter!" cried the people clustering in the streets. +But in the dim observatories the watchers held their breath and +peered at one another. "_It is nearer_," they said. "_Nearer!_" + +And voice after voice repeated, "It is nearer," and the +clicking telegraph took that up, and it trembled along telephone +wires, and in a thousand cities grimy compositors fingered the +type. "It is nearer." Men writing in offices, struck with a +strange realisation, flung down their pens, men talking in a +thousand places suddenly came upon a grotesque possibility in +those words, "It is nearer." It hurried along wakening streets, it +was shouted down the frost-stilled ways of quiet villages; men who +had read these things from the throbbing tape stood in yellow-lit +doorways shouting the news to the passersby. "It is nearer." +Pretty women, flushed and glittering, heard the news told jestingly +between the dances, and feigned an intelligent interest they did +not feel. "Nearer! Indeed. How curious! How very, very clever +people must be to find out things like that!" + +Lonely tramps faring through the wintry night murmured those +words to comfort themselves--looking skyward. "It has need to be +nearer, for the night's as cold as charity. Don't seem much warmth +from it if it _is_ nearer, all the same." + +"What is a new star to me?" cried the weeping woman kneeling +beside her dead. + +The schoolboy, rising early for his examination work, puzzled +it out for himself--with the great white star shining broad and +bright through the frost-flowers of his window. "Centrifugal, +centripetal," he said, with his chin on his fist. "Stop a planet +in its flight, rob it of its centrifugal force, what then? +Centripetal has it, and down it falls into the sun! And this--! + +"Do _we_ come in the way? I wonder--" + +The light of that day went the way of its brethren, and with +the later watches of the frosty darkness rose the strange star +again. And it was now so bright that the waxing moon seemed but a +pale yellow ghost of itself, hanging huge in the sunset. In a +South African City a great man had married, and the streets were +alight to welcome his return with his bride. "Even the skies have +illuminated," said the flatterer. Under Capricorn, two negro +lovers, daring the wild beasts and evil spirits, for love of one +another, crouched together in a cane brake where the fire-flies +hovered. "That is our star," they whispered, and felt strangely +comforted by the sweet brilliance of its light. + +The master mathematician sat in his private room and pushed +the papers from him. His calculations were already finished. In +a small white phial there still remained a little of the drug that +had kept him awake and active for four long nights. Each day, +serene, explicit, patient as ever, he had given his lecture to his +students, and then had come back at once to this momentous +calculation. His face was grave, a little drawn and hectic from +his drugged activity. For some time he seemed lost in thought. +Then he went to the window, and the blind went up with a click. +Half way up the sky, over the clustering roofs, chimneys and +steeples of the city, hung the star. + +He looked at it as one might look into the eyes of a brave +enemy. "You may kill me," he said after a silence. "But I can +hold you--and all the universe for that matter--in the grip of this +little brain. I would not change. Even now." + +He looked at the little phial. "There will be no need of +sleep again," he said. The next day at noon--punctual to the +minute, he entered his lecture theatre, put his hat on the end of +the table as his habit was, and carefully selected a large piece of +chalk. It was a joke among his students that he could not lecture +without that piece of chalk to fumble in his fingers, and once he +had been stricken to impotence by their hiding his supply. He came +and looked under his grey eyebrows at the rising tiers of young +fresh faces, and spoke with his accustomed studied commonness of +phrasing. "Circumstances have arisen--circumstances beyond my +control," he said and paused, "which will debar me from completing +the course I had designed. It would seem, gentlemen, if I may put +the thing clearly and briefly, that--Man has lived in vain." + +The students glanced at one another. Had they heard aright? +Mad? Raised eyebrows and grinning lips there were, but one or two +faces remained intent upon his calm grey-fringed face. "It will be +interesting," he was saying, "to devote this morning to an +exposition, so far as I can make it clear to you, of the +calculations that have led me to this conclusion. Let us assume--" + +He turned towards the blackboard, meditating a diagram in the +way that was usual to him. "What was that about 'lived in vain?'" +whispered one student to another. "Listen," said the other, +nodding towards the lecturer. + +And presently they began to understand. + +That night the star rose later, for its proper eastward motion +had carried it some way across Leo towards Virgo, and its +brightness was so great that the sky became a luminous blue as it +rose, and every star was hidden in its turn, save only Jupiter near +the zenith, Capella, Aldebaran, Sirius and the pointers of the +Bear. It was very white and beautiful. In many parts of the world +that night a pallid halo encircled it about. It was perceptibly +larger; in the clear refractive sky of the tropics it seemed as if +it were nearly a quarter the size of the moon. The frost was still +on the ground in England, but the world was as brightly lit as if +it were midsummer moonlight. One could see to read quite ordinary +print by that cold clear light, and in the cities the lamps burnt +yellow and wan. + +And everywhere the world was awake that night, and throughout +Christendom a sombre murmur hung in the keen air over the country +side like the belling of bees in the heather, and this murmurous +tumult grew to a clangour in the cities. It was the tolling of the +bells in a million belfry towers and steeples, summoning the people +to sleep no more, to sin no more, but to gather in their churches +and pray. And overhead, growing larger and brighter as the earth +rolled on its way and the night passed, rose the dazzling star. + +And the streets and houses were alight in all the cities, the +shipyards glared, and whatever roads led to high country were lit +and crowded all night long. And in all the seas about the +civilised lands, ships with throbbing engines, and ships with +bellying sails, crowded with men and living creatures, were +standing out to ocean and the north. For already the warning of +the master mathematician had been telegraphed all over the world, +and translated into a hundred tongues. The new planet and Neptune, +locked in a fiery embrace, were whirling headlong, ever faster and +faster towards the sun. Already every second this blazing mass +flew a hundred miles, and every second its terrific velocity +increased. As it flew now, indeed, it must pass a hundred million +of miles wide of the earth and scarcely affect it. But near its +destined path, as yet only slightly perturbed, spun the mighty +planet Jupiter and his moons sweeping splendid round the sun. +Every moment now the attraction between the fiery star and the +greatest of the planets grew stronger. And the result of that +attraction? Inevitably Jupiter would be deflected from its orbit +into an elliptical path, and the burning star, swung by his +attraction wide of its sunward rush, would "describe a curved path" +and perhaps collide with, and certainly pass very close to, our +earth. "Earthquakes, volcanic outbreaks, cyclones, sea waves, +floods, and a steady rise in temperature to I know not what +limit"--so prophesied the master mathematician. + +And overhead, to carry out his words, lonely and cold and +livid, blazed the star of the coming doom. + +To many who stared at it that night until their eyes ached, it +seemed that it was visibly approaching. And that night, too, the +weather changed, and the frost that had gripped all Central Europe +and France and England softened towards a thaw. + +But you must not imagine because I have spoken of people +praying through the night and people going aboard ships and people +fleeing toward mountainous country that the whole world was already +in a terror because of the star. As a matter of fact, use and wont +still ruled the world, and save for the talk of idle moments and +the splendour of the night, nine human beings out of ten were still +busy at their common occupations. In all the cities the shops, +save one here and there, opened and closed at their proper hours, +the doctor and the undertaker plied their trades, the workers +gathered in the factories, soldiers drilled, scholars studied, +lovers sought one another, thieves lurked and fled, politicians +planned their schemes. The presses of the newspapers roared +through the night, and many a priest of this church and that would +not open his holy building to further what he considered a foolish +panic. The newspapers insisted on the lesson of the year 1000--for +then, too, people had anticipated the end. The star was no +star--mere gas--a comet; and were it a star it could not possibly +strike the earth. There was no precedent for such a thing. Common +sense was sturdy everywhere, scornful, jesting, a little inclined +to persecute the obdurate fearful. That night, at seven-fifteen by +Greenwich time, the star would be at its nearest to Jupiter. Then +the world would see the turn things would take. The master +mathematician's grim warnings were treated by many as so much mere +elaborate self-advertisement. Common sense at last, a little heated +by argument, signified its unalterable convictions by going to bed. +So, too, barbarism and savagery, already tired of the novelty, went +about their nightly business, and save for a howling dog here and +there, the beast world left the star unheeded. + +And yet, when at last the watchers in the European States saw +the star rise, an hour later it is true, but no larger than it had +been the night before, there were still plenty awake to laugh at +the master mathematician--to take the danger as if it had passed. + +But hereafter the laughter ceased. The star grew--it grew +with a terrible steadiness hour after hour, a little larger each +hour, a little nearer the midnight zenith, and brighter and +brighter, until it had turned night into a second day. Had it come +straight to the earth instead of in a curved path, had it lost no +velocity to Jupiter, it must have leapt the intervening gulf in a +day, but as it was it took five days altogether to come by our +planet. The next night it had become a third the size of the moon +before it set to English eyes, and the thaw was assured. It rose +over America near the size of the moon, but blinding white to look +at, and _hot_; and a breath of hot wind blew now with its +rising and gathering strength, and in Virginia, and Brazil, and +down the St. Lawrence valley, it shone intermittently through a +driving reek of thunder-clouds, flickering violet lightning, +and hail unprecedented. In Manitoba was a thaw and devastating +floods. And upon all the mountains of the earth the snow and +ice began to melt that night, and all the rivers coming out of +high country flowed thick and turbid, and soon--in their upper +reaches--with swirling trees and the bodies of beasts and men. +They rose steadily, steadily in the ghostly brilliance, and came +trickling over their banks at last, behind the flying population +of their valleys. + +And along the coast of Argentina and up the South Atlantic the +tides were higher than had ever been in the memory of man, and the +storms drove the waters in many cases scores of miles inland, +drowning whole cities. And so great grew the heat during the night +that the rising of the sun was like the coming of a shadow. The +earthquakes began and grew until all down America from the Arctic +Circle to Cape Horn, hillsides were sliding, fissures were opening, +and houses and walls crumbling to destruction. The whole side of +Cotopaxi slipped out in one vast convulsion, and a tumult of lava +poured out so high and broad and swift and liquid that in one day +it reached the sea. + +So the star, with the wan moon in its wake, marched across the +Pacific, trailed the thunderstorms like the hem of a robe, and the +growing tidal wave that toiled behind it, frothing and eager, +poured over island and island and swept them clear of men. Until +that wave came at last--in a blinding light and with the breath of +a furnace, swift and terrible it came--a wall of water, fifty feet +high, roaring hungrily, upon the long coasts of Asia, and swept +inland across the plains of China. For a space the star, hotter +now and larger and brighter than the sun in its strength, showed +with pitiless brilliance the wide and populous country; towns and +villages with their pagodas and trees, roads, wide cultivated +fields, millions of sleepless people staring in helpless terror at +the incandescent sky; and then, low and growing, came the murmur of +the flood. And thus it was with millions of men that night--a +flight nowhither, with limbs heavy with heat and breath fierce and +scant, and the flood like a wall swift and white behind. And then +death. + +China was lit glowing white, but over Japan and Java and all +the islands of Eastern Asia the great star was a ball of dull red +fire because of the steam and smoke and ashes the volcanoes were +spouting forth to salute its coming. Above was the lava, hot gases +and ash, and below the seething floods, and the whole earth swayed +and rumbled with the earthquake shocks. Soon the immemorial snows +of Thibet and the Himalaya were melting and pouring down by ten +million deepening converging channels upon the plains of Burmah and +Hindostan. The tangled summits of the Indian jungles were aflame +in a thousand places, and below the hurrying waters around the +stems were dark objects that still struggled feebly and reflected +the blood-red tongues of fire. And in a rudderless confusion a +multitude of men and women fled down the broad river-ways to that +one last hope of men--the open sea. + +Larger grew the star, and larger, hotter, and brighter with a +terrible swiftness now. The tropical ocean had lost its +phosphorescence, and the whirling steam rose in ghostly wreaths +from the black waves that plunged incessantly, speckled with +storm-tossed ships. + +And then came a wonder. It seemed to those who in Europe +watched for the rising of the star that the world must have ceased +its rotation. In a thousand open spaces of down and upland the +people who had fled thither from the floods and the falling houses +and sliding slopes of hill watched for that rising in vain. Hour +followed hour through a terrible suspense, and the star rose not. +Once again men set their eyes upon the old constellations they had +counted lost to them forever. In England it was hot and clear +overhead, though the ground quivered perpetually, but in the +tropics, Sirius and Capella and Aldebaran showed through a veil of +steam. And when at last the great star rose near ten hours late, +the sun rose close upon it, and in the centre of its white heart +was a disc of black. + +Over Asia it was the star had begun to fall behind the +movement of the sky, and then suddenly, as it hung over India, its +light had been veiled. All the plain of India from the mouth of +the Indus to the mouths of the Ganges was a shallow waste of +shining water that night, out of which rose temples and palaces, +mounds and hills, black with people. Every minaret was a +clustering mass of people, who fell one by one into the turbid +waters, as heat and terror overcame them. The whole land seemed +a-wailing and suddenly there swept a shadow across that furnace of +despair, and a breath of cold wind, and a gathering of clouds, out +of the cooling air. Men looking up, near blinded, at the star, saw +that a black disc was creeping across the light. It was the moon, +coming between the star and the earth. And even as men cried to +God at this respite, out of the East with a strange inexplicable +swiftness sprang the sun. And then star, sun and moon rushed +together across the heavens. + +So it was that presently, to the European watchers, star and +sun rose close upon each other, drove headlong for a space and then +slower, and at last came to rest, star and sun merged into one +glare of flame at the zenith of the sky. The moon no longer +eclipsed the star but was lost to sight in the brilliance of the +sky. And though those who were still alive regarded it for the +most part with that dull stupidity that hunger, fatigue, heat and +despair engender, there were still men who could perceive the +meaning of these signs. Star and earth had been at their nearest, +had swung about one another, and the star had passed. Already it +was receding, swifter and swifter, in the last stage of its +headlong journey downward into the sun. + +And then the clouds gathered, blotting out the vision of the +sky, the thunder and lightning wove a garment round the world; all +over the earth was such a downpour of rain as men had never before +seen, and where the volcanoes flared red against the cloud canopy +there descended torrents of mud. Everywhere the waters were +pouring off the land, leaving mud-silted ruins, and the earth +littered like a storm-worn beach with all that had floated, and the +dead bodies of the men and brutes, its children. For days the +water streamed off the land, sweeping away soil and trees and +houses in the way, and piling huge dykes and scooping out Titanic +gullies over the country side. Those were the days of darkness +that followed the star and the heat. All through them, and for +many weeks and months, the earthquakes continued. + +But the star had passed, and men, hunger-driven and gathering +courage only slowly, might creep back to their ruined cities, +buried granaries, and sodden fields. Such few ships as had escaped +the storms of that time came stunned and shattered and sounding +their way cautiously through the new marks and shoals of once +familiar ports. And as the storms subsided men perceived that +everywhere the days were hotter than of yore, and the sun larger, +and the moon, shrunk to a third of its former size, took now +fourscore days between its new and new. + +But of the new brotherhood that grew presently among men, of +the saving of laws and books and machines, of the strange change +that had come over Iceland and Greenland and the shores of Baffin's +Bay, so that the sailors coming there presently found them green +and gracious, and could scarce believe their eyes, this story does +not tell. Nor of the movement of mankind now that the earth was +hotter, northward and southward towards the poles of the earth. It +concerns itself only with the coming and the passing of the Star. + +The Martian astronomers--for there are astronomers on Mars, +although they are very different beings from men--were naturally +profoundly interested by these things. They saw them from their +own standpoint of course. "Considering the mass and temperature of +the missile that was flung through our solar system into the sun," +one wrote, "it is astonishing what a little damage the earth, which +it missed so narrowly, has sustained. All the familiar continental +markings and the masses of the seas remain intact, and indeed the +only difference seems to be a shrinkage of the white discoloration +(supposed to be frozen water) round either pole." Which only shows +how small the vastest of human catastrophes may seem, at a distance +of a few million miles. + + + + +A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON + +The man with the white face entered the carriage at Rugby. He +moved slowly in spite of the urgency of his porter, and even while +he was still on the platform I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped +into the corner over against me with a sigh, made an incomplete +attempt to arrange his travelling shawl, and became motionless, +with his eyes staring vacantly. Presently he was moved by a sense +of my observation, looked up at me, and put out a spiritless hand +for his newspaper. Then he glanced again in my direction. + +I feigned to read. I feared I had unwittingly embarrassed +him, and in a moment I was surprised to find him speaking. + +"I beg your pardon?" said I. + +"That book," he repeated, pointing a lean finger, "is about +dreams." + +"Obviously," I answered, for it was Fortnum Roscoe's Dream +States, and the title was on the cover. + +He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. "Yes," he +said at last, "but they tell you nothing." + +I did not catch his meaning for a second. + +"They don't know," he added. + +I looked a little more attentively at his face. + +"There are dreams," he said, "and dreams." + +That sort of proposition I never dispute. + +"I suppose--" he hesitated. "Do you ever dream? I mean +vividly." + +"I dream very little," I answered. "I doubt if I have three +vivid dreams in a year." + +"Ah!" he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his +thoughts. + +"Your dreams don't mix with your memories?" he asked abruptly. +"You don't find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did it not?" + +"Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and +then. I suppose few people do." + +"Does he say--?" He indicated the book. + +"Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation +about intensity of impression and the like to account for its not +happening as a rule. I suppose you know something of these +theories--" + +"Very little--except that they are wrong." + +His emaciated hand played with the strap of the window for a +time. I prepared to resume reading, and that seemed to precipitate +his next remark. He leant forward almost as though he would touch +me. + +"Isn't there something called consecutive dreaming--that goes +on night after night?" + +"I believe there is. There are cases given in most books on +mental trouble." + +"Mental trouble! Yes. I daresay there are. It's the right +place for them. But what I mean--" He looked at his bony +knuckles. "Is that sort of thing always dreaming? Is it dreaming? +Or is it something else? Mightn't it be something else?" + +I should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the +drawn anxiety of his face. I remember now the look of his faded +eyes and the lids red stained--perhaps you know that look. + +"I'm not just arguing about a matter of opinion," he said. +"The thing's killing me." + +"Dreams?" + +"If you call them dreams. Night after night. Vivid!--so +vivid . . . . this--" (he indicated the landscape that went +streaming by the window) "seems unreal in comparison! I can +scarcely remember who I am, what business I am on . . . ." + +He paused. "Even now--" + +"The dream is always the same--do you mean?" I asked. + +"It's over." + +"You mean?" + +"I died." + +"Died?" + +"Smashed and killed, and now, so much of me as that dream was, +is dead. Dead forever. I dreamt I was another man, you know, +living in a different part of the world and in a different time. +I dreamt that night after night. Night after night I woke into +that other life. Fresh scenes and fresh happenings--until I came +upon the last--" + +"When you died?" + +"When I died." + +"And since then--" + +"No," he said. "Thank God! That was the end of the dream . . ." + +It was clear I was in for this dream. And after all, I had an +hour before me, the light was fading fast, and Fortnum Roscoe has +a dreary way with him. "Living in a different time," I said: "do +you mean in some different age?" + +"Yes." + +"Past?" + +"No, to come--to come." + +"The year three thousand, for example?" + +"I don't know what year it was. I did when I was asleep, when +I was dreaming, that is, but not now--not now that I am awake. +There's a lot of things I have forgotten since I woke out of these +dreams, though I knew them at the time when I was--I suppose it was +dreaming. They called the year differently from our way of calling +the year . . . What did they call it?" He put his hand to his +forehead. "No," said he, "I forget." + +He sat smiling weakly. For a moment I feared he did not mean +to tell me his dream. As a rule I hate people who tell their +dreams, but this struck me differently. I proffered assistance +even. "It began--" I suggested. + +"It was vivid from the first. I seemed to wake up in it +suddenly. And it's curious that in these dreams I am speaking of +I never remembered this life I am living now. It seemed as if the +dream life was enough while it lasted. Perhaps--But I will tell +you how I find myself when I do my best to recall it all. I don't +remember anything clearly until I found myself sitting in a sort of +loggia looking out over the sea. I had been dozing, and suddenly +I woke up--fresh and vivid--not a bit dreamlike--because the girl +had stopped fanning me." + +"The girl?" + +"Yes, the girl. You must not interrupt or you will put me +out." + +He stopped abruptly. "You won't think I'm mad?" he said. + +"No," I answered. "You've been dreaming. Tell me your +dream." + +"I woke up, I say, because the girl had stopped fanning me. +I was not surprised to find myself there or anything of that sort, +you understand. I did not feel I had fallen into it suddenly. I +simply took it up at that point. Whatever memory I had of this +life, this nineteenth-century life, faded as I woke, vanished like +a dream. I knew all about myself, knew that my name was no longer +Cooper but Hedon, and all about my position in the world. I've +forgotten a lot since I woke--there's a want of connection--but it +was all quite clear and matter of fact then." + +He hesitated again, gripping the window strap, putting his +face forward and looking up to me appealingly. + +"This seems bosh to you?" + +"No, no!" I cried. "Go on. Tell me what this loggia was +like!" + +"It was not really a loggia--I don't know what to call it. It +faced south. It was small. It was all in shadow except the +semicircle above the balcony that showed the sky and sea and the +corner where the girl stood. I was on a couch--it was a metal +couch with light striped cushions--and the girl was leaning over +the balcony with her back to me. The light of the sunrise fell on +her ear and cheek. Her pretty white neck and the little curls +that nestled there, and her white shoulder were in the sun, and +all the grace of her body was in the cool blue shadow. She was +dressed--how can I describe it? It was easy and flowing. And +altogether there she stood, so that it came to me how beautiful +and desirable she was, as though I had never seen her before. +And when at last I sighed and raised myself upon my arm she +turned her face to me--" + +He stopped. + +"I have lived three-and-fifty years in this world. I have had +mother, sisters, friends, wife and daughters--all their faces, the +play of their faces, I know. But the face of this girl--it is much +more real to me. I can bring it back into memory so that I see it +again--I could draw it or paint it. And after all--" + +He stopped--but I said nothing. + +"The face of a dream--the face of a dream. She was beautiful. +Not that beauty which is terrible, cold, and worshipful, like the +beauty of a saint; nor that beauty that stirs fierce passions; but +a sort of radiation, sweet lips that softened into smiles, and +grave gray eyes. And she moved gracefully, she seemed to have part +with all pleasant and gracious things--" + +He stopped, and his face was downcast and hidden. Then he +looked up at me and went on, making no further attempt to disguise +his absolute belief in the reality of his story. + +"You see, I had thrown up my plans and ambitions, thrown up +all I had ever worked for or desired for her sake. I had been a +master man away there in the north, with influence and property and +a great reputation, but none of it had seemed worth having beside +her. I had come to the place, this city of sunny pleasures with +her, and left all those things to wreck and ruin just to save a +remnant at least of my life. While I had been in love with her +before I knew that she had any care for me, before I had imagined +that she would dare--that we should dare, all my life had seemed +vain and hollow, dust and ashes. It was dust and ashes. Night +after night and through the long days I had longed and desired--my +soul had beaten against the thing forbidden! + +"But it is impossible for one man to tell another just these +things. It's emotion, it's a tint, a light that comes and goes. +Only while it's there, everything changes, everything. The thing +is I came away and left them in their Crisis to do what they +could." + +"Left whom?" I asked, puzzled. + +"The people up in the north there. You see--in this dream, +anyhow--I had been a big man, the sort of man men come to trust in, +to group themselves about. Millions of men who had never seen me +were ready to do things and risk things because of their confidence +in me. I had been playing that game for years, that big laborious +game, that vague, monstrous political game amidst intrigues and +betrayals, speech and agitation. It was a vast weltering world, +and at last I had a sort of leadership against the Gang--you know +it was called the Gang--a sort of compromise of scoundrelly +projects and base ambitions and vast public emotional stupidities +and catch-words--the Gang that kept the world noisy and blind year +by year, and all the while that it was drifting, drifting towards +infinite disaster. But I can't expect you to understand the shades +and complications of the year--the year something or other ahead. +I had it all--down to the smallest details--in my dream. I suppose +I had been dreaming of it before I awoke, and the fading outline of +some queer new development I had imagined still hung about me as I +rubbed my eyes. It was some grubby affair that made me thank God +for the sunlight. I sat up on the couch and remained looking at +the woman and rejoicing--rejoicing that I had come away out of all +that tumult and folly and violence before it was too late. After +all, I thought, this is life--love and beauty, desire and delight, +are they not worth all those dismal struggles for vague, gigantic +ends? And I blamed myself for having ever sought to be a leader +when I might have given my days to love. But then, thought I, if +I had not spent my early days sternly and austerely, I might have +wasted myself upon vain and worthless women, and at the thought all +my being went out in love and tenderness to my dear mistress, my +dear lady, who had come at last and compelled me--compelled me by +her invincible charm for me--to lay that life aside. + +"'You are worth it,' I said, speaking without intending her to +hear; 'you are worth it, my dearest one; worth pride and praise and +all things. Love! to have you is worth them all together." And at +the murmur of my voice she turned about. + +"'Come and see,' she cried--I can hear her now--'come and see +the sunrise upon Monte Solaro.' + +"I remember how I sprang to my feet and joined her at the +balcony. She put a white hand upon my shoulder and pointed towards +great masses of limestone, flushing, as it were, into life. I +looked. But first I noted the sunlight on her face caressing the +lines of her cheeks and neck. How can I describe to you the scene +we had before us? We were at Capri--" + +"I have been there," I said. "I have clambered up Monte +Solaro and drunk vero Capri--muddy stuff like cider--at the +summit." + +"Ah!" said the man with the white face; "then perhaps you can +tell me--you will know if this is indeed Capri. For in this life +I have never been there. Let me describe it. We were in a little +room, one of a vast multitude of little rooms, very cool and sunny, +hollowed out of the limestone of a sort of cape, very high above +the sea. The whole island, you know, was one enormous hotel, +complex beyond explaining, and on the other side there were miles +of floating hotels, and huge floating stages to which the flying +machines came. They called it a pleasure city. Of course, there +was none of that in your time--rather, I should say, is none of +that now. Of course. Now!--yes. + +"Well, this room of ours was at the extremity of the cape, so +that one could see east and west. Eastward was a great cliff--a +thousand feet high perhaps--coldly gray except for one bright edge +of gold, and beyond it the Isle of the Sirens, and a falling coast +that faded and passed into the hot sunrise. And when one turned to +the west, distinct and near was a little bay, a little beach still +in shadow. And out of that shadow rose Solaro straight and tall, +flushed and golden crested, like a beauty throned, and the white +moon was floating behind her in the sky. And before us from east +to west stretched the many-tinted sea all dotted with little +sailing boats. + +"To the eastward, of course, these little boats were gray and +very minute and clear, but to the westward they were little boats +of gold--shining gold--almost like little flames. And just below +us was a rock with an arch worn through it. The blue sea-water +broke to green and foam all round the rock, and a galley came +gliding out of the arch." + +"I know that rock." I said. "I was nearly drowned there. It +is called the Faraglioni." + +"I Faraglioni? Yes, she called it that," answered the man +with the white face. "There was some story--but that--" + +He put his hand to his forehead again. "No," he said, "I +forget that story." + +"Well, that is the first thing I remember, the first dream I +had, that little shaded room and the beautiful air and sky and that +dear lady of mine, with her shining arms and her graceful robe, and +how we sat and talked in half whispers to one another. We talked +in whispers not because there was any one to hear, but because +there was still such a freshness of mind between us that our +thoughts were a little frightened, I think, to find themselves at +last in words. And so they went softly. + +"Presently we were hungry and we went from our apartment, +going by a strange passage with a moving floor, until we came to +the great breakfast room--there was a fountain and music. A +pleasant and joyful place it was, with its sunlight and splashing, +and the murmur of plucked strings. And we sat and ate and smiled +at one another, and I would not heed a man who was watching me from +a table near by. + +"And afterwards we went on to the dancing-hall. But I cannot +describe that hall. The place was enormous--larger than any +building you have ever seen--and in one place there was the old +gate of Capri, caught into the wall of a gallery high overhead. +Light girders, stems and threads of gold, burst from the pillars +like fountains, streamed like an Aurora across the roof and +interlaced, like--like conjuring tricks. All about the great +circle for the dancers there were beautiful figures, strange +dragons, and intricate and wonderful grotesques bearing lights. +The place was inundated with artificial light that shamed the +newborn day. And as we went through the throng the people turned +about and looked at us, for all through the world my name and face +were known, and how I had suddenly thrown up pride and struggle to +come to this place. And they looked also at the lady beside me, +though half the story of how at last she had come to me was unknown +or mistold. And few of the men who were there, I know, but judged +me a happy man, in spite of all the shame and dishonour that had +come upon my name. + +"The air was full of music, full of harmonious scents, full of +the rhythm of beautiful motions. Thousands of beautiful people +swarmed about the hall, crowded the galleries, sat in a myriad +recesses; they were dressed in splendid colours and crowned with +flowers; thousands danced about the great circle beneath the white +images of the ancient gods, and glorious processions of youths and +maidens came and went. We two danced, not the dreary monotonies of +your days--of this time, I mean--but dances that were beautiful, +intoxicating. And even now I can see my lady dancing--dancing +joyously. She danced, you know, with a serious face; she danced +with a serious dignity, and yet she was smiling at me and caressing +me--smiling and caressing with her eyes. + +"The music was different," he murmured. "It went--I cannot +describe it; but it was infinitely richer and more varied than any +music that has ever come to me awake. + +"And then--it was when we had done dancing--a man came to +speak to me. He was a lean, resolute man, very soberly clad for +that place, and already I had marked his face watching me in the +breakfasting hall, and afterwards as we went along the passage I +had avoided his eye. But now, as we sat in a little alcove, +smiling at the pleasure of all the people who went to and fro +across the shining floor, he came and touched me, and spoke to me +so that I was forced to listen. And he asked that he might speak +to me for a little time apart. + +"'No,' I said. 'I have no secrets from this lady. What do +you want to tell me?' + +"He said it was a trivial matter, or at least a dry matter, +for a lady to hear. + +"'Perhaps for me to hear,' said I. + +"He glanced at her, as though almost he would appeal to her. +Then he asked me suddenly if I had heard of a great and avenging +declaration that Evesham had made? Now, Evesham had always before +been the man next to myself in the leadership of that great party +in the north. He was a forcible, hard, and tactless man, and only +I had been able to control and soften him. It was on his account +even more than my own, I think, that the others had been so +dismayed at my retreat. So this question about what he had done +reawakened my old interest in the life I had put aside just for +a moment. + +"'I have taken no heed of any news for many days,' I said. +'What has Evesham been saying?' + +"And with that the man began, nothing loth, and I must confess +even I was struck by Evesham's reckless folly in the wild and +threatening words he had used. And this messenger they had sent to +me not only told me of Evesham's speech, but went on to ask counsel +and to point out what need they had of me. While he talked, my +lady sat a little forward and watched his face and mine. + +"My old habits of scheming and organising reasserted +themselves. I could even see myself suddenly returning to the +north, and all the dramatic effect of it. All that this man said +witnessed to the disorder of the party indeed, but not to its +damage. I should go back stronger than I had come. And then I +thought of my lady. You see--how can I tell you? There were +certain peculiarities of our relationship--as things are I need not +tell you about that--which would render her presence with me +impossible. I should have had to leave her; indeed, I should have +had to renounce her clearly and openly, if I was to do all that I +could do in the north. And the man knew that, even as he talked to +her and me, knew it as well as she did, that my steps to duty +were--first, separation, then abandonment. At the touch of that +thought my dream of a return was shattered. I turned on the man +suddenly, as he was imagining his eloquence was gaining ground with +me. + +"'What have I to do with these things now?' I said. 'I have +done with them. Do you think I am coquetting with your people in +coming here?' + +"'No,' he said. 'But--' + +"'Why cannot you leave me alone. I have done with these +things. I have ceased to be anything but a private man.' + +"'Yes,' he answered. 'But have you thought?--this talk of +war, these reckless challenges, these wild aggressions--' + +"I stood up. + +"'No,' I cried. 'I won't hear you. I took count of all those +things, I weighed them--and I have come away.' + +"He seemed to consider the possibility of persistence. He +looked from me to where the lady sat regarding us. + +"'War,' he said, as if he were speaking to himself, and then +turned slowly from me and walked away. + +"I stood, caught in the whirl of thoughts his appeal had set +going. + +"I heard my lady's voice. + +"'Dear,' she said; 'but if they had need of you--' + +"She did not finish her sentence, she let it rest there. I +turned to her sweet face, and the balance of my mood swayed and +reeled. + +"'They want me only to do the thing they dare not do +themselves,' I said. 'If they distrust Evesham they must settle +with him themselves.' + +"She looked at me doubtfully. + +"'But war--' she said. + +"I saw a doubt on her face that I had seen before, a doubt of +herself and me, the first shadow of the discovery that, seen +strongly and completely, must drive us apart for ever. + +"Now, I was an older mind than hers, and I could sway her to +this belief or that. + +"'My dear one,' I said, 'you must not trouble over these +things. There will be no war. Certainly there will be no war. +The age of wars is past. Trust me to know the justice of this +case. They have no right upon me, dearest, and no one has a right +upon me. I have been free to choose my life, and I have chosen +this.' + +"'But war--,' she said. + +"I sat down beside her. I put an arm behind her and took her +hand in mine. I set myself to drive that doubt away--I set myself +to fill her mind with pleasant things again. I lied to her, and in +lying to her I lied also to myself. And she was only too ready to +believe me, only too ready to forget. + +"Very soon the shadow had gone again, and we were hastening to +our bathing-place in the Grotta del Bovo Marino, where it was our +custom to bathe every day. We swam and splashed one another, and +in that buoyant water I seemed to become something lighter and +stronger than a man. And at last we came out dripping and +rejoicing and raced among the rocks. And then I put on a dry +bathing-dress, and we sat to bask in the sun, and presently I +nodded, resting my head against her knee, and she put her hand upon +my hair and stroked it softly and I dozed. And behold! as it +were with the snapping of the string of a violin, I was awakening, +and I was in my own bed in Liverpool, in the life of to-day. + +"Only for a time I could not believe that all these vivid +moments had been no more than the substance of a dream. + +"In truth, I could not believe it a dream for all the sobering +reality of things about me. I bathed and dressed as it were by +habit, and as I shaved I argued why I of all men should leave the +woman I loved to go back to fantastic politics in the hard and +strenuous north. Even if Evesham did force the world back to war, +what was that to me? I was a man with the heart of a man, and why +should I feel the responsibility of a deity for the way the world +might go? + +"You know that is not quite the way I think about affairs, +about my real affairs. I am a solicitor, you know, with a point of +view. + +"The vision was so real, you must understand, so utterly +unlike a dream that I kept perpetually recalling little irrelevant +details; even the ornament of the book-cover that lay on my wife's +sewing-machine in the breakfast-room recalled with the utmost +vividness the gilt line that ran about the seat in the alcove where +I had talked with the messenger from my deserted party. Have you +ever heard of a dream that had a quality like that?" + +"Like--?" + +"So that afterwards you remembered little details you had +forgotten." + +I thought. I had never noticed the point before, but he was +right. + +"Never," I said. "That is what you never seem to do with +dreams." + +"No," he answered. "But that is just what I did. I am a solicitor, +you must understand, in Liverpool, and I could not help wondering +what the clients and business people I found myself talking to in my +office would think if I told them suddenly I was in love with a girl +who would be born a couple of hundred years or so hence, and worried +about the politics of my great-great-great-grandchildren. I was +chiefly busy that day negotiating a ninety-nine-year building lease. +It was a private builder in a hurry, and we wanted to tie him in +every possible way. I had an interview with him, and he showed a +certain want of temper that sent me to bed still irritated. That +night I had no dream. Nor did I dream the next night, at least, +to remember. + +"Something of that intense reality of conviction vanished. I +began to feel sure it was a dream. And then it came again. + +"When the dream came again, nearly four days later, it was +very different. I think it certain that four days had also elapsed +in the dream. Many things had happened in the north, and the +shadow of them was back again between us, and this time it was not +so easily dispelled. I began I know with moody musings. Why, in +spite of all, should I go back, go back for all the rest of my days +to toil and stress, insults and perpetual dissatisfaction, simply +to save hundreds of millions of common people, whom I did not love, +whom too often I could do no other than despise, from the stress +and anguish of war and infinite misrule? And after all I might +fail. They all sought their own narrow ends, and why should not +I--why should not I also live as a man? And out of such thoughts +her voice summoned me, and I lifted my eyes. + +"I found myself awake and walking. We had come out above the +Pleasure City, we were near the summit of Monte Solaro and looking +towards the bay. It was the late afternoon and very clear. Far +away to the left Ischia hung in a golden haze between sea and sky, +and Naples was coldly white against the hills, and before us was +Vesuvius with a tall and slender streamer feathering at last +towards the south, and the ruins of Torre dell' Annunziata and +Castellammare glittering and near." + +I interrupted suddenly: "You have been to Capri, of course?" + +"Only in this dream," he said, "only in this dream. All +across the bay beyond Sorrento were the floating palaces of the +Pleasure City moored and chained. And northward were the broad +floating stages that received the aeroplanes. Aeroplanes fell out +of the sky every afternoon, each bringing its thousands of +pleasure-seekers from the uttermost parts of the earth to Capri and +its delights. All these things, I say, stretched below. + +"But we noticed them only incidentally because of an unusual +sight that evening had to show. Five war aeroplanes that had long +slumbered useless in the distant arsenals of the Rhinemouth were +manoeuvring now in the eastward sky. Evesham had astonished the +world by producing them and others, and sending them to circle here +and there. It was the threat material in the great game of bluff +he was playing, and it had taken even me by surprise. He was one +of those incredibly stupid energetic people who seem sent by heaven +to create disasters. His energy to the first glance seemed so +wonderfully like capacity! But he had no imagination, no +invention, only a stupid, vast, driving force of will, and a mad +faith in his stupid idiot 'luck' to pull him through. I remember +how we stood upon the headland watching the squadron circling far +away, and how I weighed the full meaning of the sight, seeing +clearly the way things must go. And then even it was not too late. +I might have gone back, I think, and saved the world. The people +of the north would follow me, I knew, granted only that in one +thing I respected their moral standards. The east and south would +trust me as they would trust no other northern man. And I knew +I had only to put it to her and she would have let me go . . . . +Not because she did not love me! + +"Only I did not want to go; my will was all the other way +about. I had so newly thrown off the incubus of responsibility: I +was still so fresh a renegade from duty that the daylight clearness +of what I ought to do had no power at all to touch my will. My +will was to live, to gather pleasures and make my dear lady happy. +But though this sense of vast neglected duties had no power to draw +me, it could make me silent and preoccupied, it robbed the days I +had spent of half their brightness and roused me into dark +meditations in the silence of the night. And as I stood and +watched Evesham's aeroplanes sweep to and fro--those birds of +infinite ill omen--she stood beside me watching me, perceiving the +trouble indeed, but not perceiving it clearly--her eyes questioning +my face, her expression shaded with perplexity. Her face was gray +because the sunset was fading out of the sky. It was no fault of +hers that she held me. She had asked me to go from her, and again +in the night time and with tears she had asked me to go. + +"At last it was the sense of her that roused me from my mood. +I turned upon her suddenly and challenged her to race down the +mountain slopes. 'No,' she said, as if I had jarred with her +gravity, but I was resolved to end that gravity, and make her +run--no one can be very gray and sad who is out of breath--and when +she stumbled I ran with my hand beneath her arm. We ran down past +a couple of men, who turned back staring in astonishment at my +behaviour--they must have recognised my face. And half way down +the slope came a tumult in the air, clang-clank, clang-clank, and +we stopped, and presently over the hill-crest those war things came +flying one behind the other." + +The man seemed hesitating on the verge of a description. + +"What were they like?" I asked. + +"They had never fought," he said. "They were just like our +ironclads are nowadays; they had never fought. No one knew what +they might do, with excited men inside them; few even cared to +speculate. They were great driving things shaped like spear-heads +without a shaft, with a propeller in the place of the shaft." + +"Steel?" + +"Not steel." + +"Aluminum?" + +"No, no, nothing of that sort. An alloy that was very +common--as common as brass, for example. It was called--let me +see--" He squeezed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. "I +am forgetting everything," he said. + +"And they carried guns?" + +"Little guns, firing high explosive shells. They fired the +guns backwards, out of the base of the leaf, so to speak, and +rammed with the beak. That was the theory, you know, but they had +never been fought. No one could tell exactly what was going to +happen. And meanwhile I suppose it was very fine to go whirling +through the air like a flight of young swallows, swift and easy. +I guess the captains tried not to think too clearly what the real +thing would be like. And these flying war machines, you know, were +only one sort of the endless war contrivances that had been +invented and had fallen into abeyance during the long peace. There +were all sorts of these things that people were routing out and +furbishing up; infernal things, silly things; things that had never +been tried; big engines, terrible explosives, great guns. You know +the silly way of these ingenious sort of men who make these things; +they turn 'em out as beavers build dams, and with no more sense of +the rivers they're going to divert and the lands they're going to +flood! + +"As we went down the winding stepway to our hotel again, in +the twilight, I foresaw it all: I saw how clearly and inevitably +things were driving for war in Evesham's silly, violent hands, and +I had some inkling of what war was bound to be under these new +conditions. And even then, though I knew it was drawing near the +limit of my opportunity, I could find no will to go back." + +He sighed. + +"That was my last chance. + +"We didn't go into the city until the sky was full of stars, +so we walked out upon the high terrace, to and fro, and--she +counselled me to go back. + +"'My dearest,' she said, and her sweet face looked up to me, +'this is Death. This life you lead is Death. Go back to them, go +back to your duty--' + +"She began to weep, saying, between her sobs, and clinging to +my arm as she said it, 'Go back--Go back.' + +"Then suddenly she fell mute, and, glancing down at her face, +I read in an instant the thing she had thought to do. It was one +of those moments when one sees. + +"'No!' I said. + +"'No?' she asked, in surprise and I think a little fearful at +the answer to her thought. + +"'Nothing,' I said, 'shall send me back. Nothing! I have +chosen. Love, I have chosen, and the world must go. Whatever +happens I will live this life--I will live for you! It--nothing +shall turn me aside; nothing, my dear one. Even if you died--even +if you died--' + +"'Yes?' she murmured, softly. + +"'Then--I also would die.' + +"And before she could speak again I began to talk, talking +eloquently--as I could do in that life--talking to exalt love, to +make the life we were living seem heroic and glorious; and the +thing I was deserting something hard and enormously ignoble that it +was a fine thing to set aside. I bent all my mind to throw that +glamour upon it, seeking not only to convert her but myself to +that. We talked, and she clung to me, torn too between all that +she deemed noble and all that she knew was sweet. And at last I +did make it heroic, made all the thickening disaster of the world +only a sort of glorious setting to our unparalleled love, and we +two poor foolish souls strutted there at last, clad in that +splendid delusion, drunken rather with that glorious delusion, +under the still stars. + +"And so my moment passed. + +"It was my last chance. Even as we went to and fro there, the +leaders of the south and east were gathering their resolve, and the +hot answer that shattered Evesham's bluffing for ever, took shape and +waited. And, all over Asia, and the ocean, and the South, the air +and the wires were throbbing with their warnings to prepare--prepare. + +"No one living, you know, knew what war was; no one could +imagine, with all these new inventions, what horror war might +bring. I believe most people still believed it would be a matter +of bright uniforms and shouting charges and triumphs and flags and +bands--in a time when half the world drew its food supply from +regions ten thousand miles away--" + +The man with the white face paused. I glanced at him, and his +face was intent on the floor of the carriage. A little railway +station, a string of loaded trucks, a signal-box, and the back of +a cottage, shot by the carriage window, and a bridge passed with a +clap of noise, echoing the tumult of the train. + +"After that," he said, "I dreamt often. For three weeks of +nights that dream was my life. And the worst of it was there were +nights when I could not dream, when I lay tossing on a bed in this +accursed life; and there--somewhere lost to me--things were +happening--momentous, terrible things . . . I lived at nights--my +days, my waking days, this life I am living now, became a faded, +far-away dream, a drab setting, the cover of the book." + +He thought. + +"I could tell you all, tell you every little thing in the +dream, but as to what I did in the daytime--no. I could not +tell--I do not remember. My memory--my memory has gone. The +business of life slips from me--" + +He leant forward, and pressed his hands upon his eyes. For a +long time he said nothing. + +"And then?" said I. + +"The war burst like a hurricane." + +He stared before him at unspeakable things. + +"And then?" I urged again. + +"One touch of unreality," he said, in the low tone of a man +who speaks to himself, "and they would have been nightmares. +But they were not nightmares--they were not nightmares. No!" + +He was silent for so long that it dawned upon me that there +was a danger of losing the rest of the story. But he went on +talking again in the same tone of questioning self-communion. + +"What was there to do but flight? I had not thought the war +would touch Capri--I had seemed to see Capri as being out of it +all, as the contrast to it all; but two nights after the whole +place was shouting and bawling, every woman almost and every other +man wore a badge--Evesham's badge--and there was no music but a +jangling war-song over and over again, and everywhere men +enlisting, and in the dancing halls they were drilling. The whole +island was awhirl with rumours; it was said, again and again, that +fighting had begun. I had not expected this. I had seen so little +of the life of pleasure that I had failed to reckon with this +violence of the amateurs. And as for me, I was out of it. I was +like the man who might have prevented the firing of a magazine. +The time had gone. I was no one; the vainest stripling with a +badge counted for more than I. The crowd jostled us and bawled in +our ears; that accursed song deafened us; a woman shrieked at my +lady because no badge was on her, and we two went back to our own +place again, ruffled and insulted--my lady white and silent, and I +aquiver with rage. So furious was I, I could have quarrelled with +her if I could have found one shade of accusation in her eyes. + +"All my magnificence had gone from me. I walked up and down +our rock cell, and outside was the darkling sea and a light to the +southward that flared and passed and came again. + +"'We must get out of this place,' I said over and over. 'I +have made my choice, and I will have no hand in these troubles. I +will have nothing of this war. We have taken our lives out of all +these things. This is no refuge for us. Let us go.' + +"And the next day we were already in flight from the war that +covered the world. + +"And all the rest was Flight--all the rest was Flight." + +He mused darkly. + +"How much was there of it?" + +He made no answer. + +"How many days?" + +His face was white and drawn and his hands were clenched. He +took no heed of my curiosity. + +I tried to draw him back to his story with questions. + +"Where did you go?" I said. + +"When?" + +"When you left Capri." + +"South-west," he said, and glanced at me for a second. "We +went in a boat." + +"But I should have thought an aeroplane?" + +"They had been seized." + +I questioned him no more. Presently I thought he was beginning +again. He broke out in an argumentative monotone: + +"But why should it be? If, indeed, this battle, this +slaughter and stress is life, why have we this craving for pleasure +and beauty? If there is no refuge, if there is no place of peace, +and if all our dreams of quiet places are a folly and a snare, why +have we such dreams? Surely it was no ignoble cravings, no base +intentions, had brought us to this; it was Love had isolated us. +Love had come to me with her eyes and robed in her beauty, more +glorious than all else in life, in the very shape and colour of +life, and summoned me away. I had silenced all the voices, I had +answered all the questions--I had come to her. And suddenly there +was nothing but War and Death!" + +I had an inspiration. "After all," I said, "it could have +been only a dream." + +"A dream!" he cried, flaming upon me, "a dream--when, even +now--" + +For the first time he became animated. A faint flush crept +into his cheek. He raised his open hand and clenched it, and +dropped it to his knee. He spoke, looking away from me, and for +all the rest of the time he looked away. "We are but phantoms!" he +said, "and the phantoms of phantoms, desires like cloud-shadows and +wills of straw that eddy in the wind; the days pass, use and wont +carry us through as a train carries the shadow of its lights--so be +it! But one thing is real and certain, one thing is no dream-stuff, +but eternal and enduring. It is the centre of my life, and +all other things about it are subordinate or altogether vain. I +loved her, that woman of a dream. And she and I are dead together! + +"A dream! How can it be a dream, when it drenched a living +life with unappeasable sorrow, when it makes all that I have lived +for and cared for, worthless and unmeaning? + +"Until that very moment when she was killed I believed we had +still a chance of getting away," he said. "All through the night +and morning that we sailed across the sea from Capri to Salerno, we +talked of escape. We were full of hope, and it clung about us to +the end, hope for the life together we should lead, out of it all, +out of the battle and struggle, the wild and empty passions, the +empty arbitrary 'thou shalt' and 'thou shalt not' of the world. We +were uplifted, as though our quest was a holy thing, as though love +for another was a mission . . . . + +"Even when from our boat we saw the fair face of that great +rock Capri--already scarred and gashed by the gun emplacements and +hiding-places that were to make it a fastness--we reckoned nothing +of the imminent slaughter, though the fury of preparation hung +about in the puffs and clouds of dust at a hundred points amidst +the gray; but, indeed, I made a text of that and talked. There, +you know, was the rock, still beautiful for all its scars, with its +countless windows and arches and ways, tier upon tier, for a +thousand feet, a vast carving of gray, broken by vine-clad +terraces, and lemon and orange groves, and masses of agave and +prickly pear, and puffs of almond blossom. And out under the +archway that is built over the Piccola Marina other boats were +coming; and as we came round the cape and within sight of the +mainland, another little string of boats came into view, driving +before the wind towards the south-west. In a little while a +multitude had come out, the remoter just little specks of +ultramarine in the shadow of the eastward cliff. + +"'It is love and reason,' I said, 'fleeing from all this +madness of war.' + +"And though we presently saw a squadron of aeroplanes flying +across the southern sky we did not heed it. There it was--a line +of little dots in the sky--and then more, dotting the south-eastern +horizon, and then still more, until all that quarter of the sky was +stippled with blue specks. Now they were all thin little strokes +of blue, and now one and now a multitude would heel and catch the +sun and become short flashes of light. They came, rising and +falling and growing larger, like some huge flight of gulls or rooks +or such-like birds, moving with a marvellous uniformity, and ever +as they drew nearer they spread over a greater width of sky. The +southward wind flung itself in an arrow-headed cloud athwart the +sun. And then suddenly they swept round to the eastward and +streamed eastward, growing smaller and smaller and clearer and +clearer again until they vanished from the sky. And after that we +noted to the northward and very high Evesham's fighting machines +hanging high over Naples like an evening swarm of gnats. + +"It seemed to have no more to do with us than a flight of +birds. + +"Even the mutter of guns far away in the south-east seemed to +us to signify nothing . . . + +"Each day, each dream after that, we were still exalted, still +seeking that refuge where we might live and love. Fatigue had come +upon us, pain and many distresses. For though we were dusty and +stained by our toilsome tramping, and half starved and with the +horror of the dead men we had seen and the flight of the +peasants--for very soon a gust of fighting swept up the +peninsula--with these things haunting our minds it still resulted +only in a deepening resolution to escape. Oh, but she was brave +and patient! She who had never faced hardship and exposure had +courage for herself and me. We went to and fro seeking an outlet, +over a country all commandeered and ransacked by the gathering +hosts of war. Always we went on foot. At first there were other +fugitives, but we did not mingle with them. Some escaped +northward, some were caught in the torrent of peasantry that swept +along the main roads; many gave themselves into the hands of the +soldiery and were sent northward. Many of the men were impressed. +But we kept away from these things; we had brought no money to +bribe a passage north, and I feared for my lady at the hands of +these conscript crowds. We had landed at Salerno, and we had been +turned back from Cava, and we had tried to cross towards Taranto by +a pass over Mount Alburno, but we had been driven back for want of +food, and so we had come down among the marshes by Paestum, where +those great temples stand alone. I had some vague idea that by +Paestum it might be possible to find a boat or something, and take +once more to sea. And there it was the battle overtook us. + +"A sort of soul-blindness had me. Plainly I could see that we +were being hemmed in; that the great net of that giant Warfare had +us in its toils. Many times we had seen the levies that had come +down from the north going to and fro, and had come upon them in the +distance amidst the mountains making ways for the ammunition and +preparing the mounting of the guns. Once we fancied they had fired +at us, taking us for spies--at any rate a shot had gone shuddering +over us. Several times we had hidden in woods from hovering +aeroplanes. + +"But all these things do not matter now, these nights of +flight and pain . . . We were in an open place near those great +temples at Paestum, at last, on a blank stony place dotted with +spiky bushes, empty and desolate and so flat that a grove of +eucalyptus far away showed to the feet of its stems. How I can see +it! My lady was sitting down under a bush resting a little, for +she was very weak and weary, and I was standing up watching to see +if I could tell the distance of the firing that came and went. +They were still, you know, fighting far from each other, with those +terrible new weapons that had never before been used: guns that +would carry beyond sight, and aeroplanes that would do--What they +would do no man could foretell. + +"I knew that we were between the two armies, and that they +drew together. I knew we were in danger, and that we could not +stop there and rest! + +"Though all these things were in my mind, they were in the +background. They seemed to be affairs beyond our concern. +Chiefly, I was thinking of my lady. An aching distress filled me. +For the first time she had owned herself beaten and had fallen +a-weeping. Behind me I could hear her sobbing, but I would not +turn round to her because I knew she had need of weeping, and had +held herself so far and so long for me. It was well, I thought, +that she would weep and rest and then we would toil on again, for +I had no inkling of the thing that hung so near. Even now I can +see her as she sat there, her lovely hair upon her shoulder, can +mark again the deepening hollow of her cheek. + +"'If we had parted,' she said, 'if I had let you go.' + +"'No,' said I.' Even now, I do not repent. I will not repent; +I made my choice, and I will hold on to the end.' + +"And then-- + +"Overhead in the sky flashed something and burst, and all +about us I heard the bullets making a noise like a handful of peas +suddenly thrown. They chipped the stones about us, and whirled +fragments from the bricks and passed . . . ." + +He put his hand to his mouth, and then moistened his lips. + +"At the flash I had turned about . . . + +"You know--she stood up-- + +"She stood up, you know, and moved a step towards me--as +though she wanted to reach me-- + +"And she had been shot through the heart." + +He stopped and stared at me. I felt all that foolish +incapacity an Englishman feels on such occasions. I met his eyes +for a moment, and then stared out of the window. For a long space +we kept silence. When at last I looked at him he was sitting back +in his corner, his arms folded, and his teeth gnawing at his +knuckles. + +He bit his nail suddenly, and stared at it. + +"I carried her," he said, "towards the temples, in my arms--as +though it mattered. I don't know why. They seemed a sort of +sanctuary, you know, they had lasted so long, I suppose. + +"She must have died almost instantly. Only--I talked to her +all the way." + +Silence again. + +"I have seen those temples," I said abruptly, and indeed he +had brought those still, sunlit arcades of worn sandstone very +vividly before me. + +"It was the brown one, the big brown one. I sat down on a +fallen pillar and held her in my arms . . . Silent after the first +babble was over. And after a little while the lizards came out and +ran about again, as though nothing unusual was going on, as though +nothing had changed . . . It was tremendously still there, the sun +high and the shadows still; even the shadows of the weeds upon the +entablature were still--in spite of the thudding and banging that +went all about the sky. + +"I seem to remember that the aeroplanes came up out of the +south, and that the battle went away to the west. One aeroplane +was struck, and overset and fell. I remember that--though it +didn't interest me in the least. It didn't seem to signify. It +was like a wounded gull, you know--flapping for a time in the +water. I could see it down the aisle of the temple--a black thing +in the bright blue water. + +"Three or four times shells burst about the beach, and then +that ceased. Each time that happened all the lizards scuttled in +and hid for a space. That was all the mischief done, except that +once a stray bullet gashed the stone hard by--made just a fresh +bright surface. + +"As the shadows grew longer, the stillness seemed greater. + +"The curious thing," he remarked, with the manner of a man who +makes a trivial conversation, "is that I didn't _think_--at +all. I sat with her in my arms amidst the stones--in a sort of +lethargy--stagnant. + +"And I don't remember waking up. I don't remember dressing +that day. I know I found myself in my office, with my letters all +slit open in front of me, and how I was struck by the absurdity of +being there, seeing that in reality I was sitting, stunned, in that +Paestum Temple with a dead woman in my arms. I read my letters +like a machine. I have forgotten what they were about." + +He stopped, and there was a long silence. + +Suddenly I perceived that we were running down the incline +from Chalk Farm to Euston. I started at this passing of time. I +turned on him with a brutal question, with the tone of "Now or +never." + +"And did you dream again?" + +"Yes." + +He seemed to force himself to finish. His voice was very low. + +"Once more, and as it were only for a few instants. I seemed +to have suddenly awakened out of a great apathy, to have risen into +a sitting position, and the body lay there on the stones beside me. +A gaunt body. Not her, you know. So soon--it was not her . . . . + +"I may have heard voices. I do not know. Only I knew clearly +that men were coming into the solitude and that that was a last +outrage. + +"I stood up and walked through the temple, and then there came +into sight--first one man with a yellow face, dressed in a uniform +of dirty white, trimmed with blue, and then several, climbing to +the crest of the old wall of the vanished city, and crouching +there. They were little bright figures in the sunlight, and there +they hung, weapon in hand, peering cautiously before them. + +"And further away I saw others and then more at another point +in the wall. It was a long lax line of men in open order. + +"Presently the man I had first seen stood up and shouted a +command, and his men came tumbling down the wall and into the high +weeds towards the temple. He scrambled down with them and led +them. He came facing towards me, and when he saw me he stopped. + +"At first I had watched these men with a mere curiosity, but +when I had seen they meant to come to the temple I was moved to +forbid them. I shouted to the officer. + +"'You must not come here,' I cried, '_I_ am here. I am +here with my dead.' + +"He stared, and then shouted a question back to me in some +unknown tongue. + +"I repeated what I had said. + +"He shouted again, and I folded my arms and stood still. +Presently he spoke to his men and came forward. He carried a drawn +sword. + +"I signed to him to keep away, but he continued to advance. +I told him again very patiently and clearly: 'You must not come +here. These are old temples and I am here with my dead.' + +"Presently he was so close I could see his face clearly. It +was a narrow face, with dull gray eyes, and a black moustache. He +had a scar on his upper lip, and he was dirty and unshaven. He +kept shouting unintelligible things, questions, perhaps, at me. + +"I know now that he was afraid of me, but at the time that did +not occur to me. As I tried to explain to him, he interrupted me +in imperious tones, bidding me, I suppose, stand aside. + +"He made to go past me, and I caught hold of him. + +"I saw his face change at my grip. + +"'You fool,' I cried. 'Don't you know? She is dead!' + +"He started back. He looked at me with cruel eyes. I saw a +sort of exultant resolve leap into them--delight. Then, suddenly, +with a scowl, he swept his sword back--_so_--and thrust." + +He stopped abruptly. + +I became aware of a change in the rhythm of the train. The +brakes lifted their voices and the carriage jarred and jerked. +This present world insisted upon itself, became clamourous. I saw +through the steamy window huge electric fights glaring down from +tall masts upon a fog, saw rows of stationary empty carriages +passing by, and then a signal-box hoisting its constellation of +green and red into the murky London twilight, marched after them. +I looked again at his drawn features. + +"He ran me through the heart. It was with a sort of +astonishment--no fear, no pain--but just amazement, that I felt it +pierce me, felt the sword drive home into my body. It didn't hurt, +you know. It didn't hurt at all." + +The yellow platform lights came into the field of view, +passing first rapidly, then slowly, and at last stopping with a +jerk. Dim shapes of men passed to and fro without. + +"Euston!" cried a voice. + +"Do you mean--?" + +"There was no pain, no sting or smart. Amazement and then +darkness sweeping over everything. The hot, brutal face before me, +the face of the man who had killed me, seemed to recede. It swept +out of existence--" + +"Euston!" clamoured the voices outside; "Euston!" + +The carriage door opened admitting a flood of sound, and a +porter stood regarding us. The sounds of doors slamming, and the +hoof-clatter of cab-horses, and behind these things the featureless +remote roar of the London cobble-stones, came to my ears. A +truckload of lighted lamps blazed along the platform. + +"A darkness, a flood of darkness that opened and spread and +blotted out all things." + +"Any luggage, sir?" said the porter. + +"And that was the end?" I asked. + +He seemed to hesitate. Then, almost inaudibly, he answered, "_no_." + +"You mean?" + +"I couldn't get to her. She was there on the other side of the +temple-- And then--" + +"Yes," I insisted. "Yes?" + +"Nightmares," he cried; "nightmares indeed! My God! Great +birds that fought and tore." + + + + +THE CONE + +The night was hot and overcast, the sky red, rimmed with the +lingering sunset of mid-summer. They sat at the open window, +trying to fancy the air was fresher there. The trees and shrubs of +the garden stood stiff and dark; beyond in the roadway a gas-lamp +burnt, bright orange against the hazy blue of the evening. +Farther were the three lights of the railway signal against the +lowering sky. The man and woman spoke to one another in low tones. + +"He does not suspect?" said the man, a little nervously. + +"Not he," she said peevishly, as though that too irritated +her. "He thinks of nothing but the works and the prices of fuel. +He has no imagination, no poetry." + +"None of these men of iron have," he said sententiously. +"They have no hearts." + +"_He_ has not," she said. She turned her discontented +face towards the window. The distant sound of a roaring and +rushing drew nearer and grew in volume; the house quivered; one +heard the metallic rattle of the tender. As the train passed, +there was a glare of light above the cutting and a driving tumult +of smoke; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight black +oblongs--eight trucks--passed across the dim grey of the +embankment, and were suddenly extinguished one by one in the throat +of the tunnel, which, with the last, seemed to swallow down train, +smoke, and sound in one abrupt gulp. + +"This country was all fresh and beautiful once," he said; "and +now--it is Gehenna. Down that way--nothing but pot-banks and +chimneys belching fire and dust into the face of heaven . . . . . +But what does it matter? An end comes, an end to all this cruelty +. . . . . _To-morrow_." He spoke the last word in a whisper. + +"_To-morrow_," she said, speaking in a whisper too, and +still staring out of the window. + +"Dear!" he said, putting his hand on hers. + +She turned with a start, and their eyes searched one +another's. Hers softened to his gaze. "My dear one!" she said, +and then: "It seems so strange--that you should have come into my +life like this--to open--" She paused. + +"To open?" he said. + +"All this wonderful world--" she hesitated, and spoke still +more softly--"this world of _love_ to me." + +Then suddenly the door clicked and closed. They turned their +heads, and he started violently back. In the shadow of the room +stood a great shadowy figure--silent. They saw the face dimly in +the half-light, with unexpressive dark patches under the penthouse +brows. Every muscle in Raut's body suddenly became tense. When +could the door have opened? What had he heard? Had he heard all? +What had he seen? A tumult of questions. + +The new-comer's voice came at last, after a pause that seemed +interminable. "Well?" he said. + +"I was afraid I had missed you, Horrocks," said the man at the +window, gripping the window-ledge with his hand. His voice was +unsteady. + +The clumsy figure of Horrocks came forward out of the shadow. +He made no answer to Raut's remark. For a moment he stood above +them. + +The woman's heart was cold within her. "I told Mr. Raut it +was just possible you might come back," she said, in a voice that +never quivered. + +Horrocks, still silent, sat down abruptly in the chair by her +little work-table. His big hands were clenched; one saw now the +fire of his eyes under the shadow of his brows. He was trying to +get his breath. His eyes went from the woman he had trusted to the +friend he had trusted, and then back to the woman. + +By this time and for the moment all three half understood one +another. Yet none dared say a word to ease the pent-up things that +choked them. + +It was the husband's voice that broke the silence at last. + +"You wanted to see me?" he said to Raut. + +Raut started as he spoke. "I came to see you," he said, +resolved to lie to the last. + +"Yes," said Horrocks. + +"You promised," said Raut, "to show me some fine effects of +moonlight and smoke." + +"I promised to show you some fine effects of moonlight and +smoke," repeated Horrocks in a colourless voice. + +"And I thought I might catch you to-night before you went down +to the works," proceeded Raut, "and come with you." + +There was another pause. Did the man mean to take the thing +coolly? Did he after all know? How long had he been in the room? +Yet even at the moment when they heard the door, their attitudes. +. . . Horrocks glanced at the profile of the woman, shadowy pallid +in the half-light. Then he glanced at Raut, and seemed to recover +himself suddenly. "Of course," he said, "I promised to show you +the works under their proper dramatic conditions. It's odd how I +could have forgotten." + +"If I am troubling you--" began Raut. + +Horrocks started again. A new light had suddenly come into +the sultry gloom of his eyes. "Not in the least," he said. + +"Have you been telling Mr. Raut of all these contrasts of +flame and shadow you think so splendid?" said the woman, turning +now to her husband for the first time, her confidence creeping back +again, her voice just one half-note too high. "That dreadful +theory of yours that machinery is beautiful, and everything else in +the world ugly. I thought he would not spare you, Mr. Raut. It's +his great theory, his one discovery in art." + +"I am slow to make discoveries," said Horrocks grimly, damping +her suddenly. "But what I discover . . . . ." He stopped. + +"Well?" she said. + +"Nothing;" and suddenly he rose to his feet. + +"I promised to show you the works," he said to Raut, and put +his big, clumsy hand on his friend's shoulder. "And you are ready +to go?" + +"Quite," said Raut, and stood up also. + +There was another pause. Each of them peered through the +indistinctness of the dusk at the other two. Horrocks' hand still +rested on Raut's shoulder. Raut half fancied still that the +incident was trivial after all. But Mrs. Horrocks knew her husband +better, knew that grim quiet in his voice, and the confusion in her +mind took a vague shape of physical evil. "Very well", said +Horrocks, and, dropping his hand, turned towards the door. + +"My hat?" Raut looked round in the half-light. + +"That's my work-basket," said Mrs. Horrocks, with a gust of +hysterical laughter. Their hands came together on the back of the +chair. "Here it is!" he said. She had an impulse to warn him in +an undertone, but she could not frame a word. "Don't go!" and +"Beware of him!" struggled in her mind, and the swift moment +passed. + +"Got it?" said Horrocks, standing with the door half open. + +Raut stepped towards him. "Better say good-bye to Mrs. +Horrocks," said the ironmaster, even more grimly quiet in his tone +than before. + +Raut started and turned. "Good-evening, Mrs. Horrocks," he +said, and their hands touched. + +Horrocks held the door open with a ceremonial politeness +unusual in him towards men. Raut went out, and then, after a +wordless look at her, her husband followed. She stood motionless +while Raut's light footfall and her husband's heavy tread, like +bass and treble, passed down the passage together. The front door +slammed heavily. She went to the window, moving slowly, and stood +watching--leaning forward. The two men appeared for a moment at +the gateway in the road, passed under the street lamp, and were +hidden by the black masses of the shrubbery. The lamp-light fell +for a moment on their faces, showing only unmeaning pale patches, +telling nothing of what she still feared, and doubted, and craved +vainly to know. Then she sank down into a crouching attitude in +the big arm-chair, her eyes wide open and staring out at the red +lights from the furnaces that flickered in the sky. An hour after +she was still there, her attitude scarcely changed. + +The oppressive stillness of the evening weighed heavily upon +Raut. They went side by side down the road in silence, and in +silence turned into the cinder-made by-way that presently opened +out the prospect of the valley. + +A blue haze, half dust, half mist, touched the long valley +with mystery. Beyond were Hanley and Etruria, grey and dark +masses, outlined thinly by the rare golden dots of the street +lamps, and here and there a gaslit window, or the yellow glare of +some late-working factory or crowded public-house. Out of the +masses, clear and slender against the evening sky, rose a multitude +of tall chimneys, many of them reeking, a few smokeless during a +season of "play." Here and there a pallid patch and ghostly +stunted beehive shapes showed the position of a pot-bank, or a +wheel, black and sharp against the hot lower sky, marked some +colliery where they raise the iridescent coal of the place. Nearer +at hand was the broad stretch of railway, and half invisible trains +shunted--a steady puffing and rumbling, with every run a ringing +concussion and a rhythmic series of impacts, and a passage of +intermittent puffs of white steam across the further view. And +to the left, between the railway and the dark mass of the low hill +beyond, dominating the whole view, colossal, inky-black, and +crowned with smoke and fitful flames, stood the great cylinders of +the Jeddah Company Blast Furnaces, the central edifices of the big +ironworks of which Horrocks was the manager. They stood heavy and +threatening, full of an incessant turmoil of flames and seething +molten iron, and about the feet of them rattled the rolling-mills, +and the steam hammer beat heavily and splashed the white iron +sparks hither and thither. Even as they looked, a truckful of fuel +was shot into one of the giants, and the red flames gleamed out, +and a confusion of smoke and black dust came boiling upwards +towards the sky. + +"Certainly you get some fine effects of colour with your +furnaces," said Raut, breaking a silence that had become +apprehensive. + +Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets, +frowning down at the dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks +beyond, frowning as if he were thinking out some knotty problem. + +Raut glanced at him and away again. "At present your +moonlight effect is hardly ripe," he continued, looking upward. +"The moon is still smothered by the vestiges of daylight." + +Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has +suddenly awakened. "Vestiges of daylight? . . . . Of course, of +course." He too looked up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer +sky. "Come along," he said suddenly, and, gripping Raut's arm in +his hand, made a move towards the path that dropped from them to +the railway. + +Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in +a moment that their eyes came near to say. Horrocks' hand +tightened and then relaxed. He let go, and before Raut was aware +of it, they were arm in arm, and walking, one unwillingly enough, +down the path. + +"You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards +Burslem," said Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding +fast, and tightening the grip of his elbow the while. "Little +green lights and red and white lights, all against the haze. You +have an eye for effect, Raut. It's a fine effect. And look at +those furnaces of mine, how they rise upon us as we come down the +hill. That to the right is my pet--seventy feet of him. I packed +him myself, and he's boiled away cheerfully with iron in his guts +for five long years. I've a particular fancy for _him_. That +line of red there--a lovely bit of warm orange you'd call it, +Raut--that's the puddlers' furnaces, and there, in the hot light, +three black figures--did you see the white splash of the +steam-hammer then?--that's the rolling mills. Come along! +Clang, clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin, +Raut,--amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff +comes from the mill. And, squelch!--there goes the hammer again. +Come along!" + +He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm +twisted into Raut's with benumbing tightness. He had come striding +down the black path towards the railway as though he was possessed. +Raut had not spoken a word, had simply hung back against Horrocks' +pull with all his strength. + +"I say," he said now, laughing nervously, but with an +undernote of snarl in his voice, "why on earth are you nipping my +arm off, Horrocks, and dragging me along like this?" + +At length Horrocks released him. His manner changed again. +"Nipping your arm off?" he said. "Sorry. But it's you taught me +the trick of walking in that friendly way." + +"You haven't learnt the refinements of it yet then," said +Raut, laughing artificially again. "By Jove! I'm black and blue." +Horrocks offered no apology. They stood now near the bottom of the +hill, close to the fence that bordered the railway. The ironworks +had grown larger and spread out with their approach. They looked +up to the blast furnaces now instead of down; the further view of +Etruria and Hanley had dropped out of sight with their descent. +Before them, by the stile rose a notice-board, bearing still dimly +visible, the words, "BEWARE OF THE TRAINS," half hidden by splashes +of coaly mud. + +"Fine effects," said Horrocks, waving his arm. "Here comes a +train. The puffs of smoke, the orange glare, the round eye of +light in front of it, the melodious rattle. Fine effects! But +these furnaces of mine used to be finer, before we shoved cones in +their throats, and saved the gas." + +"How?" said Raut. "Cones?" + +"Cones, my man, cones. I'll show you one nearer. The flames +used to flare out of the open throats, great--what is it?--pillars +of cloud by day, red and black smoke, and pillars of fire by night. +Now we run it off in pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the +top is shut by a cone. You'll be interested in that cone." + +"But every now and then," said Raut, "you get a burst of fire +and smoke up there." + +"The cone's not fixed, it's hung by a chain from a lever, and +balanced by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of +course, there'd be no way of getting fuel into the thing. Every +now and then the cone dips, and out comes the flare." + +"I see," said Raut. He looked over his shoulder. "The moon +gets brighter," he said. + +"Come along," said Horrocks abruptly, gripping his shoulder +again, and moving him suddenly towards the railway crossing. And +then came one of those swift incidents, vivid, but so rapid that +they leave one doubtful and reeling. Halfway across, Horrocks' +hand suddenly clenched upon him like a vice, and swung him backward +and through a half-turn, so that he looked up the line. And there +a chain of lamp-lit carriage-windows telescoped swiftly as it came +towards them, and the red and yellow lights of an engine grew +larger and larger, rushing down upon them. As he grasped what this +meant, he turned his face to Horrocks, and pushed with all +his strength against the arm that held him back between the rails. +The struggle did not last a moment. Just as certain as it was that +Horrocks held him there, so certain was it that he had been +violently lugged out of danger. + +"Out of the way," said Horrocks, with a gasp, as the train +came rattling by, and they stood panting by the gate into the +ironworks. + +"I did not see it coming," said Raut, still, even in spite of +his own apprehensions, trying to keep up an appearance of ordinary +intercourse. + +Horrocks answered with a grunt. "The cone," he said, and +then, as one who recovers himself, "I thought you did not hear." + +"I didn't," said Raut. + +"I wouldn't have had you run over then for the world," said +Horrocks. + +"For a moment I lost my nerve," said Raut. + +Horrocks stood for half a minute, then turned abruptly towards +the ironworks again. "See how fine these great mounds of mine, +these clinker-heaps, look in the night! That truck yonder, up +above there! Up it goes, and out-tilts the slag. See the +palpitating red stuff go sliding down the slope. As we get nearer, +the heap rises up and cuts the blast furnaces. See the quiver up +above the big one. Not that way! This way, between the heaps. +That goes to the puddling furnaces, but I want to show you the +canal first." He came and took Raut by the elbow, and so they went +along side by side. Raut answered Horrocks vaguely. What, he +asked himself, had really happened on the line? Was he deluding +himself with his own fancies, or had Horrocks actually held him +back in the way of the train? Had he just been within an ace of +being murdered? + +Suppose this slouching, scowling monster _did_ know anything? +For a minute or two then Raut was really afraid for his life, +but the mood passed as he reasoned with himself. After all, +Horrocks might have heard nothing. At any rate, he had pulled him +out of the way in time. His odd manner might be due to the mere +vague jealousy he had shown once before. He was talking now of the +ash-heaps and the canal. "Eigh?" said Horrocks. + +"What?" said Raut. "Rather! The haze in the moonlight. Fine!" + +"Our canal," said Horrocks, stopping suddenly. "Our canal by +moonlight and firelight is an immense effect. You've never seen +it? Fancy that! You've spent too many of your evenings +philandering up in Newcastle there. I tell you, for real florid +effects--But you shall see. Boiling water . . ." + +As they came out of the labyrinth of clinker-heaps and mounds +of coal and ore, the noises of the rolling-mill sprang upon them +suddenly, loud, near, and distinct. Three shadowy workmen went by +and touched their caps to Horrocks. Their faces were vague in the +darkness. Raut felt a futile impulse to address them, and before +he could frame his words, they passed into the shadows. Horrocks +pointed to the canal close before them now: a weird-looking place +it seemed, in the blood-red reflections of the furnaces. The hot +water that cooled the tuyeres came into it, some fifty yards up--a +tumultuous, almost boiling affluent, and the steam rose up from +the water in silent white wisps and streaks, wrapping damply about +them, an incessant succession of ghosts coming up from the black +and red eddies, a white uprising that made the head swim. The +shining black tower of the larger blast-furnace rose overhead out +of the mist, and its tumultuous riot filled their ears. Raut kept +away from the edge of the water, and watched Horrocks. + +"Here it is red," said Horrocks, "blood-red vapour as red and +hot as sin; but yonder there, where the moonlight falls on it, and +it drives across the clinker-heaps, it is as white as death." + +Raut turned his head for a moment, and then came back hastily +to his watch on Horrocks. "Come along to the rolling-mills," said +Horrocks. The threatening hold was not so evident that time, and +Raut felt a little reassured. But all the same, what on earth did +Horrocks mean about "white as death" and "red as sin?" +Coincidence, perhaps? + +They went and stood behind the puddlers for a little while, +and then through the rolling-mills, where amidst an incessant din +the deliberate steam-hammer beat the juice out of the succulent +iron, and black, half-naked Titans rushed the plastic bars, like +hot sealing-wax, between the wheels. "Come on," said Horrocks in +Raut's ear, and they went and peeped through the little glass hole +behind the tuyeres, and saw the tumbled fire writhing in the pit of +the blast-furnace. It left one eye blinded for a while. Then, +with green and blue patches dancing across the dark, they went to +the lift by which the trucks of ore and fuel and lime were raised +to the top of the big cylinder. + +And out upon the narrow rail that overhung the furnace, Raut's +doubts came upon him again. Was it wise to be here? If Horrocks +did know--everything! Do what he would, he could not resist a +violent trembling. Right under foot was a sheer depth of seventy +feet. It was a dangerous place. They pushed by a truck of fuel to +get to the railing that crowned the place. The reek of the +furnace, a sulphurous vapor streaked with pungent bitterness, +seemed to make the distant hillside of Hanley quiver. The moon was +riding out now from among a drift of clouds, halfway up the sky +above the undulating wooded outlines of Newcastle. The steaming +canal ran away from below them under an indistinct bridge, and +vanished into the dim haze of the flat fields towards Burslem. + +"That's the cone I've been telling you of," shouted Horrocks; +"and, below that, sixty feet of fire and molten metal, with the air +of the blast frothing through it like gas in soda-water." + +Raut gripped the hand-rail tightly, and stared down at the +cone. The heat was intense. The boiling of the iron and the +tumult of the blast made a thunderous accompaniment to Horrocks' +voice. But the thing had to be gone through now. Perhaps, after +all . . . + +"In the middle," bawled Horrocks, "temperature near a thousand +degrees. If _you_ were dropped into it . . . . flash into +flame like a pinch of gunpowder in a candle. Put your hand out and +feel the heat of his breath. Why, even up here I've seen the +rain-water boiling off the trucks. And that cone there. It's a +damned sight too hot for roasting cakes. The top side of it's +three hundred degrees." + +"Three hundred degrees!" said Raut. + +"Three hundred centigrade, mind!" said Horrocks. "It will +boil the blood out of you in no time." + +"Eigh?" said Raut, and turned. + +"Boil the blood out of you in . . . No, you don't!" + +"Let me go!" screamed Raut. "Let go my arm!" + +With one hand he clutched at the hand-rail, then with both. +For a moment the two men stood swaying. Then suddenly, with a +violent jerk, Horrocks had twisted him from his hold. He clutched +at Horrocks and missed, his foot went back into empty air; in +mid-air he twisted himself, and then cheek and shoulder and knee +struck the hot cone together. + +He clutched the chain by which the cone hung, and the thing +sank an infinitesimal amount as he struck it. A circle of glowing +red appeared about him, and a tongue of flame, released from the +chaos within, flickered up towards him. An intense pain assailed +him at the knees, and he could smell the singeing of his hands. He +raised himself to his feet, and tried to climb up the chain, and +then something struck his head. Black and shining with the +moonlight, the throat of the furnace rose about him. + +Horrocks, he saw, stood above him by one of the trucks of fuel +on the rail. The gesticulating figure was bright and white in the +moonlight, and shouting, "Fizzle, you fool! Fizzle, you hunter of +women! You hot-blooded hound! Boil! boil! boil!" + +Suddenly he caught up a handful of coal out of the truck, and +flung it deliberately, lump after lump, at Raut. + +"Horrocks!" cried Raut. "Horrocks!" + +He clung crying to the chain, pulling himself up from the +burning of the cone. Each missile Horrocks flung hit him. His +clothes charred and glowed, and as he struggled the cone dropped, +and a rush of hot suffocating gas whooped out and burned round him +in a swift breath of flame. + +His human likeness departed from him. When the momentary red +had passed, Horrocks saw a charred, blackened figure, its head +streaked with blood, still clutching and fumbling with the chain, +and writhing in agony--a cindery animal, an inhuman, monstrous +creature that began a sobbing intermittent shriek. + +Abruptly, at the sight, the ironmaster's anger passed. A +deadly sickness came upon him. The heavy odour of burning flesh +came drifting up to his nostrils. His sanity returned to him. + +"God have mercy upon me!" he cried. "O God! what have I +done?" + +He knew the thing below him, save that it still moved and +felt, was already a dead man--that the blood of the poor wretch +must be boiling in his veins. An intense realisation of that agony +came to his mind, and overcame every other feeling. For a moment +he stood irresolute, and then, turning to the truck, he hastily +tilted its contents upon the struggling thing that had once been a +man. The mass fell with a thud, and went radiating over the cone. +With the thud the shriek ended, and a boiling confusion of smoke, +dust, and flame came rushing up towards him. As it passed, he saw +the cone clear again. + +Then he staggered back, and stood trembling, clinging to the +rail with both hands. His lips moved, but no words came to them. + +Down below was the sound of voices and running steps. The +clangour of rolling in the shed ceased abruptly. + + + + +A MOONLIGHT FABLE + +There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit +of clothes. It was green and gold and woven so that I cannot +describe how delicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of +orange fluffiness that tied up under his chin. And the buttons +in their newness shone like stars. He was proud and pleased by his +suit beyond measure, and stood before the long looking-glass when +first he put it on, so astonished and delighted with it that he +could hardly turn himself away. + +He wanted to wear it everywhere and show it to all sorts of +people. He thought over all the places he had ever visited and all +the scenes he had ever heard described, and tried to imagine what +the feel of it would be if he were to go now to those scenes and +places wearing his shining suit, and he wanted to go out forthwith +into the long grass and the hot sunshine of the meadow wearing it. +Just to wear it! But his mother told him, "No." She told him he +must take great care of his suit, for never would he have another +nearly so fine; he must save it and save it and only wear it on +rare and great occasions. It was his wedding suit, she said. And +she took his buttons and twisted them up with tissue paper for fear +their bright newness should be tarnished, and she tacked little +guards over the cuffs and elbows and wherever the suit was most +likely to come to harm. He hated and resisted these things, but +what could he do? And at last her warnings and persuasions had +effect and he consented to take off his beautiful suit and fold it +into its proper creases and put it away. It was almost as though +he gave it up again. But he was always thinking of wearing it +and of the supreme occasion when some day it might be worn without +the guards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and +delightfully, never caring, beautiful beyond measure. + +One night when he was dreaming of it, after his habit, he +dreamed he took the tissue paper from one of the buttons and found +its brightness a little faded, and that distressed him mightily in +his dream. He polished the poor faded button and polished it, and +if anything it grew duller. He woke up and lay awake thinking of +the brightness a little dulled and wondering how he would feel if +perhaps when the great occasion (whatever it might be) should +arrive, one button should chance to be ever so little short of its +first glittering freshness, and for days and days that thought +remained with him, distressingly. And when next his mother let him +wear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave way to the temptation +just to fumble off one little bit of tissue paper and see if indeed +the buttons were keeping as bright as ever. + +He went trimly along on his way to church full of this wild +desire. For you must know his mother did, with repeated and +careful warnings, let him wear his suit at times, on Sundays, for +example, to and fro from church, when there was no threatening of +rain, no dust nor anything to injure it, with its buttons covered +and its protections tacked upon it and a sunshade in his hand to +shadow it if there seemed too strong a sunlight for its colours. +And always, after such occasions, he brushed it over and folded it +exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it away again. + +Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of +his suit he obeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night +he woke up and saw the moonlight shining outside his window. It +seemed to him the moonlight was not common moonlight, nor the night +a common night, and for a while he lay quite drowsily with this odd +persuasion in his mind. Thought joined on to thought like things +that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he sat up in his little +bed suddenly, very alert, with his heart beating very fast and a +quiver in his body from top to toe. He had made up his mind. He +knew now that he was going to wear his suit as it should be worn. +He had no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but +glad, glad. + +He got out of his bed and stood a moment by the window looking +at the moonshine-flooded garden and trembling at the thing he meant +to do. The air was full of a minute clamor of crickets and +murmurings, of the infinitesimal shouting of little living things. +He went very gently across the creaking boards, for fear that he +might wake the sleeping house, to the big dark clothes-press +wherein his beautiful suit lay folded, and he took it out garment +by garment and softly and very eagerly tore off its tissue-paper +covering and its tacked protections, until there it was, perfect +and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother had given it +to him--a long time it seemed ago. Not a button had tarnished, not +a thread had faded on this dear suit of his; he was glad enough for +weeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then back he +went, soft and quick, to the window and looked out upon the garden +and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his +buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out on the sill and, +making as little of a rustling as he could, clambered down to the +garden path below. He stood before his mother's house, and it was +white and nearly as plain as by day, with every window-blind but +his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The trees cast still shadows +like intricate black lace upon the wall. + +The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden +by day; moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in +phantom cobwebs from spray to spray. Every flower was gleaming +white or crimson black, and the air was aquiver with the thridding +of small crickets and nightingales singing unseen in the depths of +the trees. + +There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious +shadows; and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with +iridescent jewels of dew. The night was warmer than any night had +ever been, the heavens by some miracle at once vaster and nearer, +and spite of the great ivory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the +sky was full of stars. + +The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite +gladness. He stood for a time like one awe-stricken, and then, +with a queer small cry and holding out his arms, he ran out as if +he would embrace at once the whole warm round immensity of the +world. He did not follow the neat set paths that cut the garden +squarely, but thrust across the beds and through the wet, tall, +scented herbs, through the night stock and the nicotine and the +clusters of phantom white mallow flowers and through the thickets +of southern-wood and lavender, and knee-deep across a wide space of +mignonette. He came to the great hedge and he thrust his way +through it, and though the thorns of the brambles scored him deeply +and tore threads from his wonderful suit, and though burs and +goosegrass and havers caught and clung to him, he did not care. He +did not care, for he knew it was all part of the wearing for which +he had longed. "I am glad I put on my suit," he said; "I am glad +I wore my suit." + +Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what +was the duck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of +silver moonshine all noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver +moonshine twisted and clotted with strange patternings, and the +little man ran down into its waters between the thin black rushes, +knee-deep and waist-deep and to his shoulders, smiting the water to +black and shining wavelets with either hand, swaying and shivering +wavelets, amid which the stars were netted in the tangled +reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank. He waded until he +swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon the other side, +trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very silver in +long, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went through the +transfigured tangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grass +of the farther bank. And so he came glad and breathless into the +highroad. "I am glad," he said, "beyond measure, that I had +clothes that fitted this occasion." + +The highroad ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the +deep blue pit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road +between the singing nightingales, and along it he went, running now +and leaping, and now walking and rejoicing, in the clothes his +mother had made for him with tireless, loving hands. The road was +deep in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness, and as he +went a great dim moth came fluttering round his wet and shimmering +and hastening figure. At first he did not heed the moth, and then +he waved his hands at it and made a sort of dance with it as it +circled round his head. "Soft moth!" he cried, "dear moth! And +wonderful night, wonderful night of the world! Do you think my +clothes are beautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your scales and +all this silver vesture of the earth and sky?" + +And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its +velvet wings just brushed his lips . . . . . + +And next morning they found him dead with his neck broken in +the bottom of the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little +bloody and foul and stained with the duckweed from the pond. But +his face was a face of such happiness that, had you seen it, you +would have understood indeed how that he had died happy, never +knowing the cool and streaming silver for the duckweed in the pond. + + + + +THE DIAMOND MAKER + +Some business had detained me in Chancery Lane nine in the +evening, and thereafter, having some inkling of a headache, I was +disinclined either for entertainment or further work. So much of +the sky as the high cliffs of that narrow canon of traffic left +visible spoke of a serene night, and I determined to make my way +down to the Embankment, and rest my eyes and cool my head by +watching the variegated lights upon the river. Beyond comparison +the night is the best time for this place; a merciful darkness +hides the dirt of the waters, and the lights of this transitional +age, red glaring orange, gas-yellow, and electric white, are set in +shadowy outlines of every possible shade between grey and deep +purple. Through the arches of Waterloo Bridge a hundred points of +light mark the sweep of the Embankment, and above its parapet rise +the towers of Westminster, warm grey against the starlight. The +black river goes by with only a rare ripple breaking its silence, +and disturbing the reflections of the lights that swim upon its +surface. + +"A warm night," said a voice at my side. + +I turned my head, and saw the profile of a man who was leaning +over the parapet beside me. It was a refined face, not unhandsome, +though pinched and pale enough, and the coat collar turned up and +pinned round the throat marked his status in life as sharply as a +uniform. I felt I was committed to the price of a bed and +breakfast if I answered him. + +I looked at him curiously. Would he have anything to tell me +worth the money, or was he the common incapable--incapable even of +telling his own story? There was a quality of intelligence in his +forehead and eyes, and a certain tremulousness in his nether lip +that decided me. + +"Very warm," said I; "but not too warm for us here." + +"No," he said, still looking across the water, "it is pleasant +enough here . . . . just now." + +"It is good," he continued after a pause, "to find anything so +restful as this in London. After one has been fretting about +business all day, about getting on, meeting obligations, and +parrying dangers, I do not know what one would do if it were not +for such pacific corners." He spoke with long pauses between the +sentences. "You must know a little of the irksome labour of the +world, or you would not be here. But I doubt if you can be so +brain-weary and footsore as I am . . . . Bah! Sometimes I doubt if +the game is worth the candle. I feel inclined to throw the whole +thing over--name, wealth and position--and take to some modest +trade. But I know if I abandoned my ambition--hardly as she uses +me--I should have nothing but remorse left for the rest of my +days." + +He became silent. I looked at him in astonishment. If ever +I saw a man hopelessly hard-up it was the man in front of me. He +was ragged and he was dirty, unshaven and unkempt; he looked as +though he had been left in a dust-bin for a week. And he was +talking to _me_ of the irksome worries of a large business. +I almost laughed outright. Either he was mad or playing a sorry +jest on his own poverty. + +"If high aims and high positions," said I, "have their +drawbacks of hard work and anxiety, they have their compensations. +Influence, the power of doing good, of assisting those weaker and +poorer than ourselves; and there is even a certain gratification in +display . . . . . " + +My banter under the circumstances was in very vile taste. I +spoke on the spur of the contrast of his appearance and speech. I +was sorry even while I was speaking. + +He turned a haggard but very composed face upon me. Said he: +"I forgot myself. Of course you would not understand." + +He measured me for a moment. "No doubt it is very absurd. +You will not believe me even when I tell you, so that it is fairly +safe to tell you. And it will be a comfort to tell someone. I +really have a big business in hand, a very big business. But there +are troubles just now. The fact is . . . . I make diamonds." + +"I suppose," said I, "you are out of work just at present?" + +"I am sick of being disbelieved," he said impatiently, and +suddenly unbuttoning his wretched coat he pulled out a little +canvas bag that was hanging by a cord round his neck. From this he +produced a brown pebble. "I wonder if you know enough to know what +that is?" He handed it to me. + +Now, a year or so ago, I had occupied my leisure in taking a +London science degree, so that I have a smattering of physics and +mineralogy. The thing was not unlike an uncut diamond of the +darker sort, though far too large, being almost as big as the top +of my thumb. I took it, and saw it had the form of a regular +octahedron, with the curved faces peculiar to the most precious of +minerals. I took out my penknife and tried to scratch it--vainly. +Leaning forward towards the gas-lamp, I tried the thing on my +watch-glass, and scored a white line across that with the greatest +ease. + +I looked at my interlocutor with rising curiosity. "It +certainly is rather like a diamond. But, if so, it is a Behemoth +of diamonds. Where did you get it?" + +"I tell you I made it," he said. "Give it back to me." + +He replaced it hastily and buttoned his jacket. "I will sell +it you for one hundred pounds," he suddenly whispered eagerly. +With that my suspicions returned. The thing might, after all, be +merely a lump of that almost equally hard substance, corundum, with +an accidental resemblance in shape to the diamond. Or if it was a +diamond, how came he by it, and why should he offer it at a hundred +pounds? + +We looked into one another's eyes. He seemed eager, but +honestly eager. At that moment I believed it was a diamond he was +trying to sell. Yet I am a poor man, a hundred pounds would leave +a visible gap in my fortunes and no sane man would buy a diamond by +gaslight from a ragged tramp on his personal warranty only. Still, +a diamond that size conjured up a vision of many thousands of +pounds. Then, thought I, such a stone could scarcely exist without +being mentioned in every book on gems, and again I called to mind +the stories of contraband and light-fingered Kaffirs at the Cape. +I put the question of purchase on one side. + +"How did you get it?" said I. + +"I made it." + +I had heard something of Moissan, but I knew his artificial +diamonds were very small. I shook my head. + +"You seem to know something of this kind of thing. I will +tell you a little about myself. Perhaps then you may think better +of the purchase." He turned round with his back to the river, and +put his hands in his pockets. He sighed. "I know you will not +believe me." + +"Diamonds," he began--and as he spoke his voice lost its faint +flavour of the tramp and assumed something of the easy tone of an +educated man--are to be made by throwing carbon out of combination +in a suitable flux and under a suitable pressure; the carbon +crystallises out, not as black-lead or charcoal-powder, but as +small diamonds. So much has been known to chemists for years, but +no one yet had hit upon exactly the right flux in which to melt up +the carbon, or exactly the right pressure for the best results. +Consequently the diamonds made by chemists are small and dark, +and worthless as jewels. Now I, you know, have given up my life to +this problem--given my life to it. + +"I began to work at the conditions of diamond making when I +was seventeen, and now I am thirty-two. It seemed to me that it +might take all the thought and energies of a man for ten years, or +twenty years, but, even if it did, the game was still worth the +candle. Suppose one to have at last just hit the right trick +before the secret got out and diamonds became as common as coal, +one might realize millions. Millions!" + +He paused and looked for my sympathy. His eyes shone +hungrily. "To think," said he, "that I am on the verge of it all, +and here! + +"I had," he proceeded, "about a thousand pounds when I was +twenty-one, and this, I thought, eked out by a little teaching, +would keep my researches going. A year or two was spent in study, +at Berlin chiefly, and then I continued on my own account. The +trouble was the secrecy. You see, if once I had let out what I was +doing, other men might have been spurred on by my belief in the +practicability of the idea; and I do not pretend to be such a +genius as to have been sure of coming in first, in the case of a +race for the discovery. And you see it was important that if I +really meant to make a pile, people should not know it was an +artificial process and capable of turning out diamonds by the ton. +So I had to work all alone. At first I had a little laboratory, +but as my resources began to run out I had to conduct my +experiments in a wretched unfurnished room in Kentish Town, where +I slept at last on a straw mattress on the floor among all my +apparatus. The money simply flowed away. I grudged myself +everything except scientific appliances. I tried to keep things +going by a little teaching, but I am not a very good teacher, and +I have no university degree, nor very much education except in +chemistry, and I found I had to give a lot of time and labour for +precious little money. But I got nearer and nearer the thing. +Three years ago I settled the problem of the composition of the +flux, and got near the pressure by putting this flux of mine and a +certain carbon composition into a closed-up gun-barrel, filling up +with water, sealing tightly, and heating." + +He paused. + +"Rather risky," said I. + +"Yes. It burst, and smashed all my windows and a lot of my +apparatus; but I got a kind of diamond powder nevertheless. +Following out the problem of getting a big pressure upon the molten +mixture from which the things were to crystallise, I hit upon some +researches of Daubree's at the Paris _Laboratorie des Poudres et +Salpetres_. He exploded dynamite in a tightly screwed steel +cylinder, too strong to burst, and I found he could crush rocks +into a muck not unlike the South African bed in which diamonds are +found. It was a tremendous strain on my resources, but I got a +steel cylinder made for my purpose after his pattern. I put in all +my stuff and my explosives, built up a fire in my furnace, put the +whole concern in, and--went out for a walk." + +I could not help laughing at his matter-of-fact manner. "Did +you not think it would blow up the house? Were there other people +in the place?" + +"It was in the interest of science," he said, ultimately. "There +was a costermonger family on the floor below, a begging-letter +writer in the room behind mine, and two flower-women were +upstairs. Perhaps it was a bit thoughtless. But possibly +some of them were out. + +"When I came back the thing was just where I left it, among +the white-hot coals. The explosive hadn't burst the case. And +then I had a problem to face. You know time is an important +element in crystallisation. If you hurry the process the crystals +are small--it is only by prolonged standing that they grow to any +size. I resolved to let this apparatus cool for two years, letting +the temperature go down slowly during the time. And I was now +quite out of money; and with a big fire and the rent of my room, as +well as my hunger to satisfy, I had scarcely a penny in the world. + +"I can hardly tell you all the shifts I was put to while I was +making the diamonds. I have sold newspapers, held horses, opened +cab-doors. For many weeks I addressed envelopes. I had a place as +assistant to a man who owned a barrow, and used to call down one +side of the road while he called down the other. + +"Once for a week I had absolutely nothing to do, and I begged. +What a week that was! One day the fire was going out and I had +eaten nothing all day, and a little chap taking his girl out, gave +me sixpence--to show off. Thank heaven for vanity! How the +fish-shops smelt! But I went and spent it all on coals, and had +the furnace bright red again, and then--Well, hunger makes a fool +of a man. + +"At last, three weeks ago, I let the fire out. I took my +cylinder and unscrewed it while it was still so hot that it +punished my hands, and I scraped out the crumbling lava-like mass +with a chisel, and hammered it into a powder upon an iron plate. +And I found three big diamonds and five small ones. As I sat on +the floor hammering, my door opened, and my neighbour, the +begging-letter writer came in. He was drunk--as he usually is. +"'Nerchist,' said he. 'You're drunk,' said I. ''Structive +scoundrel,' said he. 'Go to your father,' said I, meaning the +Father of Lies. 'Never you mind,' said he, and gave me a cunning +wink, and hiccuped, and leaning up against the door, with his other +eye against the door-post, began to babble of how he had been +prying in my room, and how he had gone to the police that morning, +and how they had taken down everything he had to say--''siffiwas +a ge'm,' said he. Then I suddenly realised I was in a hole. +Either I should have to tell these police my little secret, and get +the whole thing blown upon, or be lagged as an Anarchist. So I +went up to my neighbour and took him by the collar, and rolled him +about a bit, and then I gathered up my diamonds and cleared out. +The evening newspapers called my den the Kentish Town Bomb Factory. +And now I cannot part with the things for love or money. + +"If I go in to respectable jewellers they ask me to wait, and +go and whisper to a clerk to fetch a policeman, and then I say I +cannot wait. And I found out a receiver of stolen goods, and he +simply stuck to the one I gave him and told me to prosecute if I +wanted it back. I am going about now with several hundred thousand +pounds-worth of diamonds round my neck, and without either food or +shelter. You are the first person I have taken into my confidence. +But I like your face and I am hard-driven." + +He looked into my eyes. + +"It would be madness," said I, "for me to buy a diamond under +the circumstances. Besides, I do not carry hundreds of pounds +about in my pocket. Yet I more than half believe your story. I +will, if you like, do this: come to my office to-morrow . . . ." + +"You think I am a thief!" said he keenly. "You will tell the +police. I am not coming into a trap." + +"Somehow I am assured you are no thief. Here is my card. +Take that, anyhow. You need not come to any appointment. Come +when you will." + +He took the card, and an earnest of my good-will. + +"Think better of it and come," said I. + +He shook his head doubtfully. "I will pay back your +half-crown with interest some day--such interest as will amaze +you," said he. "Anyhow, you will keep the secret? . . . . Don't +follow me." + +He crossed the road and went into the darkness towards the +little steps under the archway leading into Essex Street, and I let +him go. And that was the last I ever saw of him. + +Afterwards I had two letters from him asking me to send +bank-notes--not cheques--to certain addresses. I weighed the +matter over and took what I conceived to be the wisest course. +Once he called upon me when I was out. My urchin described him as +a very thin, dirty, and ragged man, with a dreadful cough. He left +no message. That was the finish of him so far as my story goes. +I wonder sometimes what has become of him. Was he an ingenious +monomaniac, or a fraudulent dealer in pebbles, or has he really +made diamonds as he asserted? The latter is just sufficiently +credible to make me think at times that I have missed the most +brilliant opportunity of my life. He may of course be dead, and +his diamonds carelessly thrown aside--one, I repeat, was almost as +big as my thumb. Or he may be still wandering about trying to sell +the things. It is just possible he may yet emerge upon society, +and, passing athwart my heavens in the serene altitude sacred to +the wealthy and the well-advertised, reproach me silently for my +want of enterprise. I sometimes think I might at least have risked +five pounds. + + + + +THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS + +The chief attendant of the three dynamos that buzzed and rattled at +Camberwell, and kept the electric railway going, came out of +Yorkshire, and his name was James Holroyd. He was a practical +electrician, but fond of whisky, a heavy red-haired brute with +irregular teeth. He doubted the existence of the deity, but +accepted Carnot's cycle, and he had read Shakespeare and found him +weak in chemistry. His helper came out of the mysterious East, and +his name was Azuma-zi. But Holroyd called him Pooh-bah. Holroyd +liked a nigger because he would stand kicking--a habit with +Holroyd--and did not pry into the machinery and try to learn the +ways of it. Certain odd possibilities of the negro mind brought +into abrupt contact with the crown of our civilisation Holroyd +never fully realised, though just at the end he got some inkling of +them. + +To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology. He was, perhaps, +more negroid than anything else, though his hair was curly rather +than frizzy, and his nose had a bridge. Moreover, his skin was +brown rather than black, and the whites of his eyes were yellow. +His broad cheekbones and narrow chin gave his face something of the +viperine V. His head, too, was broad behind, and low and narrow at +the forehead, as if his brain had been twisted round in the reverse +way to a European's. He was short of stature and still shorter of +English. In conversation he made numerous odd noises of no known +marketable value, and his infrequent words were carved and wrought +into heraldic grotesqueness. Holroyd tried to elucidate his +religious beliefs, and--especially after whisky--lectured to him +against superstition and missionaries. Azuma-zi, however, shirked +the discussion of his gods, even though he was kicked for it. + +Azuma-zi had come, clad in white but insufficient raiment, +out of the stokehole of the _Lord Clive_, from the Straits +Settlements, and beyond, into London. He had heard even in his +youth of the greatness and riches of London, where all the women +are white and fair, and even the beggars in the streets are white, +and he arrived, with newly earned gold coins in his pocket, to +worship at the shrine of civilisation. The day of his landing was +a dismal one; the sky was dun, and a wind-worried drizzle filtered +down to the greasy streets, but he plunged boldly into the delights +of Shadwell, and was presently cast up, shattered in health, +civilised in costume, penniless and, except in matters of the +direst necessity, practically a dumb animal, to toil for James +Holroyd and to be bullied by him in the dynamo shed at Camberwell. +And to James Holroyd bullying was a labour of love. + +There were three dynamos with their engines at Camberwell. +The two that had been there since the beginning were small +machines; the larger one was new. The smaller machines made a +reasonable noise; their straps hummed over the drums, every now and +then the brushes buzzed and fizzled, and the air churned steadily, +whoo! whoo! whoo! between their poles. One was loose in its +foundations and kept the shed vibrating. But the big dynamo +drowned these little noises altogether with the sustained drone of +its iron core, which somehow set part of the ironwork humming. The +place made the visitor's head reel with the throb, throb, throb of +the engines, the rotation of the big wheels, the spinning +ball-valves, the occasional spittings of the steam, and over all +the deep, unceasing, surging note of the big dynamo. This last +noise was from an engineering point of view a defect, but Azuma-zi +accounted it unto the monster for mightiness and pride. + +If it were possible we would have the noises of that shed +always about the reader as he reads, we would tell all our story to +such an accompaniment. It was a steady stream of din, from which +the ear picked out first one thread and then another; there was the +intermittent snorting, panting, and seething of the steam engines, +the suck and thud of their pistons, the dull beat on the air as the +spokes of the great driving-wheels came round, a note the leather +straps made as they ran tighter and looser, and a fretful tumult +from the dynamos; and over all, sometimes inaudible, as the ear +tired of it, and then creeping back upon the senses again, was this +trombone note of the big machine. The floor never felt steady and +quiet beneath one's feet, but quivered and jarred. It was a +confusing, unsteady place, and enough to send anyone's thoughts +jerking into odd zigzags. And for three months, while the big +strike of the engineers was in progress, Holroyd, who was a +blackleg, and Azuma-zi, who was a mere black, were never out of the +stir and eddy of it, but slept and fed in the little wooden shanty +between the shed and the gates. + +Holroyd delivered a theological lecture on the text of his big +machine soon after Azuma-zi came. He had to shout to be heard in +the din. "Look at that," said Holroyd; "where's your 'eathen idol +to match 'im?" And Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd was +inaudible, and then Azuma-zi heard: "Kill a hundred men. Twelve +per cent. on the ordinary shares," said Holroyd, "and that's +something like a Gord!" + +Holroyd was proud of his big dynamo, and expatiated upon its +size and power to Azuma-zi until heaven knows what odd currents of +thought that and the incessant whirling and shindy set up within +the curly black cranium. He would explain in the most graphic +manner the dozen or so ways in which a man might be killed by it, +and once he gave Azuma-zi a shock as a sample of its quality. +After that, in the breathing-times of his labour--it was heavy +labour, being not only his own, but most of Holroyd's--Azuma-zi +would sit and watch the big machine. Now and then the brushes +would sparkle and spit blue flashes, at which Holroyd would swear, +but all the rest was as smooth and rhythmic as breathing. The band +ran shouting over the shaft, and ever behind one as one watched was +the complacent thud of the piston. So it lived all day in this big +airy shed, with him and Holroyd to wait upon it; not prisoned up +and slaving to drive a ship as the other engines he knew--mere +captive devils of the British Solomon--had been, but a machine +enthroned. Those two smaller dynamos, Azuma-zi by force of +contrast despised; the large one he privately christened the Lord +of the Dynamos. They were fretful and irregular, but the big +dynamo was steady. How great it was! How serene and easy in its +working! Greater and calmer even than the Buddhas he had seen at +Rangoon, and yet not motionless, but living! The great black coils +spun, spun, spun, the rings ran round under the brushes, and the +deep note of its coil steadied the whole. It affected Azuma-zi +queerly. + +Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watch +the Lord of the Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade the +yard porter to get whisky, although his proper place was not in the +dynamo shed but behind the engines, and, moreover, if Holroyd +caught him skulking he got hit for it with a rod of stout copper +wire. He would go and stand close to the colossus and look up at +the great leather band running overhead. There was a black patch +on the band that came round, and it pleased him somehow among all +the clatter to watch this return again and again. Odd thoughts +spun with the whirl of it. Scientific people tell us that savages +give souls to rocks and trees--and a machine is a thousand times +more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was practically a +savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper than his +slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and hands. +His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindred +blood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut. + +He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and +handling the great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished +and cleaned it until the metal parts were blinding in the sun. He +felt a mysterious sense of service in doing this. He would go up +to it and touch its spinning coils gently. The gods he had +worshipped were all far away. The people in London hid their gods. + +At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape in +thoughts and at last in acts. When he came into the roaring shed +one morning he salaamed to the Lord of the Dynamos, and then when +Holroyd was away, he went and whispered to the thundering machine +that he was its servant, and prayed it to have pity on him and save +him from Holroyd. As he did so a rare gleam of light came in +through the open archway of the throbbing machine-shed, and the +Lord of the Dynamos, as he whirled and roared, was radiant with +pale gold. Then Azuma-zi knew that his service was acceptable to +his Lord. After that he did not feel so lonely as he had done, and +he had indeed been very much alone in London. And even when his +work time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the shed. + +Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi went +presently to the Lord of the Dynamos and whispered, "Thou seest, O +my Lord!" and the angry whir of the machinery seemed to answer him. +Thereafter it appeared to him that whenever Holroyd came into the +shed a different note came into the sounds of the dynamo. "My Lord +bides his time," said Azuma-zi to himself. "The iniquity of the +fool is not yet ripe." And he waited and watched for the day of +reckoning. One day there was evidence of short circuiting, and +Holroyd, making an unwary examination--it was in the afternoon--got +a rather severe shock. Azuma-zi from behind the engine saw him +jump off and curse at the peccant coil. + +"He is warned," said Azuma-zi to himself. "Surely my Lord is +very patient." + +Holroyd had at first initiated his "nigger" into such +elementary conceptions of the dynamo's working as would enable him +to take temporary charge of the shed in his absence. But when he +noticed the manner in which Azuma-zi hung about the monster he +became suspicious. He dimly perceived his assistant was "up to +something," and connecting him with the anointing of the coils with +oil that had rotted the varnish in one place, he issued an edict, +shouted above the confusion of the machinery, "Don't 'ee go nigh +that big dynamo any more, Pooh-bah, or a'll take thy skin off!" +Besides, if it pleased Azuma-zi to be near the big machine, it was +plain sense and decency to keep him away from it. + +Azuma-zi obeyed at the time, but later he was caught bowing +before the Lord of the Dynamos. At which Holroyd twisted his arm +and kicked him as he turned to go away. As Azuma-zi presently +stood behind the engine and glared at the back of the hated +Holroyd, the noises of the machinery took a new rhythm, and sounded +like four words in his native tongue. + +It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-zi +was mad. The incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may have +churned up his little store of knowledge and his big store of +superstitious fancy, at last, into something akin to frenzy. At +any rate, when the idea of making Holroyd a sacrifice to the Dynamo +Fetich was thus suggested to him, it filled him with a strange +tumult of exultant emotion. + +That night the two men and their black shadows were alone in +the shed together. The shed was lit with one big arc light that +winked and flickered purple. The shadows lay black behind the +dynamos, the ball governors of the engines whirled from light to +darkness, and their pistons beat loud and steady. The world +outside seen through the open end of the shed seemed incredibly dim +and remote. It seemed absolutely silent, too, since the riot of +the machinery drowned every external sound. Far away was the black +fence of the yard with grey shadowy houses behind, and above was +the deep blue sky and the pale little stars. Azuma-zi suddenly +walked across the centre of the shed above which the leather bands +were running, and went into the shadow by the big dynamo. Holroyd +heard a click, and the spin of the armature changed. + +"What are you dewin' with that switch?" he bawled in surprise. +"Han't I told you--" + +Then he saw the set expression of Azuma-zi's eyes as the +Asiatic came out of the shadow towards him. + +In another moment the two men were grappling fiercely in front +of the great dynamo. + +"You coffee-headed fool!" gasped Holroyd, with a brown hand at +his throat. "Keep off those contact rings." In another moment he +was tripped and reeling back upon the Lord of the Dynamos. He +instinctively loosened his grip upon his antagonist to save himself +from the machine. + +The messenger, sent in furious haste from the station to find +out what had happened in the dynamo shed, met Azuma-zi at the +porter's lodge by the gate. Azuma-zi tried to explain something, +but the messenger could make nothing of the black's incoherent +English, and hurried on to the shed. The machines were all noisily +at work, and nothing seemed to be disarranged. There was, however, +a queer smell of singed hair. Then he saw an odd-looking crumpled +mass clinging to the front of the big dynamo, and, approaching, +recognised the distorted remains of Holroyd. + +The man stared and hesitated a moment. Then he saw the face, +and shut his eyes convulsively. He turned on his heel before he +opened them, so that he should not see Holroyd again, and went out +of the shed to get advice and help. + +When Azuma-zi saw Holroyd die in the grip of the Great Dynamo +he had been a little scared about the consequences of his act. Yet +he felt strangely elated, and knew that the favour of the Lord +Dynamo was upon him. His plan was already settled when he met the +man coming from the station, and the scientific manager who +speedily arrived on the scene jumped at the obvious conclusion of +suicide. This expert scarcely noticed Azuma-zi, except to ask a +few questions. Did he see Holroyd kill himself? Azuma-zi +explained that he had been out of sight at the engine furnace until +he heard a difference in the noise from the dynamo. It was not a +difficult examination, being untinctured by suspicion. + +The distorted remains of Holroyd, which the electrician +removed from the machine, were hastily covered by the porter with +a coffee-stained tablecloth. Somebody, by a happy inspiration, +fetched a medical man. The expert was chiefly anxious to get the +machine at work again, for seven or eight trains had stopped midway +in the stuffy tunnels of the electric railway. Azuma-zi, answering +or misunderstanding the questions of the people who had by +authority or impudence come into the shed, was presently sent back +to the stoke-hole by the scientific manager. Of course a crowd +collected outside the gates of the yard--a crowd, for no known +reason, always hovers for a day or two near the scene of a sudden +death in London; two or three reporters percolated somehow into the +engine-shed, and one even got to Azuma-zi; but the scientific +expert cleared them out again, being himself an amateur journalist. + +Presently the body was carried away, and public interest +departed with it. Azuma-zi remained very quietly at his furnace, +seeing over and over again in the coals a figure that wriggled +violently and became still. An hour after the murder, to anyone +coming into the shed it would have looked exactly as if nothing had +ever happened there. Peeping presently from his engine-room the +black saw the Lord Dynamo spin and whirl beside his little +brothers, and the driving wheels were beating round, and the steam +in the pistons went thud, thud, exactly as it had been earlier in +the evening. After all, from the mechanical point of view, it had +been a most insignificant incident--the mere temporary deflection +of a current. But now the slender form and slender shadow of the +scientific manager replaced the sturdy outline of Holroyd +travelling up and down the lane of light upon the vibrating floor +under the straps between the engines and the dynamos. + +"Have I not served my Lord?" said Azuma-zi inaudibly, from his +shadow, and the note of the great dynamo rang out full and clear. +As he looked at the big whirling mechanism the strange fascination +of it that had been a little in abeyance since Holroyd's death, +resumed its sway. + +Never had Azuma-zi seen a man killed so swiftly and +pitilessly. The big humming machine had slain its victim without +wavering for a second from its steady beating. It was indeed a +mighty god. + +The unconscious scientific manager stood with his back to him, +scribbling on a piece of paper. His shadow lay at the foot of the +monster. + +"Was the Lord Dynamo still hungry? His servant was ready." + +Azuma-zi made a stealthy step forward; then stopped. The +scientific manager suddenly stopped writing, and walked down the +shed to the endmost of the dynamos, and began to examine the +brushes. + +Azuma-zi hesitated, and then slipped across noiselessly into +shadow by the switch. There he waited. Presently the manager's +footsteps could be heard returning. He stopped in his old +position, unconscious of the stoker crouching ten feet away from +him. Then the big dynamo suddenly fizzled, and in another moment +Azuma-zi had sprung out of the darkness upon him. + +First, the scientific manager was gripped round the body and +swung towards the big dynamo, then, kicking with his knee and +forcing his antagonist's head down with his hands, he loosened the +grip on his waist and swung round away from the machine. Then the +black grasped him again, putting a curly head against his chest, +and they swayed and panted as it seemed for an age or so. Then the +scientific manager was impelled to catch a black ear in his teeth +and bite furiously. The black yelled hideously. + +They rolled over on the floor, and the black, who had +apparently slipped from the vice of the teeth or parted with some +ear--the scientific manager wondered which at the time--tried to +throttle him. The scientific manager was making some ineffectual +attempts to claw something with his hands and to kick, when the +welcome sound of quick footsteps sounded on the floor. The next +moment Azuma-zi had left him and darted towards the big dynamo. +There was a splutter amid the roar. + +The officer of the company who had entered, stood staring as +Azuma-zi caught the naked terminals in his hands, gave one horrible +convulsion, and then hung motionless from the machine, his face +violently distorted. + +"I'm jolly glad you came in when you did," said the scientific +manager, still sitting on the floor. + +He looked at the still quivering figure. + +"It's not a nice death to die, apparently--but it is quick." + +The official was still staring at the body. He was a man of +slow apprehension. + +There was a pause. + +The scientific manager got up on his feet rather awkwardly. +He ran his fingers along his collar thoughtfully, and moved his +head to and fro several times. + +"Poor Holroyd! I see now." Then almost mechanically he went +towards the switch in the shadow and turned the current into the +railway circuit again. As he did so the singed body loosened its +grip upon the machine and fell forward on its face. The core of +the dynamo roared out loud and clear, and the armature beat the +air. + +So ended prematurely the Worship of the Dynamo Deity, perhaps +the most short-lived of all religions. Yet withal it could at +least boast a Martyrdom and a Human Sacrifice. + + + + +THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND + +Three hundred miles and more from Chimborazo, one hundred from the +snows of Cotopaxi, in the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there +lies that mysterious mountain valley, cut off from all the world of +men, the Country of the Blind. Long years ago that valley lay so +far open to the world that men might come at last through frightful +gorges and over an icy pass into its equable meadows, and thither +indeed men came, a family or so of Peruvian half-breeds fleeing +from the lust and tyranny of an evil Spanish ruler. Then came the +stupendous outbreak of Mindobamba, when it was night in Quito for +seventeen days, and the water was boiling at Yaguachi and all the +fish floating dying even as far as Guayaquil; everywhere along the +Pacific slopes there were land-slips and swift thawings and sudden +floods, and one whole side of the old Arauca crest slipped and came +down in thunder, and cut off the Country of the Blind for ever from +the exploring feet of men. But one of these early settlers had +chanced to be on the hither side of the gorges when the world had +so terribly shaken itself, and he perforce had to forget his wife +and his child and all the friends and possessions he had left up +there, and start life over again in the lower world. He started it +again but ill, blindness overtook him, and he died of punishment in +the mines; but the story he told begot a legend that lingers along +the length of the Cordilleras of the Andes to this day. + +He told of his reason for venturing back from that fastness, +into which he had first been carried lashed to a llama, beside a +vast bale of gear, when he was a child. The valley, he said, had +in it all that the heart of man could desire--sweet water, pasture, +an even climate, slopes of rich brown soil with tangles of a shrub +that bore an excellent fruit, and on one side great hanging forests +of pine that held the avalanches high. Far overhead, on three +sides, vast cliffs of grey-green rock were capped by cliffs of ice; +but the glacier stream came not to them, but flowed away by the +farther slopes, and only now and then huge ice masses fell on the +valley side. In this valley it neither rained nor snowed, but the +abundant springs gave a rich green pasture, that irrigation would +spread over all the valley space. The settlers did well indeed +there. Their beasts did well and multiplied, and but one thing +marred their happiness. Yet it was enough to mar it greatly. A +strange disease had come upon them and had made all the children +born to them there--and, indeed, several older children +also--blind. It was to seek some charm or antidote against this +plague of blindness that he had with fatigue and danger and +difficulty returned down the gorge. In those days, in such cases, +men did not think of germs and infections, but of sins, and it +seemed to him that the reason of this affliction must he in the +negligence of these priestless immigrants to set up a shrine so +soon as they entered the valley. He wanted a shrine--a handsome, +cheap, effectual shrine--to be erected in the valley; he wanted +relics and such-like potent things of faith, blessed objects and +mysterious medals and prayers. In his wallet he had a bar of +native silver for which he would not account; he insisted there was +none in the valley with something of the insistence of an inexpert +liar. They had all clubbed their money and ornaments together, +having little need for such treasure up there, he said, to buy them +holy help against their ill. I figure this dim-eyed young +mountaineer, sunburnt, gaunt, and anxious, hat brim clutched +feverishly, a man all unused to the ways of the lower world, +telling this story to some keen-eyed, attentive priest before the +great convulsion; I can picture him presently seeking to return +with pious and infallible remedies against that trouble, and the +infinite dismay with which he must have faced the tumbled vastness +where the gorge had once come out. But the rest of his story of +mischances is lost to me, save that I know of his evil death after +several years. Poor stray from that remoteness! The stream that +had once made the gorge now bursts from the mouth of a rocky cave, +and the legend his poor, ill-told story set going developed into +the legend of a race of blind men somewhere "over there" one may +still hear to-day. + +And amidst the little population of that now isolated and +forgotten valley the disease ran its course. The old became +groping, the young saw but dimly, and the children that were born +to them never saw at all. But life was very easy in that +snow-rimmed basin, lost to all the world, with neither thorns nor +briers, with no evil insects nor any beasts save the gentle breed +of llamas they had lugged and thrust and followed up the beds of +the shrunken rivers in the gorges up which they had come. The +seeing had become purblind so gradually that they scarcely noticed +their loss. They guided the sightless youngsters hither and +thither until they knew the whole valley marvellously, and when at +last sight died out among them the race lived on. They had even +time to adapt themselves to the blind control of fire, which they +made carefully in stoves of stone. They were a simple strain of +people at the first, unlettered, only slightly touched with the +Spanish civilisation, but with something of a tradition of the arts +of old Peru and of its lost philosophy. Generation followed +generation. They forgot many things; they devised many things. +Their tradition of the greater world they came from became mythical +in colour and uncertain. In all things save sight they were strong +and able, and presently chance sent one who had an original mind +and who could talk and persuade among them, and then afterwards +another. These two passed, leaving their effects, and the little +community grew in numbers and in understanding, and met and settled +social and economic problems that arose. Generation followed +generation. Generation followed generation. There came a time +when a child was born who was fifteen generations from that +ancestor who went out of the valley with a bar of silver to seek +God's aid, and who never returned. Thereabout it chanced that a +man came into this community from the outer world. And this is the +story of that man. + +He was a mountaineer from the country near Quito, a man who +had been down to the sea and had seen the world, a reader of books +in an original way, an acute and enterprising man, and he was taken +on by a party of Englishmen who had come out to Ecuador to climb +mountains, to replace one of their three Swiss guides who had +fallen ill. He climbed here and he climbed there, and then came +the attempt on Parascotopetl, the Matterhorn of the Andes, in which +he was lost to the outer world. The story of that accident has +been written a dozen times. Pointer's narrative is the best. He +tells how the little party worked their difficult and almost +vertical way up to the very foot of the last and greatest +precipice, and how they built a night shelter amidst the snow upon +a little shelf of rock, and, with a touch of real dramatic power, +how presently they found Nunez had gone from them. They shouted, +and there was no reply; shouted and whistled, and for the rest of +that night they slept no more. + +As the morning broke they saw the traces of his fall. It +seems impossible he could have uttered a sound. He had slipped +eastward towards the unknown side of the mountain; far below he had +struck a steep slope of snow, and ploughed his way down it in the +midst of a snow avalanche. His track went straight to the edge of +a frightful precipice, and beyond that everything was hidden. Far, +far below, and hazy with distance, they could see trees rising out +of a narrow, shut-in valley--the lost Country of the Blind. But +they did not know it was the lost Country of the Blind, nor +distinguish it in any way from any other narrow streak of upland +valley. Unnerved by this disaster, they abandoned their attempt in +the afternoon, and Pointer was called away to the war before he +could make another attack. To this day Parascotopetl lifts an +unconquered crest, and Pointer's shelter crumbles unvisited amidst +the snows. + +And the man who fell survived. + +At the end of the slope he fell a thousand feet, and came down +in the midst of a cloud of snow upon a snow-slope even steeper than +the one above. Down this he was whirled, stunned and insensible, +but without a bone broken in his body; and then at last came to +gentler slopes, and at last rolled out and lay still, buried amidst +a softening heap of the white masses that had accompanied and saved +him. He came to himself with a dim fancy that he was ill in bed; +then realized his position with a mountaineer's intelligence and +worked himself loose and, after a rest or so, out until he saw the +stars. He rested flat upon his chest for a space, wondering where +he was and what had happened to him. He explored his limbs, and +discovered that several of his buttons were gone and his coat +turned over his head. His knife had gone from his pocket and his +hat was lost, though he had tied it under his chin. He recalled +that he had been looking for loose stones to raise his piece of the +shelter wall. His ice-axe had disappeared. + +He decided he must have fallen, and looked up to see, +exaggerated by the ghastly light of the rising moon, the tremendous +flight he had taken. For a while he lay, gazing blankly at the +vast, pale cliff towering above, rising moment by moment out of a +subsiding tide of darkness. Its phantasmal, mysterious beauty held +him for a space, and then he was seized with a paroxysm of sobbing +laughter . . . . + +After a great interval of time he became aware that he was +near the lower edge of the snow. Below, down what was now a +moon-lit and practicable slope, he saw the dark and broken +appearance of rock-strewn turf He struggled to his feet, aching in +every joint and limb, got down painfully from the heaped loose snow +about him, went downward until he was on the turf, and there +dropped rather than lay beside a boulder, drank deep from the flask +in his inner pocket, and instantly fell asleep . . . . + +He was awakened by the singing of birds in the trees far +below. + +He sat up and perceived he was on a little alp at the foot of +a vast precipice that sloped only a little in the gully down which +he and his snow had come. Over against him another wall of rock +reared itself against the sky. The gorge between these precipices +ran east and west and was full of the morning sunlight, which lit +to the westward the mass of fallen mountain that closed the +descending gorge. Below him it seemed there was a precipice +equally steep, but behind the snow in the gully he found a sort of +chimney-cleft dripping with snow-water, down which a desperate man +might venture. He found it easier than it seemed, and came at last +to another desolate alp, and then after a rock climb of no +particular difficulty, to a steep slope of trees. He took his +bearings and turned his face up the gorge, for he saw it opened out +above upon green meadows, among which he now glimpsed quite +distinctly a cluster of stone huts of unfamiliar fashion. At times +his progress was like clambering along the face of a wall, and +after a time the rising sun ceased to strike along the gorge, the +voices of the singing birds died away, and the air grew cold and +dark about him. But the distant valley with its houses was all the +brighter for that. He came presently to talus, and among the rocks +he noted--for he was an observant man--an unfamiliar fern that +seemed to clutch out of the crevices with intense green hands. He +picked a frond or so and gnawed its stalk, and found it helpful. + +About midday he came at last out of the throat of the gorge +into the plain and the sunlight. He was stiff and weary; he sat +down in the shadow of a rock, filled up his flask with water from +a spring and drank it down, and remained for a time, resting before +he went on to the houses. + +They were very strange to his eyes, and indeed the whole +aspect of that valley became, as he regarded it, queerer and more +unfamiliar. The greater part of its surface was lush green meadow, +starred with many beautiful flowers, irrigated with extraordinary +care, and bearing evidence of systematic cropping piece by piece. +High up and ringing the valley about was a wall, and what appeared +to be a circumferential water channel, from which the little +trickles of water that fed the meadow plants came, and on the +higher slopes above this flocks of llamas cropped the scanty +herbage. Sheds, apparently shelters or feeding-places for the +llamas, stood against the boundary wall here and there. The +irrigation streams ran together into a main channel down the centre +of the valley, and this was enclosed on either side by a wall +breast high. This gave a singularly urban quality to this secluded +place, a quality that was greatly enhanced by the fact that a +number of paths paved with black and white stones, and each with a +curious little kerb at the side, ran hither and thither in an +orderly manner. The houses of the central village were quite +unlike the casual and higgledy-piggledy agglomeration of the +mountain villages he knew; they stood in a continuous row on +either side of a central street of astonishing cleanness, here +and there their parti-coloured facade was pierced by a door, +and not a solitary window broke their even frontage. They were +parti-coloured with extraordinary irregularity, smeared with a sort +of plaster that was sometimes grey, sometimes drab, sometimes +slate-coloured or dark brown; and it was the sight of this wild +plastering first brought the word "blind" into the thoughts of the +explorer. "The good man who did that," he thought, "must have been +as blind as a bat." + +He descended a steep place, and so came to the wall and +channel that ran about the valley, near where the latter spouted +out its surplus contents into the deeps of the gorge in a thin and +wavering thread of cascade. He could now see a number of men and +women resting on piled heaps of grass, as if taking a siesta, in +the remoter part of the meadow, and nearer the village a number of +recumbent children, and then nearer at hand three men carrying +pails on yokes along a little path that ran from the encircling +wall towards the houses. These latter were clad in garments of +llama cloth and boots and belts of leather, and they wore caps of +cloth with back and ear flaps. They followed one another in single +file, walking slowly and yawning as they walked, like men who have +been up all night. There was something so reassuringly prosperous +and respectable in their bearing that after a moment's hesitation +Nunez stood forward as conspicuously as possible upon his rock, and +gave vent to a mighty shout that echoed round the valley. + +The three men stopped, and moved their heads as though they +were looking about them. They turned their faces this way and +that, and Nunez gesticulated with freedom. But they did not appear +to see him for all his gestures, and after a time, directing +themselves towards the mountains far away to the right, they +shouted as if in answer. Nunez bawled again, and then once more, +and as he gestured ineffectually the word "blind" came up to the +top of his thoughts. "The fools must be blind," he said. + +When at last, after much shouting and wrath, Nunez crossed the +stream by a little bridge, came through a gate in the wall, and +approached them, he was sure that they were blind. He was sure +that this was the Country of the Blind of which the legends told. +Conviction had sprung upon him, and a sense of great and rather +enviable adventure. The three stood side by side, not looking at +him, but with their ears directed towards him, judging him by his +unfamiliar steps. They stood close together like men a little +afraid, and he could see their eyelids closed and sunken, as though +the very balls beneath had shrunk away. There was an expression +near awe on their faces. + +"A man," one said, in hardly recognisable Spanish. "A man it +is--a man or a spirit--coming down from the rocks." + +But Nunez advanced with the confident steps of a youth who +enters upon life. All the old stories of the lost valley and the +Country of the Blind had come back to his mind, and through his +thoughts ran this old proverb, as if it were a refrain:-- + +"In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." + +"In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." + +And very civilly he gave them greeting. He talked to them and +used his eyes. + +"Where does he come from, brother Pedro?" asked one. + +"Down out of the rocks." + +"Over the mountains I come," said Nunez, "out of the country +beyond there--where men can see. From near Bogota--where there are +a hundred thousands of people, and where the city passes out of +sight." + +"Sight?" muttered Pedro. "Sight?" + +"He comes," said the second blind man, "out of the rocks." + +The cloth of their coats, Nunez saw was curious fashioned, +each with a different sort of stitching. + +They startled him by a simultaneous movement towards him, each +with a hand outstretched. He stepped back from the advance of +these spread fingers. + +"Come hither," said the third blind man, following his motion +and clutching him neatly. + +And they held Nunez and felt him over, saying no word further +until they had done so. + +"Carefully," he cried, with a finger in his eye, and found +they thought that organ, with its fluttering lids, a queer thing in +him. They went over it again. + +"A strange creature, Correa," said the one called Pedro. +"Feel the coarseness of his hair. Like a llama's hair." + +"Rough he is as the rocks that begot him," said Correa, +investigating Nunez's unshaven chin with a soft and slightly moist +hand. "Perhaps he will grow finer." + +Nunez struggled a little under their examination, but they +gripped him firm. + +"Carefully," he said again. + +"He speaks," said the third man. "Certainly he is a man." + +"Ugh!" said Pedro, at the roughness of his coat. + +"And you have come into the world?" asked Pedro. + +"_Out_ of the world. Over mountains and glaciers; right +over above there, half-way to the sun. Out of the great, big world +that goes down, twelve days' journey to the sea." + +They scarcely seemed to heed him. "Our fathers have told us +men may be made by the forces of Nature," said Correa. "It is the +warmth of things, and moisture, and rottenness--rottenness." + +"Let us lead him to the elders," said Pedro. + +"Shout first," said Correa, "lest the children be afraid. +This is a marvellous occasion." + +So they shouted, and Pedro went first and took Nunez by the +hand to lead him to the houses. + +He drew his hand away. "I can see," he said. + +"See?" said Correa. + +"Yes; see," said Nunez, turning towards him, and stumbled +against Pedro's pail. + +"His senses are still imperfect," said the third blind man. +"He stumbles, and talks unmeaning words. Lead him by the hand." + +"As you will," said Nunez, and was led along laughing. + +It seemed they knew nothing of sight. + +Well, all in good time he would teach them. + +He heard people shouting, and saw a number of figures +gathering together in the middle roadway of the village. + +He found it tax his nerve and patience more than he had +anticipated, that first encounter with the population of the +Country of the Blind. The place seemed larger as he drew near to +it, and the smeared plasterings queerer, and a crowd of children +and men and women (the women and girls he was pleased to note had, +some of them, quite sweet faces, for all that their eyes were shut +and sunken) came about him, holding on to him, touching him with +soft, sensitive hands, smelling at him, and listening at every +word he spoke. Some of the maidens and children, however, kept +aloof as if afraid, and indeed his voice seemed coarse and rude +beside their softer notes. They mobbed him. His three guides kept +close to him with an effect of proprietorship, and said again and +again, "A wild man out of the rocks." + +"Bogota," he said. "Bogota. Over the mountain crests." + +"A wild man--using wild words," said Pedro. "Did you hear +that-- + +"_Bogota?_ His mind has hardly formed yet. He has only +the beginnings of speech." + +A little boy nipped his hand. "Bogota!" he said mockingly. + +"Aye! A city to your village. I come from the great world--where +men have eyes and see." + +"His name's Bogota," they said. + +"He stumbled," said Correa--"stumbled twice as we came +hither." + +"Bring him in to the elders." + +And they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as +black as pitch, save at the end there faintly glowed a fire. The +crowd closed in behind him and shut out all but the faintest +glimmer of day, and before he could arrest himself he had fallen +headlong over the feet of a seated man. His arm, outflung, struck +the face of someone else as he went down; he felt the soft impact +of features and heard a cry of anger, and for a moment he struggled +against a number of hands that clutched him. It was a one-sided +fight. An inkling of the situation came to him and he lay quiet. + +"I fell down," he said; "I couldn't see in this pitchy +darkness." + +There was a pause as if the unseen persons about him tried to +understand his words. Then the voice of Correa said: "He is but +newly formed. He stumbles as he walks and mingles words that mean +nothing with his speech." + +Others also said things about him that he heard or understood +imperfectly. + +"May I sit up?" he asked, in a pause. "I will not struggle +against you again." + +They consulted and let him rise. + +The voice of an older man began to question him, and Nunez +found himself trying to explain the great world out of which he had +fallen, and the sky and mountains and such-like marvels, to these +elders who sat in darkness in the Country of the Blind. And they +would believe and understand nothing whatever that he told them, a +thing quite outside his expectation. They would not even +understand many of his words. For fourteen generations these +people had been blind and cut off from all the seeing world; the +names for all the things of sight had faded and changed; the story +of the outer world was faded and changed to a child's story; and +they had ceased to concern themselves with anything beyond the +rocky slopes above their circling wall. Blind men of genius had +arisen among them and questioned the shreds of belief and tradition +they had brought with them from their seeing days, and had +dismissed all these things as idle fancies and replaced them with +new and saner explanations. Much of their imagination had +shrivelled with their eyes, and they had made for themselves new +imaginations with their ever more sensitive ears and finger-tips. +Slowly Nunez realised this: that his expectation of wonder and +reverence at his origin and his gifts was not to be borne out; and +after his poor attempt to explain sight to them had been set aside +as the confused version of a new-made being describing the marvels +of his incoherent sensations, he subsided, a little dashed, into +listening to their instruction. And the eldest of the blind men +explained to him life and philosophy and religion, how that the +world (meaning their valley) had been first an empty hollow in the +rocks, and then had come first inanimate things without the gift of +touch, and llamas and a few other creatures that had little sense, +and then men, and at last angels, whom one could hear singing and +making fluttering sounds, but whom no one could touch at all, which +puzzled Nunez greatly until he thought of the birds. + +He went on to tell Nunez how this time had been divided into +the warm and the cold, which are the blind equivalents of day and +night, and how it was good to sleep in the warm and work during the +cold, so that now, but for his advent, the whole town of the blind +would have been asleep. He said Nunez must have been specially +created to learn and serve the wisdom they had acquired, and that +for all his mental incoherency and stumbling behaviour he must have +courage and do his best to learn, and at that all the people in the +door-way murmured encouragingly. He said the night--for the blind +call their day night--was now far gone, and it behooved everyone to +go back to sleep. He asked Nunez if he knew how to sleep, and +Nunez said he did, but that before sleep he wanted food. They +brought him food, llama's milk in a bowl and rough salted bread, +and led him into a lonely place to eat out of their hearing, and +afterwards to slumber until the chill of the mountain evening +roused them to begin their day again. But Nunez slumbered not at +all. + +Instead, he sat up in the place where they had left him, +resting his limbs and turning the unanticipated circumstances of +his arrival over and over in his mind. + +Every now and then he laughed, sometimes with amusement and +sometimes with indignation. + +"Unformed mind!" he said. "Got no senses yet! They little +know they've been insulting their Heaven-sent King and master . . +. . . + +"I see I must bring them to reason. + +"Let me think. + +"Let me think." + +He was still thinking when the sun set. + +Nunez had an eye for all beautiful things, and it seemed to +him that the glow upon the snow-fields and glaciers that rose about +the valley on every side was the most beautiful thing he had ever +seen. His eyes went from that inaccessible glory to the village +and irrigated fields, fast sinking into the twilight, and suddenly +a wave of emotion took him, and he thanked God from the bottom of +his heart that the power of sight had been given him. + +He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village. + +"Yaho there, Bogota! Come hither!" + +At that he stood up, smiling. He would show these people once +and for all what sight would do for a man. They would seek him, +but not find him. + +"You move not, Bogota," said the voice. + +He laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from +the path. + +"Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed." + +Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He +stopped, amazed. + +The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path +towards him. + +He stepped back into the pathway. "Here I am," he said. + +"Why did you not come when I called you?" said the blind man. +"Must you be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you +walk?" + +Nunez laughed. "I can see it," he said. + +"There is no such word as _see_," said the blind man, +after a pause. "Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet." + +Nunez followed, a little annoyed. + +"My time will come," he said. + +"You'll learn," the blind man answered. "There is much to +learn in the world." + +"Has no one told you, 'In the Country of the Blind the +One-Eyed Man is King?'" + +"What is blind?" asked the blind man, carelessly, over his +shoulder. + +Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind +still incognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his +subjects. + +It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than +he had supposed, and in the meantime, while he meditated his +_coup d'etat_, he did what he was told and learnt the manners +and customs of the Country of the Blind. He found working and +going about at night a particularly irksome thing, and he decided +that that should be the first thing he would change. + +They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the +elements of virtue and happiness as these things can be understood +by men. They toiled, but not oppressively; they had food and +clothing sufficient for their needs; they had days and seasons of +rest; they made much of music and singing, and there was love among +them and little children. It was marvellous with what confidence +and precision they went about their ordered world. Everything, you +see, had been made to fit their needs; each of the radiating paths +of the valley area had a constant angle to the others, and was +distinguished by a special notch upon its kerbing; all obstacles +and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been cleared +away; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from their +special needs. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they +could hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces +away--could hear the very beating of his heart. Intonation had +long replaced expression with them, and touches gesture, and their +work with hoe and spade and fork was as free and confident as +garden work can be. Their sense of smell was extraordinarily fine; +they could distinguish individual differences as readily as a dog +can, and they went about the tending of llamas, who lived among +the rocks above and came to the wall for food and shelter, with +ease and confidence. It was only when at last Nunez sought to +assert himself that he found how easy and confident their movements +could be. + +He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion. + +He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. +"Look you here, you people," he said. "There are things you do not +understand in me." + +Once or twice one or two of them attended to him; they sat +with faces downcast and ears turned intelligently towards him, and +he did his best to tell them what it was to see. Among his hearers +was a girl, with eyelids less red and sunken than the others, so +that one could almost fancy she was hiding eyes, whom especially he +hoped to persuade. He spoke of the beauties of sight, of watching +the mountains, of the sky and the sunrise, and they heard him with +amused incredulity that presently became condemnatory. They told +him there were indeed no mountains at all, but that the end of the +rocks where the llamas grazed was indeed the end of the world; +thence sprang a cavernous roof of the universe, from which the dew +and the avalanches fell; and when he maintained stoutly the world +had neither end nor roof such as they supposed, they said his +thoughts were wicked. So far as he could describe sky and clouds +and stars to them it seemed to them a hideous void, a terrible +blankness in the place of the smooth roof to things in which they +believed--it was an article of faith with them that the cavern roof +was exquisitely smooth to the touch. He saw that in some manner he +shocked them, and gave up that aspect of the matter altogether, and +tried to show them the practical value of sight. One morning he +saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards the +central houses, but still too far off for hearing or scent, and he +told them as much. "In a little while," he prophesied, "Pedro will +be here." An old man remarked that Pedro had no business on path +Seventeen, and then, as if in confirmation, that individual as he +drew near turned and went transversely into path Ten, and so back +with nimble paces towards the outer wall. They mocked Nunez when +Pedro did not arrive, and afterwards, when he asked Pedro questions +to clear his character, Pedro denied and outfaced him, and was +afterwards hostile to him. + +Then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping +meadows towards the wall with one complaisant individual, and to +him he promised to describe all that happened among the houses. He +noted certain goings and comings, but the things that really seemed +to signify to these people happened inside of or behind the +windowless houses--the only things they took note of to test him +by--and of those he could see or tell nothing; and it was after the +failure of this attempt, and the ridicule they could not repress, +that he resorted to force. He thought of seizing a spade and +suddenly smiting one or two of them to earth, and so in fair combat +showing the advantage of eyes. He went so far with that resolution +as to seize his spade, and then he discovered a new thing about +himself, and that was that it was impossible for him to hit a blind +man in cold blood. + +He hesitated, and found them all aware that he had snatched up +the spade. They stood all alert, with their heads on one side, and +bent ears towards him for what he would do next. + +"Put that spade down," said one, and he felt a sort of +helpless horror. He came near obedience. + +Then he had thrust one backwards against a house wall, and +fled past him and out of the village. + +He went athwart one of their meadows, leaving a track of +trampled grass behind his feet, and presently sat down by the side +of one of their ways. He felt something of the buoyancy that comes +to all men in the beginning of a fight, but more perplexity. He +began to realise that you cannot even fight happily with creatures +who stand upon a different mental basis to yourself. Far away he +saw a number of men carrying spades and sticks come out of the +street of houses and advance in a spreading line along the several +paths towards him. They advanced slowly, speaking frequently to +one another, and ever and again the whole cordon would halt and +sniff the air and listen. + +The first time they did this Nunez laughed. But afterwards he +did not laugh. + +One struck his trail in the meadow grass and came stooping and +feeling his way along it. + +For five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon, +and then his vague disposition to do something forthwith +became frantic. He stood up, went a pace or so towards the +circumferential wall, turned, and went back a little way. There +they all stood in a crescent, still and listening. + +He also stood still, gripping his spade very tightly in both +hands. Should he charge them? + +The pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of "In the Country +of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." + +Should he charge them? + +He looked back at the high and unclimbable wall +behind--unclimbable because of its smooth plastering, but withal +pierced with many little doors and at the approaching line of +seekers. Behind these others were now coming out of the street of +houses. + +Should he charge them? + +"Bogota!" called one. "Bogota! where are you?" + +He gripped his spade still tighter and advanced down the +meadows towards the place of habitations, and directly he moved +they converged upon him. "I'll hit them if they touch me," he +swore; "by Heaven, I will. I'll hit." He called aloud, "Look +here, I'm going to do what I like in this valley! Do you hear? +I'm going to do what I like and go where I like." + +They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving +rapidly. It was like playing blind man's buff with everyone +blindfolded except one. "Get hold of him!" cried one. He found +himself in the arc of a loose curve of pursuers. He felt suddenly +he must be active and resolute. + +"You don't understand," he cried, in a voice that was meant to +be great and resolute, and which broke. "You are blind and I can +see. Leave me alone!" + +"Bogota! Put down that spade and come off the grass!" + +The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced +a gust of anger. "I'll hurt you," he said, sobbing with emotion. +"By Heaven, I'll hurt you! Leave me alone!" + +He began to run--not knowing clearly where to run. He ran +from the nearest blind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He +stopped, and then made a dash to escape from their closing ranks. +He made for where a gap was wide, and the men on either side, with +a quick perception of the approach of his paces, rushed in on one +another. He sprang forward, and then saw he must be caught, and +_swish!_ the spade had struck. He felt the soft thud of hand +and arm, and the man was down with a yell of pain, and he was +through. + +Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again, +and blind men, whirling spades and stakes, were running with a +reasoned swiftness hither and thither. + +He heard steps behind him just in time, and found a tall man +rushing forward and swiping at the sound of him. He lost his +nerve, hurled his spade a yard wide of this antagonist, and whirled +about and fled, fairly yelling as he dodged another. + +He was panic-stricken. He ran furiously to and fro, dodging +when there was no need to dodge, and, in his anxiety to see on +every side of him at once, stumbling. For a moment he was down and +they heard his fall. Far away in the circumferential wall a little +doorway looked like Heaven, and he set off in a wild rush for it. +He did not even look round at his pursuers until it was gained, and +he had stumbled across the bridge, clambered a little way among the +rocks, to the surprise and dismay of a young llama, who went +leaping out of sight, and lay down sobbing for breath. + +And so his _coup d'etat_ came to an end. + +He stayed outside the wall of the valley of the blind for two +nights and days without food or shelter, and meditated upon the +Unexpected. During these meditations he repeated very frequently +and always with a profounder note of derision the exploded proverb: +"In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." He thought +chiefly of ways of fighting and conquering these people, and it +grew clear that for him no practicable way was possible. He had no +weapons, and now it would be hard to get one. + +The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and +he could not find it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind +man. Of course, if he did that, he might then dictate terms on the +threat of assassinating them all. But--Sooner or later he must +sleep! . . . . + +He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be comfortable +under pine boughs while the frost fell at night, and--with +less confidence--to catch a llama by artifice in order to try +to kill it--perhaps by hammering it with a stone--and so finally, +perhaps, to eat some of it. But the llamas had a doubt of him and +regarded him with distrustful brown eyes and spat when he drew +near. Fear came on him the second day and fits of shivering. +Finally he crawled down to the wall of the Country of the Blind and +tried to make his terms. He crawled along by the stream, shouting, +until two blind men came out to the gate and talked to him. + +"I was mad," he said. "But I was only newly made." + +They said that was better. + +He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had +done. + + +Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill +now, and they took that as a favourable sign. + +They asked him if he still thought he could "_see_." + +"No," he said. "That was folly. The word means nothing. +Less than nothing!" + +They asked him what was overhead. + +"About ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above +the world--of rock--and very, very smooth. So smooth--so +beautifully smooth . ." He burst again into hysterical tears. +"Before you ask me any more, give me some food or I shall die!" + +He expected dire punishments, but these blind people were +capable of toleration. They regarded his rebellion as but one more +proof of his general idiocy and inferiority, and after they had +whipped him they appointed him to do the simplest and heaviest work +they had for anyone to do, and he, seeing no other way of living, +did submissively what he was told. + +He was ill for some days and they nursed him kindly. That +refined his submission. But they insisted on his lying in the +dark, and that was a great misery. And blind philosophers came and +talked to him of the wicked levity of his mind, and reproved him so +impressively for his doubts about the lid of rock that covered +their cosmic _casserole_ that he almost doubted whether indeed +he was not the victim of hallucination in not seeing it overhead. + +So Nunez became a citizen of the Country of the Blind, and +these people ceased to be a generalised people and became +individualities to him, and familiar to him, while the world beyond +the mountains became more and more remote and unreal. There was +Yacob, his master, a kindly man when not annoyed; there was Pedro, +Yacob's nephew; and there was Medina-sarote, who was the youngest +daughter of Yacob. She was little esteemed in the world of the +blind, because she had a clear-cut face and lacked that satisfying, +glossy smoothness that is the blind man's ideal of feminine beauty, +but Nunez thought her beautiful at first, and presently the most +beautiful thing in the whole creation. Her closed eyelids were +not sunken and red after the common way of the valley, but lay as +though they might open again at any moment; and she had long +eyelashes, which were considered a grave disfigurement. And her +voice was weak and did not satisfy the acute hearing of the valley +swains. So that she had no lover. + +There came a time when Nunez thought that, could he win her, +he would be resigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his +days. + +He watched her; he sought opportunities of doing her little +services and presently he found that she observed him. Once at a +rest-day gathering they sat side by side in the dim starlight, and +the music was sweet. His hand came upon hers and he dared to clasp +it. Then very tenderly she returned his pressure. And one day, as +they were at their meal in the darkness, he felt her hand very +softly seeking him, and as it chanced the fire leapt then, and he +saw the tenderness of her face. + +He sought to speak to her. + +He went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer +moonlight spinning. The light made her a thing of silver and +mystery. He sat down at her feet and told her he loved her, and +told her how beautiful she seemed to him. He had a lover's voice, +he spoke with a tender reverence that came near to awe, and she had +never before been touched by adoration. She made him no definite +answer, but it was clear his words pleased her. + +After that he talked to her whenever he could take an +opportunity. The valley became the world for him, and the world +beyond the mountains where men lived by day seemed no more than a +fairy tale he would some day pour into her ears. Very tentatively +and timidly he spoke to her of sight. + +Sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies, and she +listened to his description of the stars and the mountains and her +own sweet white-lit beauty as though it was a guilty indulgence. +She did not believe, she could only half understand, but she was +mysteriously delighted, and it seemed to him that she completely +understood. + +His love lost its awe and took courage. Presently he was for +demanding her of Yacob and the elders in marriage, but she became +fearful and delayed. And it was one of her elder sisters who first +told Yacob that Medina-sarote and Nunez were in love. + +There was from the first very great opposition to the marriage +of Nunez and Medina-sarote; not so much because they valued her as +because they held him as a being apart, an idiot, incompetent thing +below the permissible level of a man. Her sisters opposed it +bitterly as bringing discredit on them all; and old Yacob, though +he had formed a sort of liking for his clumsy, obedient serf, shook +his head and said the thing could not be. The young men were all +angry at the idea of corrupting the race, and one went so far as to +revile and strike Nunez. He struck back. Then for the first time +he found an advantage in seeing, even by twilight, and after that +fight was over no one was disposed to raise a hand against him. +But they still found his marriage impossible. + +Old Yacob had a tenderness for his last little daughter, and +was grieved to have her weep upon his shoulder. + +"You see, my dear, he's an idiot. He has delusions; he can't +do anything right." + +"I know," wept Medina-sarote. "But he's better than he was. +He's getting better. And he's strong, dear father, and +kind--stronger and kinder than any other man in the world. And he +loves me--and, father, I love him." + +Old Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable, +and, besides--what made it more distressing--he liked Nunez for +many things. So he went and sat in the windowless council-chamber +with the other elders and watched the trend of the talk, and said, +at the proper time, "He's better than he was. Very likely, some +day, we shall find him as sane as ourselves." + +Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had +an idea. He was a great doctor among these people, their +medicine-man, and he had a very philosophical and inventive mind, +and the idea of curing Nunez of his peculiarities appealed to him. +One day when Yacob was present he returned to the topic of Nunez. +"I have examined Nunez," he said, "and the case is clearer to me. +I think very probably he might be cured." + +"This is what I have always hoped," said old Yacob. + +"His brain is affected," said the blind doctor. + +The elders murmured assent. + +"Now, _what_ affects it?" + +"Ah!" said old Yacob. + +"_This_," said the doctor, answering his own question. "Those +queer things that are called the eyes, and which exist to make +an agreeable depression in the face, are diseased, in the case +of Nunez, in such a way as to affect his brain. They are greatly +distended, he has eyelashes, and his eyelids move, and consequently +his brain is in a state of constant irritation and distraction." + +"Yes?" said old Yacob. "Yes?" + +"And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in +order to cure him complete, all that we need to do is a simple and +easy surgical operation--namely, to remove these irritant bodies." + +"And then he will be sane?" + +"Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable +citizen." + +"Thank Heaven for science!" said old Yacob, and went forth at +once to tell Nunez of his happy hopes. + +But Nunez's manner of receiving the good news struck him as +being cold and disappointing. + +"One might think," he said, "from the tone you take that you +did not care for my daughter." + +It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind +surgeons. + +"_You_ do not want me," he said, "to lose my gift of sight?" + +She shook her head. + +"My world is sight." + +Her head drooped lower. + +"There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little +things--the flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and +softness on a piece of fur, the far sky with its drifting dawn of +clouds, the sunsets and the stars. And there is _you_. For +you alone it is good to have sight, to see your sweet, serene face, +your kindly lips, your dear, beautiful hands folded together. . . . . +It is these eyes of mine you won, these eyes that hold me to +you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I must touch you, hear you, +and never see you again. I must come under that roof of rock and +stone and darkness, that horrible roof under which your +imaginations stoop . . . _No_; _you_ would not have me do that?" + +A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped and left +the thing a question. + +"I wish," she said, "sometimes--" She paused. + +"Yes?" he said, a little apprehensively. + +"I wish sometimes--you would not talk like that." + +"Like what?" + +"I know it's pretty--it's your imagination. I love it, but _now_--" + +He felt cold. "_Now?_" he said, faintly. + +She sat quite still. + +"You mean--you think--I should be better, better perhaps--" + +He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger perhaps, +anger at the dull course of fate, but also sympathy for her lack of +understanding--a sympathy near akin to pity. + +"_Dear_," he said, and he could see by her whiteness how +tensely her spirit pressed against the things she could not say. +He put his arms about her, he kissed her ear, and they sat for a +time in silence. + +"If I were to consent to this?" he said at last, in a voice +that was very gentle. + +She flung her arms about him, weeping wildly. "Oh, if you +would," she sobbed, "if only you would!" + +For a week before the operation that was to raise him from his +servitude and inferiority to the level of a blind citizen Nunez +knew nothing of sleep, and all through the warm, sunlit hours, +while the others slumbered happily, he sat brooding or wandered +aimlessly, trying to bring his mind to bear on his dilemma. He had +given his answer, he had given his consent, and still he was not +sure. And at last work-time was over, the sun rose in splendour +over the golden crests, and his last day of vision began for him. +He had a few minutes with Medina-sarote before she went apart to +sleep. + +"To-morrow," he said, "I shall see no more." + +"Dear heart!" she answered, and pressed his hands with all her +strength. + +"They will hurt you but little," she said; "and you are going +through this pain, you are going through it, dear lover, for +_me_ . . . . Dear, if a woman's heart and life can do it, I +will repay you. My dearest one, my dearest with the tender voice, +I will repay." + +He was drenched in pity for himself and her. + +He held her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers and +looked on her sweet face for the last time. "Good-bye!" he +whispered to that dear sight, "good-bye!" + +And then in silence he turned away from her. + +She could hear his slow retreating footsteps, and something in +the rhythm of them threw her into a passion of weeping. + +He walked away. + +He had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows +were beautiful with white narcissus, and there remain until the +hour of his sacrifice should come, but as he walked he lifted up +his eyes and saw the morning, the morning like an angel in golden +armour, marching down the steeps . . . . + +It seemed to him that before this splendour he and this blind +world in the valley, and his love and all, were no more than a pit +of sin. + +He did not turn aside as he had meant to do, but went on and +passed through the wall of the circumference and out upon the +rocks, and his eyes were always upon the sunlit ice and snow. + +He saw their infinite beauty, and his imagination soared over +them to the things beyond he was now to resign for ever! + +He thought of that great free world that he was parted from, +the world that was his own, and he had a vision of those further +slopes, distance beyond distance, with Bogota, a place of +multitudinous stirring beauty, a glory by day, a luminous mystery +by night, a place of palaces and fountains and statues and white +houses, lying beautifully in the middle distance. He thought how +for a day or so one might come down through passes drawing ever +nearer and nearer to its busy streets and ways. He thought of the +river journey, day by day, from great Bogota to the still vaster +world beyond, through towns and villages, forest and desert places, +the rushing river day by day, until its banks receded, and the big +steamers came splashing by and one had reached the sea--the +limitless sea, with its thousand islands, its thousands of islands, +and its ships seen dimly far away in their incessant journeyings +round and about that greater world. And there, unpent by +mountains, one saw the sky--the sky, not such a disc as one saw it +here, but an arch of immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps in which +the circling stars were floating . . . . + +His eyes began to scrutinise the great curtain of the +mountains with a keener inquiry. + +For example; if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney +there, then one might come out high among those stunted pines that +ran round in a sort of shelf and rose still higher and higher as it +passed above the gorge. And then? That talus might be managed. +Thence perhaps a climb might be found to take him up to the +precipice that came below the snow; and if that chimney failed, +then another farther to the east might serve his purpose better. +And then? Then one would be out upon the amber-lit snow there, and +half-way up to the crest of those beautiful desolations. And +suppose one had good fortune! + +He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and +regarded it with folded arms. + +He thought of Medina-sarote, and she had become small and +remote. + +He turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day +had come to him. + +Then very circumspectly he began his climb. + +When sunset came he was not longer climbing, but he was far and high. +His clothes were torn, his limbs were bloodstained, he was bruised +in many places, but he lay as if he were at his ease, and there +was a smile on his face. + +From where he rested the valley seemed as if it were in a pit +and nearly a mile below. Already it was dim with haze and shadow, +though the mountain summits around him were things of light and +fire. The mountain summits around him were things of light and +fire, and the little things in the rocks near at hand were drenched +with light and beauty, a vein of green mineral piercing the +grey, a flash of small crystal here and there, a minute, +minutely-beautiful orange lichen close beside his face. There +were deep, mysterious shadows in the gorge, blue deepening into +purple, and purple into a luminous darkness, and overhead was the +illimitable vastness of the sky. But he heeded these things no +longer, but lay quite still there, smiling as if he were content +now merely to have escaped from the valley of the Blind, in which +he had thought to be King. And the glow of the sunset passed, and +the night came, and still he lay there, under the cold, clear stars. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Door in the Wall And Other Stories +by H. G. 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WELLS + + + + + + +CONTENTS + +The Door in the Wall 5 +The Star 27 +A Dream of Armageddon 43 +The Cone 75 +A Moonlight Fable 91 +The Diamond Maker 99 +The Lord of the Dynamos 111 +The Country of the Blind 125 + + + + + +THE DOOR IN THE WALL +AND OTHER STORIES + + + +THE DOOR IN THE WALL + +I + +One confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace told +me this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thought +that so far as he was concerned it was a true story. + +He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction that +I could not do otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning, +in my own flat, I woke to a different atmosphere, and as I lay in +bed and recalled the things he had told me, stripped of the glamour +of his earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed shaded table +light, the shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and the +pleasant bright things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the +dinner we had shared, making them for the time a bright little +world quite cut off from every-day realities, I saw it all as +frankly incredible. "He was mystifying!" I said, and then: "How +well he did it!. . . . . It isn't quite the thing I should have +expected him, of all people, to do well." + +Afterwards, as I sat up in bed and sipped my morning tea, I +found myself trying to account for the flavour of reality that +perplexed me in his impossible reminiscences, by supposing they did +in some way suggest, present, convey--I hardly know which word to +use--experiences it was otherwise impossible to tell. + +Well, I don't resort to that explanation now. I have got over +my intervening doubts. I believe now, as I believed at the moment +of telling, that Wallace did to the very best of his ability strip +the truth of his secret for me. But whether he himself saw, or only +thought he saw, whether he himself was the possessor of an +inestimable privilege, or the victim of a fantastic dream, I cannot +pretend to guess. Even the facts of his death, which ended my +doubts forever, throw no light on that. That much the reader must +judge for himself. + +I forget now what chance comment or criticism of mine moved so +reticent a man to confide in me. He was, I think, defending +himself against an imputation of slackness and unreliability I had +made in relation to a great public movement in which he had +disappointed me. But he plunged suddenly. "I have" he said, "a +preoccupation--" + +"I know," he went on, after a pause that he devoted to the +study of his cigar ash, "I have been negligent. The fact is--it +isn't a case of ghosts or apparitions--but--it's an odd thing to +tell of, Redmond--I am haunted. I am haunted by something--that +rather takes the light out of things, that fills me with longings +. . . . ." + +He paused, checked by that English shyness that so often +overcomes us when we would speak of moving or grave or beautiful +things. "You were at Saint Athelstan's all through," he said, and +for a moment that seemed to me quite irrelevant. "Well"--and he +paused. Then very haltingly at first, but afterwards more easily, +he began to tell of the thing that was hidden in his life, the +haunting memory of a beauty and a happiness that filled his heart +with insatiable longings that made all the interests and spectacle +of worldly life seem dull and tedious and vain to him. + +Now that I have the clue to it, the thing seems written +visibly in his face. I have a photograph in which that look of +detachment has been caught and intensified. It reminds me of what +a woman once said of him--a woman who had loved him greatly. +"Suddenly," she said, "the interest goes out of him. He forgets +you. He doesn't care a rap for you--under his very nose . . . . ." + +Yet the interest was not always out of him, and when he was +holding his attention to a thing Wallace could contrive to be an +extremely successful man. His career, indeed, is set with +successes. He left me behind him long ago; he soared up over my +head, and cut a figure in the world that I couldn't cut--anyhow. +He was still a year short of forty, and they say now that he would +have been in office and very probably in the new Cabinet if he had +lived. At school he always beat me without effort--as it were by +nature. We were at school together at Saint Athelstan's College in +West Kensington for almost all our school time. He came into the +school as my co-equal, but he left far above me, in a blaze of +scholarships and brilliant performance. Yet I think I made a fair +average running. And it was at school I heard first of the Door in +the Wall--that I was to hear of a second time only a month before +his death. + +To him at least the Door in the Wall was a real door leading +through a real wall to immortal realities. Of that I am now quite +assured. + +And it came into his life early, when he was a little fellow +between five and six. I remember how, as he sat making his +confession to me with a slow gravity, he reasoned and reckoned the +date of it. "There was," he said, "a crimson Virginia creeper in +it--all one bright uniform crimson in a clear amber sunshine +against a white wall. That came into the impression somehow, +though I don't clearly remember how, and there were horse-chestnut +leaves upon the clean pavement outside the green door. They were +blotched yellow and green, you know, not brown nor dirty, so that +they must have been new fallen. I take it that means October. I +look out for horse-chestnut leaves every year, and I ought to know. + +"If I'm right in that, I was about five years and four months old." + +He was, he said, rather a precocious little boy--he learned to +talk at an abnormally early age, and he was so sane and +"old-fashioned," as people say, that he was permitted an amount of +initiative that most children scarcely attain by seven or eight. +His mother died when he was born, and he was under the less +vigilant and authoritative care of a nursery governess. His father +was a stern, preoccupied lawyer, who gave him little attention, and +expected great things of him. For all his brightness he found life +a little grey and dull I think. And one day he wandered. + +He could not recall the particular neglect that enabled him to +get away, nor the course he took among the West Kensington roads. +All that had faded among the incurable blurs of memory. But the +white wall and the green door stood out quite distinctly. + +As his memory of that remote childish experience ran, he did +at the very first sight of that door experience a peculiar emotion, +an attraction, a desire to get to the door and open it and walk in. + +And at the same time he had the clearest conviction that either it +was unwise or it was wrong of him--he could not tell which--to +yield to this attraction. He insisted upon it as a curious thing +that he knew from the very beginning--unless memory has played him +the queerest trick--that the door was unfastened, and that he could +go in as he chose. + +I seem to see the figure of that little boy, drawn and +repelled. And it was very clear in his mind, too, though why it +should be so was never explained, that his father would be very +angry if he went through that door. + +Wallace described all these moments of hesitation to me with +the utmost particularity. He went right past the door, and then, +with his hands in his pockets, and making an infantile attempt to +whistle, strolled right along beyond the end of the wall. There he +recalls a number of mean, dirty shops, and particularly that of a +plumber and decorator, with a dusty disorder of earthenware pipes, +sheet lead ball taps, pattern books of wall paper, and tins of +enamel. He stood pretending to examine these things, and coveting, +passionately desiring the green door. + +Then, he said, he had a gust of emotion. He made a run for +it, lest hesitation should grip him again, he went plump with +outstretched hand through the green door and let it slam behind +him. And so, in a trice, he came into the garden that has haunted +all his life. + +It was very difficult for Wallace to give me his full sense of +that garden into which he came. + +There was something in the very air of it that exhilarated, +that gave one a sense of lightness and good happening and well +being; there was something in the sight of it that made all its +colour clean and perfect and subtly luminous. In the instant of +coming into it one was exquisitely glad--as only in rare moments +and when one is young and joyful one can be glad in this world. +And everything was beautiful there . . . . . + +Wallace mused before he went on telling me. "You see," he +said, with the doubtful inflection of a man who pauses at +incredible things, "there were two great panthers there . . . Yes, +spotted panthers. And I was not afraid. There was a long wide +path with marble-edged flower borders on either side, and these two +huge velvety beasts were playing there with a ball. One looked up +and came towards me, a little curious as it seemed. It came right +up to me, rubbed its soft round ear very gently against the small +hand I held out and purred. It was, I tell you, an enchanted +garden. I know. And the size? Oh! it stretched far and wide, +this way and that. I believe there were hills far away. Heaven +knows where West Kensington had suddenly got to. And somehow it +was just like coming home. + +"You know, in the very moment the door swung to behind me, I +forgot the road with its fallen chestnut leaves, its cabs and +tradesmen's carts, I forgot the sort of gravitational pull back to +the discipline and obedience of home, I forgot all hesitations and +fear, forgot discretion, forgot all the intimate realities of this +life. I became in a moment a very glad and wonder-happy little +boy--in another world. It was a world with a different quality, a +warmer, more penetrating and mellower light, with a faint clear +gladness in its air, and wisps of sun-touched cloud in the blueness +of its sky. And before me ran this long wide path, invitingly, +with weedless beds on either side, rich with untended flowers, and +these two great panthers. I put my little hands fearlessly on +their soft fur, and caressed their round ears and the sensitive +corners under their ears, and played with them, and it was as +though they welcomed me home. There was a keen sense of +home-coming in my mind, and when presently a tall, fair girl +appeared in the pathway and came to meet me, smiling, and said +'Well?' to me, and lifted me, and kissed me, and put me down, and +led me by the hand, there was no amazement, but only an impression +of delightful rightness, of being reminded of happy things that had +in some strange way been overlooked. There were broad steps, I +remember, that came into view between spikes of delphinium, and up +these we went to a great avenue between very old and shady dark +trees. All down this avenue, you know, between the red chapped +stems, were marble seats of honour and statuary, and very tame and +friendly white doves . . . . . + +"And along this avenue my girl-friend led me, looking down--I +recall the pleasant lines, the finely-modelled chin of her sweet +kind face--asking me questions in a soft, agreeable voice, and +telling me things, pleasant things I know, though what they were I +was never able to recall . . . And presently a little Capuchin +monkey, very clean, with a fur of ruddy brown and kindly hazel +eyes, came down a tree to us and ran beside me, looking up at me +and grinning, and presently leapt to my shoulder. So we went on +our way in great happiness . . . ." + +He paused. + +"Go on," I said. + +"I remember little things. We passed an old man musing among +laurels, I remember, and a place gay with paroquets, and came +through a broad shaded colonnade to a spacious cool palace, full of +pleasant fountains, full of beautiful things, full of the quality +and promise of heart's desire. And there were many things and many +people, some that still seem to stand out clearly and some that are +a little vague, but all these people were beautiful and kind. In +some way--I don't know how--it was conveyed to me that they all +were kind to me, glad to have me there, and filling me with +gladness by their gestures, by the touch of their hands, by the +welcome and love in their eyes. Yes--" + +He mused for awhile. "Playmates I found there. That was very +much to me, because I was a lonely little boy. They played +delightful games in a grass-covered court where there was a +sun-dial set about with flowers. And as one played one loved . . . . + +"But--it's odd--there's a gap in my memory. I don't remember +the games we played. I never remembered. Afterwards, as a child, +I spent long hours trying, even with tears, to recall the form of +that happiness. I wanted to play it all over again--in my nursery +--by myself. No! All I remember is the happiness and two dear +playfellows who were most with me . . . . Then presently came a +sombre dark woman, with a grave, pale face and dreamy eyes, a +sombre woman wearing a soft long robe of pale purple, who carried +a book and beckoned and took me aside with her into a gallery above +a hall--though my playmates were loth to have me go, and ceased +their game and stood watching as I was carried away. 'Come back to +us!' they cried. 'Come back to us soon!' I looked up at her face, +but she heeded them not at all. Her face was very gentle and +grave. She took me to a seat in the gallery, and I stood beside +her, ready to look at her book as she opened it upon her knee. The +pages fell open. She pointed, and I looked, marvelling, for in the +living pages of that book I saw myself; it was a story about +myself, and in it were all the things that had happened to me since +ever I was born . . . . + +"It was wonderful to me, because the pages of that book were +not pictures, you understand, but realities." + +Wallace paused gravely--looked at me doubtfully. + +"Go on," I said. "I understand." + +"They were realities--yes, they must have been; people moved +and things came and went in them; my dear mother, whom I had near +forgotten; then my father, stern and upright, the servants, the +nursery, all the familiar things of home. Then the front door and +the busy streets, with traffic to and fro: I looked and marvelled, +and looked half doubtfully again into the woman's face and turned +the pages over, skipping this and that, to see more of this book, +and more, and so at last I came to myself hovering and hesitating +outside the green door in the long white wall, and felt again the +conflict and the fear. + +"'And next?' I cried, and would have turned on, but the cool +hand of the grave woman delayed me. + +"'Next?' I insisted, and struggled gently with her hand, +pulling up her fingers with all my childish strength, and as she +yielded and the page came over she bent down upon me like a shadow +and kissed my brow. + +"But the page did not show the enchanted garden, nor the +panthers, nor the girl who had led me by the hand, nor the +playfellows who had been so loth to let me go. It showed a long +grey street in West Kensington, on that chill hour of afternoon +before the lamps are lit, and I was there, a wretched little +figure, weeping aloud, for all that I could do to restrain myself, +and I was weeping because I could not return to my dear +play-fellows who had called after me, 'Come back to us! Come back +to us soon!' I was there. This was no page in a book, but harsh +reality; that enchanted place and the restraining hand of the grave +mother at whose knee I stood had gone--whither have they gone?" + +He halted again, and remained for a time, staring into the fire. + +"Oh! the wretchedness of that return!" he murmured. + +"Well?" I said after a minute or so. + +"Poor little wretch I was--brought back to this grey world +again! As I realised the fulness of what had happened to me, I +gave way to quite ungovernable grief. And the shame and +humiliation of that public weeping and my disgraceful homecoming +remain with me still. I see again the benevolent-looking old +gentleman in gold spectacles who stopped and spoke to me--prodding +me first with his umbrella. 'Poor little chap,' said he; 'and are +you lost then?'--and me a London boy of five and more! And he must +needs bring in a kindly young policeman and make a crowd of me, and +so march me home. Sobbing, conspicuous and frightened, I came from +the enchanted garden to the steps of my father's house. + +"That is as well as I can remember my vision of that +garden--the garden that haunts me still. Of course, I can convey +nothing of that indescribable quality of translucent unreality, +that difference from the common things of experience that hung +about it all; but that--that is what happened. If it was a dream, +I am sure it was a day-time and altogether extraordinary dream . . +. . . . H'm!--naturally there followed a terrible questioning, by +my aunt, my father, the nurse, the governess--everyone . . . . . . + +"I tried to tell them, and my father gave me my first +thrashing for telling lies. When afterwards I tried to tell my +aunt, she punished me again for my wicked persistence. Then, as I +said, everyone was forbidden to listen to me, to hear a word about +it. Even my fairy tale books were taken away from me for a +time--because I was 'too imaginative.' Eh? Yes, they did that! My +father belonged to the old school . . . . . And my story was driven +back upon myself. I whispered it to my pillow--my pillow that was +often damp and salt to my whispering lips with childish tears. And +I added always to my official and less fervent prayers this one +heartfelt request: 'Please God I may dream of the garden. Oh! take +me back to my garden! Take me back to my garden!' + +"I dreamt often of the garden. I may have added to it, I may +have changed it; I do not know . . . . . All this you understand +is an attempt to reconstruct from fragmentary memories a very early +experience. Between that and the other consecutive memories of my +boyhood there is a gulf. A time came when it seemed impossible I +should ever speak of that wonder glimpse again." + +I asked an obvious question. + +"No," he said. "I don't remember that I ever attempted to +find my way back to the garden in those early years. This seems +odd to me now, but I think that very probably a closer watch was +kept on my movements after this misadventure to prevent my going +astray. No, it wasn't until you knew me that I tried for the +garden again. And I believe there was a period --incredible as it +seems now--when I forgot the garden altogether--when I was about +eight or nine it may have been. Do you remember me as a kid at +Saint Athelstan's?" + +"Rather!" + +"I didn't show any signs did I in those days of having a secret dream?" + + +II + + +He looked up with a sudden smile. + +"Did you ever play North-West Passage with me? . . . . . No, +of course you didn't come my way!" + +"It was the sort of game," he went on, "that every imaginative +child plays all day. The idea was the discovery of a North-West +Passage to school. The way to school was plain enough; the game +consisted in finding some way that wasn't plain, starting off ten +minutes early in some almost hopeless direction, and working one's +way round through unaccustomed streets to my goal. And one day I +got entangled among some rather low-class streets on the other side +of Campden Hill, and I began to think that for once the game would +be against me and that I should get to school late. I tried rather +desperately a street that seemed a cul de sac, and found a +passage at the end. I hurried through that with renewed hope. 'I +shall do it yet,' I said, and passed a row of frowsy little shops +that were inexplicably familiar to me, and behold! there was my +long white wall and the green door that led to the enchanted +garden! + +"The thing whacked upon me suddenly. Then, after all, that garden, +that wonderful garden, wasn't a dream!" . . . . + +He paused. + +"I suppose my second experience with the green door marks the +world of difference there is between the busy life of a schoolboy +and the infinite leisure of a child. Anyhow, this second time I +didn't for a moment think of going in straight away. You see . . +. For one thing my mind was full of the idea of getting to school +in time--set on not breaking my record for punctuality. I must +surely have felt SOME little desire at least to try the +door--yes, I must have felt that . . . . . But I seem to remember +the attraction of the door mainly as another obstacle to my +overmastering determination to get to school. I was immediately +interested by this discovery I had made, of course--I went on with +my mind full of it--but I went on. It didn't check me. I ran past +tugging out my watch, found I had ten minutes still to spare, and +then I was going downhill into familiar surroundings. I got to +school, breathless, it is true, and wet with perspiration, but in +time. I can remember hanging up my coat and hat . . . Went right +by it and left it behind me. Odd, eh?" + +He looked at me thoughtfully. "Of course, I didn't know then +that it wouldn't always be there. School boys have limited +imaginations. I suppose I thought it was an awfully jolly thing to +have it there, to know my way back to it, but there was the school +tugging at me. I expect I was a good deal distraught and +inattentive that morning, recalling what I could of the beautiful +strange people I should presently see again. Oddly enough I had no +doubt in my mind that they would be glad to see me . . . Yes, I +must have thought of the garden that morning just as a jolly sort +of place to which one might resort in the interludes of a strenuous +scholastic career. + +"I didn't go that day at all. The next day was a half +holiday, and that may have weighed with me. Perhaps, too, my state +of inattention brought down impositions upon me and docked the +margin of time necessary for the detour. I don't know. What I do +know is that in the meantime the enchanted garden was so much upon +my mind that I could not keep it to myself. + +"I told--What was his name?--a ferrety-looking youngster we +used to call Squiff." + +"Young Hopkins," said I. + +"Hopkins it was. I did not like telling him, I had a feeling +that in some way it was against the rules to tell him, but I did. +He was walking part of the way home with me; he was talkative, and +if we had not talked about the enchanted garden we should have +talked of something else, and it was intolerable to me to think +about any other subject. So I blabbed. + +"Well, he told my secret. The next day in the play interval +I found myself surrounded by half a dozen bigger boys, half teasing +and wholly curious to hear more of the enchanted garden. There was +that big Fawcett--you remember him?--and Carnaby and Morley +Reynolds. You weren't there by any chance? No, I think I should +have remembered if you were . . . . . + +"A boy is a creature of odd feelings. I was, I really +believe, in spite of my secret self-disgust, a little flattered to +have the attention of these big fellows. I remember particularly +a moment of pleasure caused by the praise of Crawshaw--you remember +Crawshaw major, the son of Crawshaw the composer?--who said it was +the best lie he had ever heard. But at the same time there was a +really painful undertow of shame at telling what I felt was indeed +a sacred secret. That beast Fawcett made a joke about the girl in +green--." + +Wallace's voice sank with the keen memory of that shame. "I +pretended not to hear," he said. "Well, then Carnaby suddenly +called me a young liar and disputed with me when I said the thing +was true. I said I knew where to find the green door, could lead +them all there in ten minutes. Carnaby became outrageously +virtuous, and said I'd have to--and bear out my words or suffer. +Did you ever have Carnaby twist your arm? Then perhaps you'll +understand how it went with me. I swore my story was true. There +was nobody in the school then to save a chap from Carnaby though +Crawshaw put in a word or so. Carnaby had got his game. I grew +excited and red-eared, and a little frightened, I behaved +altogether like a silly little chap, and the outcome of it all was +that instead of starting alone for my enchanted garden, I led the +way presently--cheeks flushed, ears hot, eyes smarting, and my soul +one burning misery and shame--for a party of six mocking, curious +and threatening school-fellows. + +"We never found the white wall and the green door . . ." + +"You mean?--" + +"I mean I couldn't find it. I would have found it if I could. + +"And afterwards when I could go alone I couldn't find it. I +never found it. I seem now to have been always looking for it +through my school-boy days, but I've never come upon it again." + +"Did the fellows--make it disagreeable?" + +"Beastly . . . . . Carnaby held a council over me for wanton +lying. I remember how I sneaked home and upstairs to hide the +marks of my blubbering. But when I cried myself to sleep at last +it wasn't for Carnaby, but for the garden, for the beautiful +afternoon I had hoped for, for the sweet friendly women and the +waiting playfellows and the game I had hoped to learn again, that +beautiful forgotten game . . . . . + +"I believed firmly that if I had not told-- . . . . . I had +bad times after that--crying at night and woolgathering by day. +For two terms I slackened and had bad reports. Do you remember? +Of course you would! It was YOU--your beating me in +mathematics that brought me back to the grind again." + + +III + + +For a time my friend stared silently into the red heart of the +fire. Then he said: "I never saw it again until I was seventeen. + +"It leapt upon me for the third time--as I was driving to +Paddington on my way to Oxford and a scholarship. I had just one +momentary glimpse. I was leaning over the apron of my hansom +smoking a cigarette, and no doubt thinking myself no end of a man +of the world, and suddenly there was the door, the wall, the dear +sense of unforgettable and still attainable things. + +"We clattered by--I too taken by surprise to stop my cab until +we were well past and round a corner. Then I had a queer moment, +a double and divergent movement of my will: I tapped the little +door in the roof of the cab, and brought my arm down to pull out my +watch. 'Yes, sir!' said the cabman, smartly. 'Er-- well--it's +nothing,' I cried. 'MY mistake! We haven't much time! Go +on!' and he went on . . . + +"I got my scholarship. And the night after I was told of that +I sat over my fire in my little upper room, my study, in my +father's house, with his praise--his rare praise--and his sound +counsels ringing in my ears, and I smoked my favourite pipe--the +formidable bulldog of adolescence--and thought of that door in the +long white wall. 'If I had stopped,' I thought, 'I should have +missed my scholarship, I should have missed Oxford--muddled all the +fine career before me! I begin to see things better!' I fell +musing deeply, but I did not doubt then this career of mine was a +thing that merited sacrifice. + +"Those dear friends and that clear atmosphere seemed very +sweet to me, very fine, but remote. My grip was fixing now upon +the world. I saw another door opening--the door of my career." + +He stared again into the fire. Its red lights picked out a +stubborn strength in his face for just one flickering moment, and +then it vanished again. + +"Well", he said and sighed, "I have served that career. I +have done--much work, much hard work. But I have dreamt of the +enchanted garden a thousand dreams, and seen its door, or at least +glimpsed its door, four times since then. Yes--four times. For a +while this world was so bright and interesting, seemed so full of +meaning and opportunity that the half-effaced charm of the garden +was by comparison gentle and remote. Who wants to pat panthers on +the way to dinner with pretty women and distinguished men? I came +down to London from Oxford, a man of bold promise that I have done +something to redeem. Something--and yet there have been +disappointments . . . . . + +"Twice I have been in love--I will not dwell on that--but +once, as I went to someone who, I know, doubted whether I dared to +come, I took a short cut at a venture through an unfrequented road +near Earl's Court, and so happened on a white wall and a familiar +green door. 'Odd!' said I to myself, 'but I thought this place was +on Campden Hill. It's the place I never could find somehow--like +counting Stonehenge--the place of that queer day dream of mine.' +And I went by it intent upon my purpose. It had no appeal to me +that afternoon. + +"I had just a moment's impulse to try the door, three steps +aside were needed at the most--though I was sure enough in my heart +that it would open to me--and then I thought that doing so might +delay me on the way to that appointment in which I thought my +honour was involved. Afterwards I was sorry for my punctuality--I +might at least have peeped in I thought, and waved a hand to those +panthers, but I knew enough by this time not to seek again +belatedly that which is not found by seeking. Yes, that time made +me very sorry . . . . . + +"Years of hard work after that and never a sight of the door. +It's only recently it has come back to me. With it there has come +a sense as though some thin tarnish had spread itself over my +world. I began to think of it as a sorrowful and bitter thing that +I should never see that door again. Perhaps I was suffering a +little from overwork--perhaps it was what I've heard spoken of as +the feeling of forty. I don't know. But certainly the keen +brightness that makes effort easy has gone out of things recently, +and that just at a time with all these new political developments +--when I ought to be working. Odd, isn't it? But I do begin to +find life toilsome, its rewards, as I come near them, cheap. I +began a little while ago to want the garden quite badly. Yes--and +I've seen it three times." + +"The garden?" + +"No--the door! And I haven't gone in!" + +He leaned over the table to me, with an enormous sorrow in his +voice as he spoke. "Thrice I have had my chance--THRICE! +If ever that door offers itself to me again, I swore, I will go in +out of this dust and heat, out of this dry glitter of vanity, out +of these toilsome futilities. I will go and never return. This +time I will stay . . . . . I swore it and when the time came-- +I DIDN'T GO. + +"Three times in one year have I passed that door and failed to +enter. Three times in the last year. + +"The first time was on the night of the snatch division on the +Tenants' Redemption Bill, on which the Government was saved by a +majority of three. You remember? No one on our side--perhaps very +few on the opposite side--expected the end that night. Then the +debate collapsed like eggshells. I and Hotchkiss were dining with +his cousin at Brentford, we were both unpaired, and we were called +up by telephone, and set off at once in his cousin's motor. We got +in barely in time, and on the way we passed my wall and door--livid +in the moonlight, blotched with hot yellow as the glare of our +lamps lit it, but unmistakable. 'My God!' cried I. 'What?'said +Hotchkiss. 'Nothing!' I answered, and the moment passed. + +"'I've made a great sacrifice,' I told the whip as I got in. +'They all have,' he said, and hurried by. + +"I do not see how I could have done otherwise then. And the +next occasion was as I rushed to my father's bedside to bid that +stern old man farewell. Then, too, the claims of life were +imperative. But the third time was different; it happened a week +ago. It fills me with hot remorse to recall it. I was with Gurker +and Ralphs--it's no secret now you know that I've had my talk with +Gurker. We had been dining at Frobisher's, and the talk had become +intimate between us. The question of my place in the reconstructed +ministry lay always just over the boundary of the discussion. Yes +--yes. That's all settled. It needn't be talked about yet, but +there's no reason to keep a secret from you . . . . . Yes--thanks! +thanks! But let me tell you my story. + +"Then, on that night things were very much in the air. My +position was a very delicate one. I was keenly anxious to get some +definite word from Gurker, but was hampered by Ralphs' presence. +I was using the best power of my brain to keep that light and +careless talk not too obviously directed to the point that concerns +me. I had to. Ralphs' behaviour since has more than justified my +caution . . . . . Ralphs, I knew, would leave us beyond the +Kensington High Street, and then I could surprise Gurker by a +sudden frankness. One has sometimes to resort to these little +devices. . . . . And then it was that in the margin of my field of +vision I became aware once more of the white wall, the green door +before us down the road. + +"We passed it talking. I passed it. I can still see the +shadow of Gurker's marked profile, his opera hat tilted forward +over his prominent nose, the many folds of his neck wrap going +before my shadow and Ralphs' as we sauntered past. + +"I passed within twenty inches of the door. 'If I say +good-night to them, and go in,' I asked myself, 'what will happen?' +And I was all a-tingle for that word with Gurker. + +"I could not answer that question in the tangle of my other +problems. 'They will think me mad,' I thought. 'And suppose I +vanish now!--Amazing disappearance of a prominent politician!' That +weighed with me. A thousand inconceivably petty worldlinesses +weighed with me in that crisis." + +Then he turned on me with a sorrowful smile, and, speaking +slowly; "Here I am!" he said. + +"Here I am!" he repeated, "and my chance has gone from me. +Three times in one year the door has been offered me--the door that +goes into peace, into delight, into a beauty beyond dreaming, a +kindness no man on earth can know. And I have rejected it, +Redmond, and it has gone--" + +"How do you know?" + +"I know. I know. I am left now to work it out, to stick to +the tasks that held me so strongly when my moments came. You say, +I have success--this vulgar, tawdry, irksome, envied thing. I have +it." He had a walnut in his big hand. "If that was my success," +he said, and crushed it, and held it out for me to see. + +"Let me tell you something, Redmond. This loss is destroying +me. For two months, for ten weeks nearly now, I have done no work +at all, except the most necessary and urgent duties. My soul is +full of inappeasable regrets. At nights--when it is less likely I +shall be recognised--I go out. I wander. Yes. I wonder what +people would think of that if they knew. A Cabinet Minister, the +responsible head of that most vital of all departments, wandering +alone--grieving--sometimes near audibly lamenting--for a door, for +a garden!" + + +IV + + +I can see now his rather pallid face, and the unfamiliar +sombre fire that had come into his eyes. I see him very vividly +to-night. I sit recalling his words, his tones, and last evening's +Westminster Gazette still lies on my sofa, containing the +notice of his death. At lunch to-day the club was busy with him +and the strange riddle of his fate. + +They found his body very early yesterday morning in a deep +excavation near East Kensington Station. It is one of two shafts +that have been made in connection with an extension of the railway +southward. It is protected from the intrusion of the public by a +hoarding upon the high road, in which a small doorway has been cut +for the convenience of some of the workmen who live in that +direction. The doorway was left unfastened through a +misunderstanding between two gangers, and through it he made his +way . . . . . + +My mind is darkened with questions and riddles. + +It would seem he walked all the way from the House that +night--he has frequently walked home during the past Session--and +so it is I figure his dark form coming along the late and empty +streets, wrapped up, intent. And then did the pale electric lights +near the station cheat the rough planking into a semblance of +white? Did that fatal unfastened door awaken some memory? + +Was there, after all, ever any green door in the wall at all? + +I do not know. I have told his story as he told it to me. +There are times when I believe that Wallace was no more than the +victim of the coincidence between a rare but not unprecedented type +of hallucination and a careless trap, but that indeed is not my +profoundest belief. You may think me superstitious if you will, +and foolish; but, indeed, I am more than half convinced that he had +in truth, an abnormal gift, and a sense, something--I know not +what--that in the guise of wall and door offered him an outlet, a +secret and peculiar passage of escape into another and altogether +more beautiful world. At any rate, you will say, it betrayed him +in the end. But did it betray him? There you touch the inmost +mystery of these dreamers, these men of vision and the imagination. + +We see our world fair and common, the hoarding and the pit. By our +daylight standard he walked out of security into darkness, danger +and death. But did he see like that? + + + + +THE STAR + + +It was on the first day of the New Year that the announcement +was made, almost simultaneously from three observatories, that the +motion of the planet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets +that wheel about the sun, had become very erratic. Ogilvy had +already called attention to a suspected retardation in its velocity +in December. Such a piece of news was scarcely calculated to +interest a world the greater portion of whose inhabitants were +unaware of the existence of the planet Neptune, nor outside the +astronomical profession did the subsequent discovery of a faint +remote speck of light in the region of the perturbed planet cause +any very great excitement. Scientific people, however, found the +intelligence remarkable enough, even before it became known that +the new body was rapidly growing larger and brighter, that its +motion was quite different from the orderly progress of the +planets, and that the deflection of Neptune and its satellite was +becoming now of an unprecedented kind. + +Few people without a training in science can realise the huge +isolation of the solar system. The sun with its specks of planets, +its dust of planetoids, and its impalpable comets, swims in a +vacant immensity that almost defeats the imagination. Beyond the +orbit of Neptune there is space, vacant so far as human observation +has penetrated, without warmth or light or sound, blank emptiness, +for twenty million times a million miles. That is the smallest +estimate of the distance to be traversed before the very nearest of +the stars is attained. And, saving a few comets more unsubstantial +than the thinnest flame, no matter had ever to human knowledge +crossed this gulf of space, until early in the twentieth century +this strange wanderer appeared. A vast mass of matter it was, +bulky, heavy, rushing without warning out of the black mystery of +the sky into the radiance of the sun. By the second day it was +clearly visible to any decent instrument, as a speck with a barely +sensible diameter, in the constellation Leo near Regulus. In a +little while an opera glass could attain it. + +On the third day of the new year the newspaper readers of two +hemispheres were made aware for the first time of the real +importance of this unusual apparition in the heavens. "A Planetary +Collision," one London paper headed the news, and proclaimed +Duchaine's opinion that this strange new planet would probably +collide with Neptune. The leader writers enlarged upon the topic; +so that in most of the capitals of the world, on January 3rd, there +was an expectation, however vague of some imminent phenomenon in +the sky; and as the night followed the sunset round the globe, +thousands of men turned their eyes skyward to see--the old familiar +stars just as they had always been. + +Until it was dawn in London and Pollux setting and the stars +overhead grown pale. The Winter's dawn it was, a sickly filtering +accumulation of daylight, and the light of gas and candles shone +yellow in the windows to show where people were astir. But the +yawning policeman saw the thing, the busy crowds in the markets +stopped agape, workmen going to their work betimes, milkmen, the +drivers of news-carts, dissipation going home jaded and pale, +homeless wanderers, sentinels on their beats, and in the country, +labourers trudging afield, poachers slinking home, all over the +dusky quickening country it could be seen--and out at sea by seamen +watching for the day--a great white star, come suddenly into the +westward sky! + +Brighter it was than any star in our skies; brighter than the +evening star at its brightest. It still glowed out white and +large, no mere twinkling spot of light, but a small round clear +shining disc, an hour after the day had come. And where science +has not reached, men stared and feared, telling one another of the +wars and pestilences that are foreshadowed by these fiery signs in +the Heavens. Sturdy Boers, dusky Hottentots, Gold Coast Negroes, +Frenchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, stood in the warmth of the +sunrise watching the setting of this strange new star. + +And in a hundred observatories there had been suppressed +excitement, rising almost to shouting pitch, as the two remote +bodies had rushed together; and a hurrying to and fro, to gather +photographic apparatus and spectroscope, and this appliance and +that, to record this novel astonishing sight, the destruction of a +world. For it was a world, a sister planet of our earth, far +greater than our earth indeed, that had so suddenly flashed into +flaming death. Neptune it was, had been struck, fairly and +squarely, by the strange planet from outer space and the heat of +the concussion had incontinently turned two solid globes into one +vast mass of incandescence. Round the world that day, two hours +before the dawn, went the pallid great white star, fading only as +it sank westward and the sun mounted above it. Everywhere men +marvelled at it, but of all those who saw it none could have +marvelled more than those sailors, habitual watchers of the stars, +who far away at sea had heard nothing of its advent and saw it now +rise like a pigmy moon and climb zenithward and hang overhead and +sink westward with the passing of the night. + +And when next it rose over Europe everywhere were crowds of +watchers on hilly slopes, on house-roofs, in open spaces, staring +eastward for the rising of the great new star. It rose with a +white glow in front of it, like the glare of a white fire, and +those who had seen it come into existence the night before cried +out at the sight of it. "It is larger," they cried. "It is +brighter!" And, indeed the moon a quarter full and sinking in the +west was in its apparent size beyond comparison, but scarcely in +all its breadth had it as much brightness now as the little circle +of the strange new star. + +"It is brighter!" cried the people clustering in the streets. +But in the dim observatories the watchers held their breath and +peered at one another IT IS NEARER," they said. "NEARER!" + +And voice after voice repeated, "It is nearer," and the +clicking telegraph took that up, and it trembled along telephone +wires, and in a thousand cities grimy compositors fingered the +type. "It is nearer." Men writing in offices, struck with a +strange realisation, flung down their pens, men talking in a +thousand places suddenly came upon a grotesque possibility in +those words, "It is nearer." It hurried along wakening streets, it +was shouted down the frost-stilled ways of quiet villages; men who +had read these things from the throbbing tape stood in yellow-lit +doorways shouting the news to the passersby. "It is nearer." +Pretty women, flushed and glittering, heard the news told jestingly +between the dances, and feigned an intelligent interest they did +not feel. "Nearer! Indeed. How curious! How very, very clever +people must be to find out things like that!" + +Lonely tramps faring through the wintry night murmured those +words to comfort themselves--looking skyward. "It has need to be +nearer, for the night's as cold as charity. Don't seem much warmth +from it if it IS nearer, all the same." + +"What is a new star to me?" cried the weeping woman kneeling +beside her dead. + +The schoolboy, rising early for his examination work, puzzled +it out for himself--with the great white star shining broad and +bright through the frost-flowers of his window. "Centrifugal, +centripetal," he said, with his chin on his fist. "Stop a planet +in its flight, rob it of its centrifugal force, what then? +Centripetal has it, and down it falls into the sun! And this--! + +"Do WE come in the way? I wonder--" + +The light of that day went the way of its brethren, and with +the later watches of the frosty darkness rose the strange star +again. And it was now so bright that the waxing moon seemed but a +pale yellow ghost of itself, hanging huge in the sunset. In a +South African City a great man had married, and the streets were +alight to welcome his return with his bride. "Even the skies have +illuminated," said the flatterer. Under Capricorn, two negro +lovers, daring the wild beasts and evil spirits, for love of one +another, crouched together in a cane brake where the fire-flies +hovered. "That is our star," they whispered, and felt strangely +comforted by the sweet brilliance of its light. + +The master mathematician sat in his private room and pushed +the papers from him. His calculations were already finished. In +a small white phial there still remained a little of the drug that +had kept him awake and active for four long nights. Each day, +serene, explicit, patient as ever, he had given his lecture to his +students, and then had come back at once to this momentous +calculation. His face was grave, a little drawn and hectic from +his drugged activity. For some time he seemed lost in thought. +Then he went to the window, and the blind went up with a click. +Half way up the sky, over the clustering roofs, chimneys and +steeples of the city, hung the star. + +He looked at it as one might look into the eyes of a brave +enemy. "You may kill me," he said after a silence. "But I can +hold you--and all the universe for that matter--in the grip of this +little brain. I would not change. Even now." + +He looked at the little phial. "There will be no need of +sleep again," he said. The next day at noon--punctual to the +minute, he entered his lecture theatre, put his hat on the end of +the table as his habit was, and carefully selected a large piece of +chalk. It was a joke among his students that he could not lecture +without that piece of chalk to fumble in his fingers, and once he +had been stricken to impotence by their hiding his supply. He came +and looked under his grey eyebrows at the rising tiers of young +fresh faces, and spoke with his accustomed studied commonness of +phrasing. "Circumstances have arisen--circumstances beyond my +control," he said and paused, "which will debar me from completing +the course I had designed. It would seem, gentlemen, if I may put +the thing clearly and briefly, that--Man has lived in vain." + +The students glanced at one another. Had they heard aright? +Mad? Raised eyebrows and grinning lips there were, but one or two +faces remained intent upon his calm grey-fringed face. "It will be +interesting," he was saying, "to devote this morning to an +exposition, so far as I can make it clear to you, of the +calculations that have led me to this conclusion. Let us assume--" + +He turned towards the blackboard, meditating a diagram in the +way that was usual to him. "What was that about 'lived in vain?'" +whispered one student to another. "Listen," said the other, +nodding towards the lecturer. + +And presently they began to understand. + +That night the star rose later, for its proper eastward motion +had carried it some way across Leo towards Virgo, and its +brightness was so great that the sky became a luminous blue as it +rose, and every star was hidden in its turn, save only Jupiter near +the zenith, Capella, Aldebaran, Sirius and the pointers of the +Bear. It was very white and beautiful. In many parts of the world +that night a pallid halo encircled it about. It was perceptibly +larger; in the clear refractive sky of the tropics it seemed as if +it were nearly a quarter the size of the moon. The frost was still +on the ground in England, but the world was as brightly lit as if +it were midsummer moonlight. One could see to read quite ordinary +print by that cold clear light, and in the cities the lamps burnt +yellow and wan. + +And everywhere the world was awake that night, and throughout +Christendom a sombre murmur hung in the keen air over the country +side like the belling of bees in the heather, and this murmurous +tumult grew to a clangour in the cities. It was the tolling of the +bells in a million belfry towers and steeples, summoning the people +to sleep no more, to sin no more, but to gather in their churches +and pray. And overhead, growing larger and brighter as the earth +rolled on its way and the night passed, rose the dazzling star. + +And the streets and houses were alight in all the cities, the +shipyards glared, and whatever roads led to high country were lit +and crowded all night long. And in all the seas about the +civilised lands, ships with throbbing engines, and ships with +bellying sails, crowded with men and living creatures, were +standing out to ocean and the north. For already the warning of +the master mathematician had been telegraphed all over the world, +and translated into a hundred tongues. The new planet and Neptune, +locked in a fiery embrace, were whirling headlong, ever faster and +faster towards the sun. Already every second this blazing mass +flew a hundred miles, and every second its terrific velocity +increased. As it flew now, indeed, it must pass a hundred million +of miles wide of the earth and scarcely affect it. But near its +destined path, as yet only slightly perturbed, spun the mighty +planet Jupiter and his moons sweeping splendid round the sun. +Every moment now the attraction between the fiery star and the +greatest of the planets grew stronger. And the result of that +attraction? Inevitably Jupiter would be deflected from its orbit +into an elliptical path, and the burning star, swung by his +attraction wide of its sunward rush, would "describe a curved path" +and perhaps collide with, and certainly pass very close to, our +earth. "Earthquakes, volcanic outbreaks, cyclones, sea waves, +floods, and a steady rise in temperature to I know not what +limit"--so prophesied the master mathematician. + +And overhead, to carry out his words, lonely and cold and +livid, blazed the star of the coming doom. + +To many who stared at it that night until their eyes ached, it +seemed that it was visibly approaching. And that night, too, the +weather changed, and the frost that had gripped all Central Europe +and France and England softened towards a thaw. + +But you must not imagine because I have spoken of people +praying through the night and people going aboard ships and people +fleeing toward mountainous country that the whole world was already +in a terror because of the star. As a matter of fact, use and wont +still ruled the world, and save for the talk of idle moments and +the splendour of the night, nine human beings out of ten were still +busy at their common occupations. In all the cities the shops, +save one here and there, opened and closed at their proper hours, +the doctor and the undertaker plied their trades, the workers +gathered in the factories, soldiers drilled, scholars studied, +lovers sought one another, thieves lurked and fled, politicians +planned their schemes. The presses of the newspapers roared +through the night, and many a priest of this church and that would +not open his holy building to further what he considered a foolish +panic. The newspapers insisted on the lesson of the year 1000--for +then, too, people had anticipated the end. The star was no +star--mere gas--a comet; and were it a star it could not possibly +strike the earth. There was no precedent for such a thing. Common +sense was sturdy everywhere, scornful, jesting, a little inclined +to persecute the +obdurate fearful. That night, at seven-fifteen by Greenwich time, +the star would be at its nearest to Jupiter. Then the world would +see the turn things would take. The master mathematician's grim +warnings were treated by many as so much mere elaborate +self-advertisement. Common sense at last, a little heated by +argument, signified its unalterable convictions by going to bed. +So, too, barbarism and savagery, already tired of the novelty, went +about their nightly business, and save for a howling dog here and +there, the beast world left the star unheeded. + +And yet, when at last the watchers in the European States saw +the star rise, an hour later it is true, but no larger than it had +been the night before, there were still plenty awake to laugh at +the master mathematician--to take the danger as if it had passed. + +But hereafter the laughter ceased. The star grew--it grew +with a terrible steadiness hour after hour, a little larger each +hour, a little nearer the midnight zenith, and brighter and +brighter, until it had turned night into a second day. Had it come +straight to the earth instead of in a curved path, had it lost no +velocity to Jupiter, it must have leapt the intervening gulf in a +day, but as it was it took five days altogether to come by our +planet. The next night it had become a third the size of the moon +before it set to English eyes, and the thaw was assured. It rose +over America near the size of the moon, but blinding white to look +at, and HOT; and a breath of hot wind blew now with its +rising and gathering strength, and in Virginia, and Brazil, and +down the St. Lawrence valley, it shone intermittently through a +driving reek of thunder-clouds, flickering violet lightning, +and hail unprecedented. In Manitoba was a thaw and devastating +floods. And upon all the mountains of the earth the snow and ice +began to melt that night, and all the rivers coming out of high +country flowed thick and turbid, and soon--in their upper reaches +--with swirling trees and the bodies of beasts and men. They rose +steadily, steadily in the ghostly brilliance, and came trickling +over their banks at last, behind the flying population of their +valleys. + +And along the coast of Argentina and up the South Atlantic the +tides were higher than had ever been in the memory of man, and the +storms drove the waters in many cases scores of miles inland, +drowning whole cities. And so great grew the heat during the night +that the rising of the sun was like the coming of a shadow. The +earthquakes began and grew until all down America from the Arctic +Circle to Cape Horn, hillsides were sliding, fissures were opening, +and houses and walls crumbling to destruction. The whole side of +Cotopaxi slipped out in one vast convulsion, and a tumult of lava +poured out so high and broad and swift and liquid that in one day +it reached the sea. + +So the star, with the wan moon in its wake, marched across the +Pacific, trailed the thunderstorms like the hem of a robe, and the +growing tidal wave that toiled behind it, frothing and eager, +poured over island and island and swept them clear of men. Until +that wave came at last--in a blinding light and with the breath of +a furnace, swift and terrible it came--a wall of water, fifty feet +high, roaring hungrily, upon the long coasts of Asia, and swept +inland across the plains of China. For a space the star, hotter +now and larger and brighter than the sun in its strength, showed +with pitiless brilliance the wide and populous country; towns and +villages with their pagodas and trees, roads, wide cultivated +fields, millions of sleepless people staring in helpless terror at +the incandescent sky; and then, low and growing, came the murmur of +the flood. And thus it was with millions of men that night--a +flight nowhither, with limbs heavy with heat and breath fierce and +scant, and the flood like a wall swift and white behind. And then +death. + +China was lit glowing white, but over Japan and Java and all +the islands of Eastern Asia the great star was a ball of dull red +fire because of the steam and smoke and ashes the volcanoes were +spouting forth to salute its coming. Above was the lava, hot gases +and ash, and below the seething floods, and the whole earth swayed +and rumbled with the earthquake shocks. Soon the immemorial snows +of Thibet and the Himalaya were melting and pouring down by ten +million deepening converging channels upon the plains of Burmah and +Hindostan. The tangled summits of the Indian jungles were aflame +in a thousand places, and below the hurrying waters around the +stems were dark objects that still struggled feebly and reflected +the blood-red tongues of fire. And in a rudderless confusion a +multitude of men and women fled down the broad river-ways to that +one last hope of men--the open sea. + +Larger grew the star, and larger, hotter, and brighter with a +terrible swiftness now. The tropical ocean had lost its +phosphorescence, and the whirling steam rose in ghostly wreaths +from the black waves that plunged incessantly, speckled with +storm-tossed ships. + +And then came a wonder. It seemed to those who in Europe +watched for the rising of the star that the world must have ceased +its rotation. In a thousand open spaces of down and upland the +people who had fled thither from the floods and the falling houses +and sliding slopes of hill watched for that rising in vain. Hour +followed hour through a terrible suspense, and the star rose not. +Once again men set their eyes upon the old constellations they had +counted lost to them forever. In England it was hot and clear +overhead, though the ground quivered perpetually, but in the +tropics, Sirius and Capella and Aldebaran showed through a veil of +steam. And when at last the great star rose near ten hours late, +the sun rose close upon it, and in the centre of its white heart +was a disc of black. + +Over Asia it was the star had begun to fall behind the +movement of the sky, and then suddenly, as it hung over India, its +light had been veiled. All the plain of India from the mouth of +the Indus to the mouths of the Ganges was a shallow waste of +shining water that night, out of which rose temples and palaces, +mounds and hills, black with people. Every minaret was a +clustering mass of people, who fell one by one into the turbid +waters, as heat and terror overcame them. The whole land seemed +a-wailing and suddenly there swept a shadow across that furnace of +despair, and a breath of cold wind, and a gathering of clouds, out +of the cooling air. Men looking up, near blinded, at the star, saw +that a black disc was creeping across the light. It was the moon, +coming between the star and the earth. And even as men cried to +God at this respite, out of the East with a strange inexplicable +swiftness sprang the sun. And then star, sun and moon rushed +together across the heavens. + +So it was that presently, to the European watchers, star and +sun rose close upon each other, drove headlong for a space and then +slower, and at last came to rest, star and sun merged into one +glare of flame at the zenith of the sky. The moon no longer +eclipsed the star but was lost to sight in the brilliance of the +sky. And though those who were still alive regarded it for the +most part with that dull stupidity that hunger, fatigue, heat and +despair engender, there were still men who could perceive the +meaning of these signs. Star and earth had been at their nearest, +had swung about one another, and the star had passed. Already it +was receding, swifter and swifter, in the last stage of its +headlong journey downward into the sun. + +And then the clouds gathered, blotting out the vision of the +sky, the thunder and lightning wove a garment round the world; all +over the earth was such a downpour of rain as men had never before +seen, and where the volcanoes flared red against the cloud canopy +there descended torrents of mud. Everywhere the waters were +pouring off the land, leaving mud-silted ruins, and the earth +littered like a storm-worn beach with all that had floated, and the +dead bodies of the men and brutes, its children. For days the +water streamed off the land, sweeping away soil and trees and +houses in the way, and piling huge dykes and scooping out Titanic +gullies +over the country side. Those were the days of darkness that +followed the +star and the heat. All through them, and for many weeks and +months, the +earthquakes continued. + +But the star had passed, and men, hunger-driven and gathering +courage only slowly, might creep back to their ruined cities, +buried granaries, and sodden fields. Such few ships as had escaped +the storms of that time came stunned and shattered and sounding +their way cautiously through the new marks and shoals of once +familiar ports. And as the storms subsided men perceived that +everywhere the days were hotter than of yore, and the sun larger, +and the moon, shrunk to a third of its former size, took now +fourscore days between its new and new. + +But of the new brotherhood that grew presently among men, of +the saving of laws and books and machines, of the strange change +that had come over Iceland and Greenland and the shores of Baffin's +Bay, so that the sailors coming there presently found them green +and gracious, and could scarce believe their eyes, this story does +not tell. Nor of the movement of mankind now that the earth was +hotter, northward and southward towards the poles of the earth. It +concerns itself only with the coming and the passing of the Star. + +The Martian astronomers--for there are astronomers on Mars, +although they are very different beings from men--were naturally +profoundly interested by these things. They saw them from their +own standpoint of course. "Considering the mass and temperature of +the missile that was flung through our solar system into the sun," +one wrote, "it is astonishing what a little damage the earth, which +it missed so narrowly, has sustained. All the familiar continental +markings and the masses of the seas remain intact, and indeed the +only difference seems to be a shrinkage of the white discoloration +(supposed to be frozen water) round either pole." Which only shows +how small the vastest of human catastrophes may seem, at a distance +of a few million miles. + + + + +A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON + +The man with the white face entered the carriage at Rugby. He +moved slowly in spite of the urgency of his porter, and even while +he was still on the platform I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped +into the corner over against me with a sigh, made an incomplete +attempt to arrange his travelling shawl, and became motionless, +with his eyes staring vacantly. Presently he was moved by a sense +of my observation, looked up at me, and put out a spiritless hand +for his newspaper. Then he glanced again in my direction. + +I feigned to read. I feared I had unwittingly embarrassed +him, and in a moment I was surprised to find him speaking. + +"I beg your pardon?" said I. + +"That book," he repeated, pointing a lean finger, "is about +dreams." + +"Obviously," I answered, for it was Fortnum Roscoe's Dream +States, and the title was on the cover. + +He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. "Yes," he +said at last, "but they tell you nothing." + +I did not catch his meaning for a second. + +"They don't know," he added. + +I looked a little more attentively at his face. + +"There are dreams," he said, "and dreams." + +That sort of proposition I never dispute. + +"I suppose--" he hesitated. "Do you ever dream? I mean +vividly." + +"I dream very little," I answered. "I doubt if I have three +vivid dreams in a year." + +"Ah!" he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his +thoughts. + +"Your dreams don't mix with your memories?" he asked abruptly. + +"You don't find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did it not?" + +"Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and +then. I suppose few people do." + +"Does he say--?" He indicated the book. + +"Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation +about intensity of impression and the like to account for its not +happening as a rule. I suppose you know something of these +theories--" + +"Very little--except that they are wrong." + +His emaciated hand played with the strap of the window for a +time. I prepared to resume reading, and that seemed to precipitate +his next remark. He leant forward almost as though he would touch +me. + +"Isn't there something called consecutive dreaming--that goes +on night after night?" + +"I believe there is. There are cases given in most books on +mental trouble." + +"Mental trouble! Yes. I daresay there are. It's the right +place for them. But what I mean--" He looked at his bony +knuckles. "Is that sort of thing always dreaming? Is it dreaming? + +Or is it something else? Mightn't it be something else?" + +I should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the +drawn anxiety of his face. I remember now the look of his faded +eyes and the lids red stained--perhaps you know that look. + +"I'm not just arguing about a matter of opinion," he said. +"The thing's killing me." + +"Dreams?" + +"If you call them dreams. Night after night. Vivid!--so +vivid . . . . this--" (he indicated the landscape that went +streaming by the window) "seems unreal in comparison! I can +scarcely remember who I am, what business I am on . . . ." + +He paused. "Even now--" + +"The dream is always the same--do you mean?" I asked. + +"It's over." + +"You mean?" + +"I died." + +"Died?" + +"Smashed and killed, and now, so much of me as that dream was, +is dead. Dead forever. I dreamt I was another man, you know, +living in a different part of the world and in a different time. +I dreamt that night after night. Night after night I woke into +that other life. Fresh scenes and fresh happenings--until I came +upon the last--" + +"When you died?" + +"When I died." + +"And since then--" + +"No," he said. "Thank God! That was the end of the dream . +. . " + +It was clear I was in for this dream. And after all, I had an +hour before me, the light was fading fast, and Fortnum Roscoe has +a dreary way with him. "Living in a different time," I said: "do +you mean in some different age?" + +"Yes." + +"Past?" + +"No, to come--to come." + +"The year three thousand, for example?" + +"I don't know what year it was. I did when I was asleep, when +I was dreaming, that is, but not now--not now that I am awake. +There's a lot of things I have forgotten since I woke out of these +dreams, though I knew them at the time when I was--I suppose it was +dreaming. They called the year differently from our way of calling +the year . . . What did they call it?" He put his hand to his +forehead. "No," said he, "I forget." + +He sat smiling weakly. For a moment I feared he did not mean +to tell me his dream. As a rule I hate people who tell their +dreams, but this struck me differently. I proffered assistance +even. "It began--" I suggested. + +"It was vivid from the first. I seemed to wake up in it +suddenly. And it's curious that in these dreams I am speaking of +I never remembered this life I am living now. It seemed as if the +dream life was enough while it lasted. Perhaps--But I will tell +you how I find myself when I do my best to recall it all. I don't +remember anything clearly until I found myself sitting in a sort of +loggia looking out over the sea. I had been dozing, and suddenly +I woke up--fresh and vivid--not a bit dreamlike--because the girl +had stopped fanning me." + +"The girl?" + +"Yes, the girl. You must not interrupt or you will put me +out." + +He stopped abruptly. "You won't think I'm mad?" he said. + +"No," I answered. "You've been dreaming. Tell me your +dream." + +"I woke up, I say, because the girl had stopped fanning me. +I was not surprised to find myself there or anything of that sort, +you understand. I did not feel I had fallen into it suddenly. I +simply took it up at that point. Whatever memory I had of this +life, this nineteenth-century life, faded as I woke, vanished like +a dream. I knew all about myself, knew that my name was no longer +Cooper but Hedon, and all about my position in the world. I've +forgotten a lot since I woke--there's a want of connection--but it +was all quite clear and matter of fact then." + +He hesitated again, gripping the window strap, putting his +face forward and looking up to me appealingly. + +"This seems bosh to you?" + +"No, no!" I cried. "Go on. Tell me what this loggia was +like!" + +"It was not really a loggia--I don't know what to call it. It +faced south. It was small. It was all in shadow except the +semicircle above the balcony that showed the sky and sea and the +corner where the girl stood. I was on a couch--it was a metal +couch with light striped cushions--and the girl was leaning over +the balcony with her back to me. The light of the sunrise fell on +her ear and cheek. Her pretty white neck and the little curls +that nestled there, and her white shoulder were in the sun, and all +the grace of her body was in the cool blue shadow. She was dressed +--how can I describe it? It was easy and flowing. And altogether +there she stood, so that it came to me how beautiful and desirable +she was, as though I had never seen her before. And when at last +I sighed and raised myself upon my arm she turned her face to me--" + +He stopped. + +"I have lived three-and-fifty years in this world. I have had +mother, sisters, friends, wife and daughters--all their faces, the +play of their faces, I know. But the face of this girl--it is much +more real to me. I can bring it back into memory so that I see it +again--I could draw it or paint it. And after all--" + +He stopped--but I said nothing. + +"The face of a dream--the face of a dream. She was beautiful. + +Not that beauty which is terrible, cold, and worshipful, like the +beauty of a saint; nor that beauty that stirs fierce passions; but +a sort of radiation, sweet lips that softened into smiles, and +grave gray eyes. And she moved gracefully, she seemed to have part +with all pleasant and gracious things--" + +He stopped, and his face was downcast and hidden. Then he +looked up at me and went on, making no further attempt to disguise +his absolute belief in the reality of his story. + +"You see, I had thrown up my plans and ambitions, thrown up +all I had ever worked for or desired for her sake. I had been a +master man away there in the north, with influence and property and +a great reputation, but none of it had seemed worth having beside +her. I had come to the place, this city of sunny pleasures with +her, and left all those things to wreck and ruin just to save a +remnant at least of my life. While I had been in love with her +before I knew that she had any care for me, before I had imagined +that she would dare--that we should dare, all my life had seemed +vain and hollow, dust and ashes. It was dust and ashes. Night +after night and through the long days I had longed and desired--my +soul had beaten against the thing forbidden! + +"But it is impossible for one man to tell another just these +things. It's emotion, it's a tint, a light that comes and goes. +Only while it's there, everything changes, everything. The thing +is I came away and left them in their Crisis to do what they +could." + +"Left whom?" I asked, puzzled. + +"The people up in the north there. You see--in this dream, +anyhow--I had been a big man, the sort of man men come to trust in, +to group themselves about. Millions of men who had never seen me +were ready to do things and risk things because of their confidence +in me. I had been playing that game for years, that big laborious +game, that vague, monstrous political game amidst intrigues and +betrayals, speech and agitation. It was a vast weltering world, +and at last I had a sort of leadership against the Gang--you know +it was called the Gang--a sort of compromise of scoundrelly +projects and base ambitions and vast public emotional stupidities +and catch-words--the Gang that kept the world noisy and blind year +by year, and all the while that it was drifting, drifting towards +infinite disaster. But I can't expect you to understand the shades +and complications of the year--the year something or other ahead. +I had it all--down to the smallest details--in my dream. I suppose +I had been dreaming of it before I awoke, and the fading outline of +some queer new development I had imagined still hung about me as I +rubbed my eyes. It was some grubby affair that made me thank God +for the sunlight. I sat up on the couch and remained looking at +the woman and rejoicing--rejoicing that I had come away out of all +that tumult and folly and violence before it was too late. After +all, I thought, this is life--love and beauty, desire and delight, +are they not worth all those dismal struggles for vague, gigantic +ends? And I blamed myself for having ever sought to be a leader +when I might have given my days to love. But then, thought I, if +I had not spent my early days sternly and austerely, I might have +wasted myself upon vain and worthless women, and at the thought all +my being went out in love and tenderness to my dear mistress, my +dear lady, who had come at last and compelled me--compelled me by +her invincible charm for me--to lay that life aside. + +"'You are worth it,' I said, speaking without intending her to +hear; 'you are worth it, my dearest one; worth pride and praise and +all things. Love! to have you is worth them all together." And at +the murmur of my voice she turned about. + +"'Come and see,' she cried--I can hear her now--'come and see +the sunrise upon Monte Solaro.' + +"I remember how I sprang to my feet and joined her at the +balcony. She put a white hand upon my shoulder and pointed towards +great masses of limestone, flushing, as it were, into life. I +looked. But first I noted the sunlight on her face caressing the +lines of her cheeks and neck. How can I describe to you the scene +we had before us? We were at Capri--" + +"I have been there," I said. "I have clambered up Monte +Solaro and drunk vero Capri--muddy stuff like cider--at the +summit." + +"Ah!" said the man with the white face; "then perhaps you can +tell me--you will know if this is indeed Capri. For in this life +I have never been there. Let me describe it. We were in a little +room, one of a vast multitude of little rooms, very cool and sunny, +hollowed out of the limestone of a sort of cape, very high above +the sea. The whole island, you know, was one enormous hotel, +complex beyond explaining, and on the other side there were miles +of floating hotels, and huge floating stages to which the flying +machines came. They called it a pleasure city. Of course, there +was none of that in your time--rather, I should say, is none of +that now. Of course. Now!--yes. + +"Well, this room of ours was at the extremity of the cape, so +that one could see east and west. Eastward was a great cliff--a +thousand feet high perhaps--coldly gray except for one bright edge +of gold, and beyond it the Isle of the Sirens, and a falling coast +that faded and passed into the hot sunrise. And when one turned to +the west, distinct and near was a little bay, a little beach still +in shadow. And out of that shadow rose Solaro straight and tall, +flushed and golden crested, like a beauty throned, and the white +moon was floating behind her in the sky. And before us from east +to west stretched the many-tinted sea all dotted with little +sailing boats. + +"To the eastward, of course, these little boats were gray and +very minute and clear, but to the westward they were little boats +of gold--shining gold--almost like little flames. And just below +us was a rock with an arch worn through it. The blue sea-water +broke to green and foam all round the rock, and a galley came +gliding out of the arch." + +"I know that rock." I said. "I was nearly drowned there. It +is called the Faraglioni." + +"I Faraglioni? Yes, she called it that," answered the man +with the white face. "There was some story--but that--" + +He put his hand to his forehead again. " No," he said, "I +forget that story." + +"Well, that is the first thing I remember, the first dream I +had, that little shaded room and the beautiful air and sky and that +dear lady of mine, with her shining arms and her graceful robe, and +how we sat and talked in half whispers to one another. We talked +in whispers not because there was any one to hear, but because +there was still such a freshness of mind between us that our +thoughts were a little frightened, I think, to find themselves at +last in words. And so they went softly. + +"Presently we were hungry and we went from our apartment, +going by a strange passage with a moving floor, until we came to +the great breakfast room--there was a fountain and music. A +pleasant and joyful place it was, with its sunlight and splashing, +and the murmur of plucked strings. And we sat and ate and smiled +at one another, and I would not heed a man who was watching me from +a table near by. + +"And afterwards we went on to the dancing-hall. But I cannot +describe that hall. The place was enormous--larger than any +building you have ever seen--and in one place there was the old +gate of Capri, caught into the wall of a gallery high overhead. +Light girders, stems and threads of gold, burst from the pillars +like fountains, streamed like an Aurora across the roof and +interlaced, like--like conjuring tricks. All about the great +circle for the dancers there were beautiful figures, strange +dragons, and intricate and wonderful grotesques bearing lights. +The place was inundated with artificial light that shamed the +newborn day. And as we went through the throng the people turned +about and looked at us, for all through the world my name and face +were known, and how I had suddenly thrown up pride and struggle to +come to this place. And they looked also at the lady beside me, +though half the story of how at last she had come to me was unknown +or mistold. And few of the men who were there, I know, but judged +me a happy man, in spite of all the shame and dishonour that had +come upon my name. + +"The air was full of music, full of harmonious scents, full of +the rhythm of beautiful motions. Thousands of beautiful people +swarmed about the hall, crowded the galleries, sat in a myriad +recesses; they were dressed in splendid colours and crowned with +flowers; thousands danced about the great circle beneath the white +images of the ancient gods, and glorious processions of youths and +maidens came and went. We two danced, not the dreary monotonies of +your days--of this time, I mean--but dances that were beautiful, +intoxicating. And even now I can see my lady dancing--dancing +joyously. She danced, you know, with a serious face; she danced +with a serious dignity, and yet she was smiling at me and caressing +me--smiling and caressing with her eyes. + +"The music was different," he murmured. "It went--I cannot +describe it; but it was infinitely richer and more varied than any +music that has ever come to me awake. + +"And then--it was when we had done dancing--a man came to +speak to me. He was a lean, resolute man, very soberly clad for +that place, and already I had marked his face watching me in the +breakfasting hall, and afterwards as we went along the passage I +had avoided his eye. But now, as we sat in a little alcove, +smiling at the pleasure of all the people who went to and fro +across the shining floor, he came and touched me, and spoke to me +so that I was forced to listen. And he asked that he might speak +to me for a little time apart. + +"'No,' I said. 'I have no secrets from this lady. What do +you want to tell me?' + +"He said it was a trivial matter, or at least a dry matter, +for a lady to hear. + +"'Perhaps for me to hear,' said I. + +"He glanced at her, as though almost he would appeal to her. +Then he asked me suddenly if I had heard of a great and avenging +declaration that Evesham had made? Now, Evesham had always before +been the man next to myself in the leadership of that great party +in the north. He was a forcible, hard, and tactless man, and only +I had been able to control and soften him. It was on his account +even more than my own, I think, that the others had been so +dismayed at my retreat. So this question about what he had done +reawakened my old interest in the life I had put aside just for +a moment. + +"'I have taken no heed of any news for many days,' I said. +'What has Evesham been saying?' + +"And with that the man began, nothing loth, and I must confess +even I was struck by Evesham's reckless folly in the wild and +threatening words he had used. And this messenger they had sent to +me not only told me of Evesham's speech, but went on to ask counsel +and to point out what need they had of me. While he talked, my +lady sat a little forward and watched his face and mine. + +"My old habits of scheming and organising reasserted +themselves. I could even see myself suddenly returning to the +north, and all the dramatic effect of it. All that this man said +witnessed to the disorder of the party indeed, but not to its +damage. I should go back stronger than I had come. And then I +thought of my lady. You see--how can I tell you? There were +certain peculiarities of our relationship--as things are I need not +tell you about that--which would render her presence with me +impossible. I should have had to leave her; indeed, I should have +had to renounce her clearly and openly, if I was to do all that I +could do in the north. And the man knew that, even as he talked to +her and me, knew it as well as she did, that my steps to duty +were--first, separation, then abandonment. At the touch of that +thought my dream of a return was shattered. I turned on the man +suddenly, as he was imagining his eloquence was gaining ground with +me. + +"'What have I to do with these things now?' I said. 'I have +done with them. Do you think I am coquetting with your people in +coming here?' + +"'No,' he said. 'But--' + +"'Why cannot you leave me alone. I have done with these +things. I have ceased to be anything but a private man.' + +"'Yes,' he answered. 'But have you thought?--this talk of +war, these reckless challenges, these wild aggressions--' + +"I stood up. + +"'No,' I cried. 'I won't hear you. I took count of all those +things, I weighed them--and I have come away.' + +"He seemed to consider the possibility of persistence. He +looked from me to where the lady sat regarding us. + +"'War,' he said, as if he were speaking to himself, and then +turned slowly from me and walked away. + +"I stood, caught in the whirl of thoughts his appeal had set +going. + +"I heard my lady's voice. + +"'Dear,' she said; 'but if they had need of you--' + +"She did not finish her sentence, she let it rest there. I +turned to her sweet face, and the balance of my mood swayed and +reeled. + +"'They want me only to do the thing they dare not do +themselves,' I said. 'If they distrust Evesham they must settle +with him themselves.' + +"She looked at me doubtfully. + +"'But war--' she said. + +"I saw a doubt on her face that I had seen before, a doubt of +herself and me, the first shadow of the discovery that, seen +strongly and completely, must drive us apart for ever. + +"Now, I was an older mind than hers, and I could sway her to +this belief or that. + +"'My dear one,' I said, 'you must not trouble over these +things. There will be no war. Certainly there will be no war. +The age of wars is past. Trust me to know the justice of this +case. They have no right upon me, dearest, and no one has a right +upon me. I have been free to choose my life, and I have chosen +this.' + +"'But war--,' she said. + +"I sat down beside her. I put an arm behind her and took her +hand in mine. I set myself to drive that doubt away--I set myself +to fill her mind with pleasant things again. I lied to her, and in +lying to her I lied also to myself. And she was only too ready to +believe me, only too ready to forget. + +"Very soon the shadow had gone again, and we were hastening to +our bathing-place in the Grotta del Bovo Marino, where it was our +custom to bathe every day. We swam and splashed one another, and +in that buoyant water I seemed to become something lighter and +stronger than a man. And at last we came out dripping and +rejoicing and raced among the rocks. And then I put on a dry +bathing-dress, and we sat to bask in the sun, and presently I +nodded, resting my head against her knee, and she put her hand upon +my hair and stroked it softly and I dozed. And behold! as it +were with the snapping of the string of a violin, I was awakening, +and I was in my own bed in Liverpool, in the life of to-day. + +"Only for a time I could not believe that all these vivid +moments had been no more than the substance of a dream. + +"In truth, I could not believe it a dream for all the sobering +reality of things about me. I bathed and dressed as it were by +habit, and as I shaved I argued why I of all men should leave the +woman I loved to go back to fantastic politics in the hard and +strenuous north. Even if Evesham did force the world back to war, +what was that to me? I was a man with the heart of a man, and why +should I feel the responsibility of a deity for the way the world +might go? + +"You know that is not quite the way I think about affairs, +about my real affairs. I am a solicitor, you know, with a point of +view. + +"The vision was so real, you must understand, so utterly +unlike a dream that I kept perpetually recalling little irrelevant +details; even the ornament of the book-cover that lay on my wife's +sewing-machine in the breakfast-room recalled with the utmost +vividness the gilt line that ran about the seat in the alcove where +I had talked with the messenger from my deserted party. Have you +ever heard of a dream that had a quality like that?" + +"Like--?" + +"So that afterwards you remembered little details you had +forgotten." + +I thought. I had never noticed the point before, but he was +right. + +"Never," I said. "That is what you never seem to do with +dreams." + +"No," he answered. "But that is just what I did. I am a +solicitor, you must understand, in Liverpool, and I could not help +wondering what the clients and business people I found myself +talking to in my office would think if I told them suddenly I was +in love with a girl who would be born a couple of hundred years or +so hence, and worried about the politics of my great-great-great- +grandchildren. I was chiefly busy that day negotiating a +ninety-nine-year building lease. It was a private builder in a +hurry, and we wanted to tie him in every possible way. I had an +interview with him, and he showed a certain want of temper that +sent me to bed still irritated. That night I had no dream. Nor +did I dream the next night, at least, to remember. + +"Something of that intense reality of conviction vanished. I +began to feel sure it was a dream. And then it came again. + +"When the dream came again, nearly four days later, it was +very different. I think it certain that four days had also elapsed +in the dream. Many things had happened in the north, and the +shadow of them was back again between us, and this time it was not +so easily dispelled. I began I know with moody musings. Why, in +spite of all, should I go back, go back for all the rest of my days +to toil and stress, insults and perpetual dissatisfaction, simply +to save hundreds of millions of common people, whom I did not love, +whom too often I could do no other than despise, from the stress +and anguish of war and infinite misrule? And after all I might +fail. They all sought their own narrow ends, and why should not +I--why should not I also live as a man? And out of such thoughts +her voice summoned me, and I lifted my eyes. + +I found myself awake and walking. We had come out above the +Pleasure City, we were near the summit of Monte Solaro and looking +towards the bay. It was the late afternoon and very clear. Far +away to the left Ischia hung in a golden haze between sea and sky, +and Naples was coldly white against the hills, and before us was +Vesuvius with a tall and slender streamer feathering at last +towards the south, and the ruins of Torre dell' Annunziata and +Castellammare glittering and near." + +I interrupted suddenly: "You have been to Capri, of course?" + +"Only in this dream," he said, "only in this dream. All +across the bay beyond Sorrento were the floating palaces of the +Pleasure City moored and chained. And northward were the broad +floating stages that received the aeroplanes. Aeroplanes fell out +of the sky every afternoon, each bringing its thousands of +pleasure-seekers from the uttermost parts of the earth to Capri and +its delights. All these things, I say, stretched below. + +"But we noticed them only incidentally because of an unusual +sight that evening had to show. Five war aeroplanes that had long +slumbered useless in the distant arsenals of the Rhinemouth were +manoeuvring now in the eastward sky. Evesham had astonished the +world by producing them and others, and sending them to circle here +and there. It was the threat material in the great game of bluff +he was playing, and it had taken even me by surprise. He was one +of those incredibly stupid energetic people who seem sent by heaven +to create disasters. His energy to the first glance seemed so +wonderfully like capacity! But he had no imagination, no +invention, only a stupid, vast, driving force of will, and a mad +faith in his stupid idiot 'luck' to pull him through. I remember +how we stood upon the headland watching the squadron circling far +away, and how I weighed the full meaning of the sight, seeing +clearly the way things must go. And then even it was not too late. + +I might have gone back, I think, and saved the world. The people +of the north would follow me, I knew, granted only that in one +thing I respected their moral standards. The east and south would +trust me as they would trust no other northern man. And I knew +I had only to put it to her and she would have let me go . . . . +Not because she did not love me! + +"Only I did not want to go; my will was all the other way +about. I had so newly thrown off the incubus of responsibility: I +was still so fresh a renegade from duty that the daylight clearness +of what I ought to do had no power at all to touch my will. My +will was to live, to gather pleasures and make my dear lady happy. +But though this sense of vast neglected duties had no power to draw +me, it could make me silent and preoccupied, it robbed the days I +had spent of half their brightness and roused me into dark +meditations in the silence of the night. And as I stood and +watched Evesham's aeroplanes sweep to and fro--those birds of +infinite ill omen--she stood beside me watching me, perceiving the +trouble indeed, but not perceiving it clearly--her eyes questioning +my face, her expression shaded with perplexity. Her face was gray +because the sunset was fading out of the sky. It was no fault of +hers that she held me. She had asked me to go from her, and again +in the night time and with tears she had asked me to go. + +"At last it was the sense of her that roused me from my mood. +I turned upon her suddenly and challenged her to race down the +mountain slopes. 'No,' she said, as if I had jarred with her +gravity, but I was resolved to end that gravity, and make her +run--no one can be very gray and sad who is out of breath--and when +she stumbled I ran with my hand beneath her arm. We ran down past +a couple of men, who turned back staring in astonishment at my +behaviour--they must have recognised my face. And half way down +the slope came a tumult in the air, clang-clank, clang-clank, and +we stopped, and presently over the hill-crest those war things came +flying one behind the other." + +The man seemed hesitating on the verge of a description. + +"What were they like?" I asked. + +"They had never fought," he said. "They were just like our +ironclads are nowadays; they had never fought. No one knew what +they might do, with excited men inside them; few even cared to +speculate. They were great driving things shaped like spear-heads +without a shaft, with a propeller in the place of the shaft." + +"Steel?" + +"Not steel." + +"Aluminum?" + +"No, no, nothing of that sort. An alloy that was very +common--as common as brass, for example. It was called--let me +see--" He squeezed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. "I +am forgetting everything," he said. + +"And they carried guns?" + +"Little guns, firing high explosive shells. They fired the +guns backwards, out of the base of the leaf, so to speak, and +rammed with the beak. That was the theory, you know, but they had +never been fought. No one could tell exactly what was going to +happen. And meanwhile I suppose it was very fine to go whirling +through the air like a flight of young swallows, swift and easy. +I guess the captains tried not to think too clearly what the real +thing would be like. And these flying war machines, you know, were +only one sort of the endless war contrivances that had been +invented and had fallen into abeyance during the long peace. There +were all sorts of these things that people were routing out and +furbishing up; infernal things, silly things; things that had never +been tried; big engines, terrible explosives, great guns. You know +the silly way of these ingenious sort of men who make these things; +they turn 'em out as beavers build dams, and with no more sense of +the rivers they're going to divert and the lands they're going to +flood! + +"As we went down the winding stepway to our hotel again, in +the twilight, I foresaw it all: I saw how clearly and inevitably +things were driving for war in Evesham's silly, violent hands, and +I had some inkling of what war was bound to be under these new +conditions. And even then, though I knew it was drawing near the +limit of my opportunity, I could find no will to go back." + +He sighed. + +"That was my last chance. + +"We didn't go into the city until the sky was full of stars, +so we walked out upon the high terrace, to and fro, and--she +counselled me to go back. + +"'My dearest,' she said, and her sweet face looked up to me, +'this is Death. This life you lead is Death. Go back to them, go +back to your duty--' + +"She began to weep, saying, between her sobs, and clinging to +my arm as she said it, 'Go back--Go back.' + +"Then suddenly she fell mute, and, glancing down at her face, +I read in an instant the thing she had thought to do. It was one +of those moments when one sees. + +"'No!' I said. + +"'No?' she asked, in surprise and I think a little fearful at +the answer to her thought. + +"'Nothing,' I said, 'shall send me back. Nothing! I have +chosen. Love, I have chosen, and the world must go. Whatever +happens I will live this life--I will live for you! It--nothing +shall turn me aside; nothing, my dear one. Even if you died--even +if you died--' + +"'Yes?' she murmured, softly. + +"'Then--I also would die.' + +"And before she could speak again I began to talk, talking +eloquently--as I could do in that life--talking to exalt love, to +make the life we were living seem heroic and glorious; and the +thing I was deserting something hard and enormously ignoble that it +was a fine thing to set aside. I bent all my mind to throw that +glamour upon it, seeking not only to convert her but myself to +that. We talked, and she clung to me, torn too between all that +she deemed noble and all that she knew was sweet. And at last I +did make it heroic, made all the thickening disaster of the world +only a sort of glorious setting to our unparalleled love, and we +two poor foolish souls strutted there at last, clad in that +splendid delusion, drunken rather with that glorious delusion, +under the still stars. + +"And so my moment passed. + +"It was my last chance. Even as we went to and fro there, the +leaders of the south and east were gathering their resolve, and the +hot answer that shattered Evesham's bluffing for ever, took shape +and waited. And, all over Asia, and the ocean, and the South, the +air and the wires were throbbing with their warnings to prepare +--prepare. + +"No one living, you know, knew what war was; no one could +imagine, with all these new inventions, what horror war might +bring. I believe most people still believed it would be a matter +of bright uniforms and shouting charges and triumphs and flags and +bands--in a time when half the world drew its food supply from +regions ten thousand miles away--" + +The man with the white face paused. I glanced at him, and his +face was intent on the floor of the carriage. A little railway +station, a string of loaded trucks, a signal-box, and the back of +a cottage, shot by the carriage window, and a bridge passed with a +clap of noise, echoing the tumult of the train. + +"After that," he said, "I dreamt often. For three weeks of +nights that dream was my life. And the worst of it was there were +nights when I could not dream, when I lay tossing on a bed in this +accursed life; and there--somewhere lost to me--things were +happening--momentous, terrible things . . . I lived at nights--my +days, my waking days, this life I am living now, became a faded, +far-away dream, a drab setting, the cover of the book." + +He thought. + +"I could tell you all, tell you every little thing in the +dream, but as to what I did in the daytime--no. I could not +tell--I do not remember. My memory--my memory has gone. The +business of life slips from me--" + +He leant forward, and pressed his hands upon his eyes. For a +long time he said nothing. + +"And then?" said I. + +"The war burst like a hurricane." + +He stared before him at unspeakable things. + +"And then?" I urged again. + +"One touch of unreality," he said, in the low tone of a man +who speaks to himself," and they would have been nightmares. But +they were not nightmares--they were not nightmares. No!" + +He was silent for so long that it dawned upon me that there +was a danger of losing the rest of the story. But he went on +talking again in the same tone of questioning self-communion. + +"What was there to do but flight? I had not thought the war +would touch Capri--I had seemed to see Capri as being out of it +all, as the contrast to it all; but two nights after the whole +place was shouting and bawling, every woman almost and every other +man wore a badge--Evesham's badge--and there was no music but a +jangling war-song over and over again, and everywhere men +enlisting, and in the dancing halls they were drilling. The whole +island was awhirl with rumours; it was said, again and again, that +fighting had begun. I had not expected this. I had seen so little +of the life of pleasure that I had failed to reckon with this +violence of the amateurs. And as for me, I was out of it. I was +like the man who might have prevented the firing of a magazine. +The time had gone. I was no one; the vainest stripling with a +badge counted for more than I. The crowd jostled us and bawled in +our ears; that accursed song deafened us; a woman shrieked at my +lady because no badge was on her, and we two went back to our own +place again, ruffled and insulted--my lady white and silent, and I +aquiver with rage. So furious was I, I could have quarrelled with +her if I could have found one shade of accusation in her eyes. + +"All my magnificence had gone from me. I walked up and down +our rock cell, and outside was the darkling sea and a light to the +southward that flared and passed and came again. + +"'We must get out of this place,' I said over and over. 'I +have made my choice, and I will have no hand in these troubles. I +will have nothing of this war. We have taken our lives out of all +these things. This is no refuge for us. Let us go.' + +"And the next day we were already in flight from the war that +covered the world. + +"And all the rest was Flight--all the rest was Flight." + +He mused darkly. + +"How much was there of it?" + +He made no answer. + +"How many days?" + +His face was white and drawn and his hands were clenched. He +took no heed of my curiosity. + +I tried to draw him back to his story with questions. + +"Where did you go?" I said. + +"When?" + +"When you left Capri." + +"South-west," he said, and glanced at me for a second. "We +went in a boat." + +"But I should have thought an aeroplane?" + +"They had been seized." + +I questioned him no more. Presently I thought he was beginning +again. He broke out in an argumentative monotone: + +"But why should it be? If, indeed, this battle, this +slaughter and stress is life, why have we this craving for pleasure +and beauty? If there is no refuge, if there is no place of peace, +and if all our dreams of quiet places are a folly and a snare, why +have we such dreams? Surely it was no ignoble cravings, no base +intentions, had brought us to this; it was Love had isolated us. +Love had come to me with her eyes and robed in her beauty, more +glorious than all else in life, in the very shape and colour of +life, and summoned me away. I had silenced all the voices, I had +answered all the questions--I had come to her. And suddenly there +was nothing but War and Death!" + +I had an inspiration. " After all," I said, "it could have +been only a dream." + +"A dream!" he cried, flaming upon me, "a dream--when, even +now--" + +For the first time he became animated. A faint flush crept +into his cheek. He raised his open hand and clenched it, and +dropped it to his knee. He spoke, looking away from me, and for +all the rest of the time he looked away. "We are but phantoms!" he +said, "and the phantoms of phantoms, desires like cloud-shadows and +wills of straw that eddy in the wind; the days pass, use and wont +carry us through as a train carries the shadow of its lights--so be +it! But one thing is real and certain, one thing is no dream- +stuff, but eternal and enduring. It is the centre of my life, and +all other things about it are subordinate or altogether vain. I +loved her, that woman of a dream. And she and I are dead together! + +"A dream! How can it be a dream, when it drenched a living +life with unappeasable sorrow, when it makes all that I have lived +for and cared for, worthless and unmeaning? + +"Until that very moment when she was killed I believed we had +still a chance of getting away," he said. "All through the night +and morning that we sailed across the sea from Capri to Salerno, we +talked of escape. We were full of hope, and it clung about us to +the end, hope for the life together we should lead, out of it all, +out of the battle and struggle, the wild and empty passions, the +empty arbitrary 'thou shalt' and 'thou shalt not' of the world. We +were uplifted, as though our quest was a holy thing, as though love +for another was a mission . . . . + +"Even when from our boat we saw the fair face of that great +rock Capri--already scarred and gashed by the gun emplacements and +hiding-places that were to make it a fastness--we reckoned nothing +of the imminent slaughter, though the fury of preparation hung +about in the puffs and clouds of dust at a hundred points amidst +the gray; but, indeed, I made a text of that and talked. There, +you know, was the rock, still beautiful for all its scars, with its +countless windows and arches and ways, tier upon tier, for a +thousand feet, a vast carving of gray, broken by vine-clad +terraces, and lemon and orange groves, and masses of agave and +prickly pear, and puffs of almond blossom. And out under the +archway that is built over the Piccola Marina other boats were +coming; and as we came round the cape and within sight of the +mainland, another little string of boats came into view, driving +before the wind towards the south-west. In a little while a +multitude had come out, the remoter just little specks of +ultramarine in the shadow of the eastward cliff. + +"'It is love and reason,' I said, 'fleeing from all this +madness of war.' + +"And though we presently saw a squadron of aeroplanes flying +across the southern sky we did not heed it. There it was--a line +of little dots in the sky--and then more, dotting the south-eastern +horizon, and then still more, until all that quarter of the sky was +stippled with blue specks. Now they were all thin little strokes +of blue, and now one and now a multitude would heel and catch the +sun and become short flashes of light. They came, rising and +falling and growing larger, like some huge flight of gulls or rooks +or such-like birds, moving with a marvellous uniformity, and ever +as they drew nearer they spread over a greater width of sky. The +southward wind flung itself in an arrow-headed cloud athwart the +sun. And then suddenly they swept round to the eastward and +streamed eastward, growing smaller and smaller and clearer and +clearer again until they vanished from the sky. And after that we +noted to the northward and very high Evesham's fighting machines +hanging high over Naples like an evening swarm of gnats. + +"It seemed to have no more to do with us than a flight of +birds. + +"Even the mutter of guns far away in the south-east seemed to +us to signify nothing . . . + +"Each day, each dream after that, we were still exalted, still +seeking that refuge where we might live and love. Fatigue had come +upon us, pain and many distresses. For though we were dusty and +stained by our toilsome tramping, and half starved and with the +horror of the dead men we had seen and the flight of the +peasants--for very soon a gust of fighting swept up the +peninsula--with these things haunting our minds it still resulted +only in a deepening resolution to escape. Oh, but she was brave +and patient! She who had never faced hardship and exposure had +courage for herself and me. We went to and fro seeking an outlet, +over a country all commandeered and ransacked by the gathering +hosts of war. Always we went on foot. At first there were other +fugitives, but we did not mingle with them. Some escaped +northward, some were caught in the torrent of peasantry that swept +along the main roads; many gave themselves into the hands of the +soldiery and were sent northward. Many of the men were impressed. +But we kept away from these things; we had brought no money to +bribe a passage north, and I feared for my lady at the hands of +these conscript crowds. We had landed at Salerno, and we had been +turned back from Cava, and we had tried to cross towards Taranto by +a pass over Mount Alburno, but we had been driven back for want of +food, and so we had come down among the marshes by Paestum, where +those great temples stand alone. I had some vague idea that by +Paestum it might be possible to find a boat or something, and take +once more to sea. And there it was the battle overtook us. + +"A sort of soul-blindness had me. Plainly I could see that we +were being hemmed in; that the great net of that giant Warfare had +us in its toils. Many times we had seen the levies that had come +down from the north going to and fro, and had come upon them in the +distance amidst the mountains making ways for the ammunition and +preparing the mounting of the guns. Once we fancied they had fired +at us, taking us for spies--at any rate a shot had gone shuddering +over us. Several times we had hidden in woods from hovering +aeroplanes. + +"But all these things do not matter now, these nights of +flight and pain . . . We were in an open place near those great +temples at Paestum, at last, on a blank stony place dotted with +spiky bushes, empty and desolate and so flat that a grove of +eucalyptus far away showed to the feet of its stems. How I can see +it! My lady was sitting down under a bush resting a little, for +she was very weak and weary, and I was standing up watching to see +if I could tell the distance of the firing that came and went. +They were still, you know, fighting far from each other, with those +terrible new weapons that had never before been used: guns that +would carry beyond sight, and aeroplanes that would do--What they +would do no man could foretell. + +"I knew that we were between the two armies, and that they +drew together. I knew we were in danger, and that we could not +stop there and rest! + +"Though all these things were in my mind, they were in the +background. They seemed to be affairs beyond our concern. +Chiefly, I was thinking of my lady. An aching distress filled me. +For the first time she had owned herself beaten and had fallen +a-weeping. Behind me I could hear her sobbing, but I would not +turn round to her because I knew she had need of weeping, and had +held herself so far and so long for me. It was well, I thought, +that she would weep and rest and then we would toil on again, for +I had no inkling of the thing that hung so near. Even now I can +see her as she sat there, her lovely hair upon her shoulder, can +mark again the deepening hollow of her cheek. + +"'If we had parted,' she said, 'if I had let you go.' + +"'No,' said I.' Even now, I do not repent. I will not repent; +I made my choice, and I will hold on to the end.' + +"And then-- + +"Overhead in the sky flashed something and burst, and all +about us I heard the bullets making a noise like a handful of peas +suddenly thrown. They chipped the stones about us, and whirled +fragments from the bricks and passed . . . ." + +He put his hand to his mouth, and then moistened his lips. + +"At the flash I had turned about . . . + +"You know--she stood up-- + +"She stood up, you know, and moved a step towards me--as +though she wanted to reach me-- + +"And she had been shot through the heart." + +He stopped and stared at me. I felt all that foolish +incapacity an Englishman feels on such occasions. I met his eyes +for a moment, and then stared out of the window. For a long space +we kept silence. When at last I looked at him he was sitting back +in his corner, his arms folded, and his teeth gnawing at his +knuckles. + +He bit his nail suddenly, and stared at it. + +"I carried her," he said, "towards the temples, in my arms--as +though it mattered. I don't know why. They seemed a sort of +sanctuary, you know, they had lasted so long, I suppose. + +"She must have died almost instantly. Only--I talked to her +all the way." + +Silence again. + +"I have seen those temples," I said abruptly, and indeed he +had brought those still, sunlit arcades of worn sandstone very +vividly before me. + +"It was the brown one, the big brown one. I sat down on a +fallen pillar and held her in my arms . . . Silent after the first +babble was over. And after a little while the lizards came out and +ran about again, as though nothing unusual was going on, as though +nothing had changed . . . It was tremendously still there, the sun +high and the shadows still; even the shadows of the weeds upon the +entablature were still--in spite of the thudding and banging that +went all about the sky. + +"I seem to remember that the aeroplanes came up out of the +south, and that the battle went away to the west. One aeroplane +was struck, and overset and fell. I remember that--though it +didn't interest me in the least. It didn't seem to signify. It +was like a wounded gull, you know--flapping for a time in the +water. I could see it down the aisle of the temple--a black thing +in the bright blue water. + +"Three or four times shells burst about the beach, and then +that ceased. Each time that happened all the lizards scuttled in +and hid for a space. That was all the mischief done, except that +once a stray bullet gashed the stone hard by--made just a fresh +bright surface. + +"As the shadows grew longer, the stillness seemed greater. + +"The curious thing," he remarked, with the manner of a man who +makes a trivial conversation, "is that I didn't THINK--at +all. I sat with her in my arms amidst the stones--in a sort of +lethargy--stagnant. + +"And I don't remember waking up. I don't remember dressing +that day. I know I found myself in my office, with my letters all +slit open in front of me, and how I was struck by the absurdity of +being there, seeing that in reality I was sitting, stunned, in that +Paestum Temple with a dead woman in my arms. I read my letters +like a machine. I have forgotten what they were about." + +He stopped, and there was a long silence. + +Suddenly I perceived that we were running down the incline +from Chalk Farm to Euston. I started at this passing of time. I +turned on him with a brutal question, with the tone of "Now or +never." + +"And did you dream again?" + +"Yes." + +He seemed to force himself to finish. His voice was very low. + +"Once more, and as it were only for a few instants. I seemed +to have suddenly awakened out of a great apathy, to have risen into +a sitting position, and the body lay there on the stones beside me. + +A gaunt body. Not her, you know. So soon--it was not her . . . . + +"I may have heard voices. I do not know. Only I knew clearly +that men were coming into the solitude and that that was a last +outrage. + +"I stood up and walked through the temple, and then there came +into sight--first one man with a yellow face, dressed in a uniform +of dirty white, trimmed with blue, and then several, climbing to +the crest of the old wall of the vanished city, and crouching +there. They were little bright figures in the sunlight, and there +they hung, weapon in hand, peering cautiously before them. + +"And further away I saw others and then more at another point +in the wall. It was a long lax line of men in open order. + +"Presently the man I had first seen stood up and shouted a +command, and his men came tumbling down the wall and into the high +weeds towards the temple. He scrambled down with them and led +them. He came facing towards me, and when he saw me he stopped. + +"At first I had watched these men with a mere curiosity, but +when I had seen they meant to come to the temple I was moved to +forbid them. I shouted to the officer. + +"'You must not come here,' I cried, '_I_ am here. I am +here with my dead.' + +"He stared, and then shouted a question back to me in some +unknown tongue. + +"I repeated what I had said. + +"He shouted again, and I folded my arms and stood still. +Presently he spoke to his men and came forward. He carried a drawn +sword. + +"I signed to him to keep away, but he continued to advance. +I told him again very patiently and clearly: 'You must not come +here. These are old temples and I am here with my dead.' + +"Presently he was so close I could see his face clearly. It +was a narrow face, with dull gray eyes, and a black moustache. He +had a scar on his upper lip, and he was dirty and unshaven. He +kept shouting unintelligible things, questions, perhaps, at me. + +"I know now that he was afraid of me, but at the time that did +not occur to me. As I tried to explain to him, he interrupted me +in imperious tones, bidding me, I suppose, stand aside. + +"He made to go past me, and I caught hold of him. + +"I saw his face change at my grip. + +"'You fool,' I cried. 'Don't you know? She is dead!' + +"He started back. He looked at me with cruel eyes. I saw a +sort of exultant resolve leap into them--delight. Then, suddenly, +with a scowl, he swept his sword back--SO--and thrust." + +He stopped abruptly. + +I became aware of a change in the rhythm of the train. The +brakes lifted their voices and the carriage jarred and jerked. +This present world insisted upon itself, became clamourous. I saw +through the steamy window huge electric fights glaring down from +tall masts upon a fog, saw rows of stationary empty carriages +passing by, and then a signal-box hoisting its constellation of +green and red into the murky London twilight, marched after them. +I looked again at his drawn features. + +"He ran me through the heart. It was with a sort of +astonishment--no fear, no pain--but just amazement, that I felt it +pierce me, felt the sword drive home into my body. It didn't hurt, +you know. It didn't hurt at all." + +The yellow platform lights came into the field of view, +passing first rapidly, then slowly, and at last stopping with a +jerk. Dim shapes of men passed to and fro without. + +"Euston!" cried a voice. + +"Do you mean--?" + +"There was no pain, no sting or smart. Amazement and then +darkness sweeping over everything. The hot, brutal face before me, +the face of the man who had killed me, seemed to recede. It swept +out of existence--" + +"Euston!" clamoured the voices outside; "Euston!" + +The carriage door opened admitting a flood of sound, and a +porter stood regarding us. The sounds of doors slamming, and the +hoof-clatter of cab-horses, and behind these things the featureless +remote roar of the London cobble-stones, came to my ears. A +truckload of lighted lamps blazed along the platform. + +"A darkness, a flood of darkness that opened and spread and +blotted out all things." + +"Any luggage, sir?" said the porter. + +"And that was the end?" I asked. + +He seemed to hesitate. Then, almost inaudibly, he answered, "NO." + +"You mean?" + +"I couldn't get to her. She was there on the other side of the temple-- +And then--" + +"Yes," I insisted. "Yes?" + +"Nightmares," he cried; "nightmares indeed! My God! Great +birds that fought and tore." + + + + +THE CONE + +The night was hot and overcast, the sky red, rimmed with the +lingering sunset of mid-summer. They sat at the open window, +trying to fancy the air was fresher there. The trees and shrubs of +the garden stood stiff and dark; beyond in the roadway a gas- +lamp burnt, bright orange against the hazy blue of the evening. +Farther were the three lights of the railway signal against the +lowering sky. The man and woman spoke to one another in low tones. + +"He does not suspect?" said the man, a little nervously. + +"Not he," she said peevishly, as though that too irritated +her. "He thinks of nothing but the works and the prices of fuel. +He has no imagination, no poetry." + +"None of these men of iron have," he said sententiously. +"They have no hearts." + +"HE has not," she said. She turned her discontented +face towards the window. The distant sound of a roaring and +rushing drew nearer and grew in volume; the house quivered; one +heard the metallic rattle of the tender. As the train passed, +there was a glare of light above the cutting and a driving tumult +of smoke; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight black +oblongs--eight trucks--passed across the dim grey of the +embankment, and were suddenly extinguished one by one in the throat +of the tunnel, which, with the last, seemed to swallow down train, +smoke, and sound in one abrupt gulp. + +"This country was all fresh and beautiful once," he said; "and +now--it is Gehenna. Down that way--nothing but pot-banks and +chimneys belching fire and dust into the face of heaven . . . . . +But what does it matter? An end comes, an end to all this cruelty +. . . . . TO-MORROW." He spoke the last word in a whisper. + +"TO-MORROW," she said, speaking in a whisper too, and +still staring out of the window. + +"Dear!" he said, putting his hand on hers. + +She turned with a start, and their eyes searched one +another's. Hers softened to his gaze. "My dear one!" she said, +and then: "It seems so strange --that you should have come into my +life like this--to open--" She paused. + +"To open?" he said. + +"All this wonderful world--" she hesitated, and spoke still +more softly--"this world of LOVE to me." + +Then suddenly the door clicked and closed. They turned their +heads, and he started violently back. In the shadow of the room +stood a great shadowy figure--silent. They saw the face dimly in +the half-light, with unexpressive dark patches under the penthouse +brows. Every muscle in Raut's body suddenly became tense. When +could the door have opened? What had he heard? Had he heard all? +What had he seen? A tumult of questions. + +The new-comer's voice came at last, after a pause that seemed +interminable. "Well?" he said. + +"I was afraid I had missed you, Horrocks," said the man at the +window, gripping the window-ledge with his hand. His voice was +unsteady. + +The clumsy figure of Horrocks came forward out of the shadow. +He made no answer to Raut's remark. For a moment he stood above +them. + +The woman's heart was cold within her. "I told Mr. Raut it +was just possible you might come back," she said, in a voice that +never quivered. + +Horrocks, still silent, sat down abruptly in the chair by her +little work-table. His big hands were clenched; one saw now the +fire of his eyes under the shadow of his brows. He was trying to +get his breath. His eyes went from the woman he had trusted to the +friend he had trusted, and then back to the woman. + +By this time and for the moment all three half understood one +another. Yet none dared say a word to ease the pent-up things that +choked them. + +It was the husband's voice that broke the silence at last. + +"You wanted to see me?" he said to Raut. + +Raut started as he spoke. "I came to see you," he said, +resolved to lie to the last. + +"Yes," said Horrocks. + +"You promised," said Raut, "to show me some fine effects of +moonlight and smoke." + +"I promised to show you some fine effects of moonlight and +smoke," repeated Horrocks in a colourless voice. + +"And I thought I might catch you to-night before you went down +to the works," proceeded Raut, "and come with you." + +There was another pause. Did the man mean to take the thing +coolly? Did he after all know? How long had he been in the room? +Yet even at the moment when they heard the door, their attitudes . +. . . Horrocks glanced at the profile of the woman, shadowy pallid +in the half-light. Then he glanced at Raut, and seemed to recover +himself suddenly. "Of course," he said, "I promised to show you +the works under their proper dramatic conditions. It's odd how I +could have forgotten." + +"If I am troubling you--" began Raut. + +Horrocks started again. A new light had suddenly come into +the sultry gloom of his eyes. "Not in the least," he said. + +"Have you been telling Mr. Raut of all these contrasts of +flame and shadow you think so splendid?" said the woman, turning +now to her husband for the first time, her confidence creeping back +again, her voice just one half-note too high. "That dreadful +theory of yours that machinery is beautiful, and everything else in +the world ugly. I thought he would not spare you, Mr. Raut. It's +his great theory, his one discovery in art." + +"I am slow to make discoveries," said Horrocks grimly, damping +her suddenly. "But what I discover . . . . ." He stopped. + +"Well?" she said. + +"Nothing;" and suddenly he rose to his feet. + +"I promised to show you the works," he said to Raut, and put +his big, clumsy hand on his friend's shoulder. "And you are ready +to go?" + +"Quite," said Raut, and stood up also. + +There was another pause. Each of them peered through the +indistinctness of the dusk at the other two. Horrocks' hand still +rested on Raut's shoulder. Raut half fancied still that the +incident was trivial after all. But Mrs. Horrocks knew her husband +better, knew that grim quiet in his voice, and the confusion in her +mind took a vague shape of physical evil. "Very well", said +Horrocks, and, dropping his hand, turned towards the door. + +"My hat?" Raut looked round in the half-light. + +"That's my work-basket," said Mrs. Horrocks, with a gust of +hysterical laughter. Their hands came together on the back of the +chair. "Here it is!" he said. She had an impulse to warn him in +an undertone, but she could not frame a word. "Don't go!" and +"Beware of him!" struggled in her mind, and the swift moment +passed. + +"Got it?" said Horrocks, standing with the door half open. + +Raut stepped towards him. "Better say good-bye to Mrs. +Horrocks," said the ironmaster, even more grimly quiet in his tone +than before. + +Raut started and turned. "Good-evening, Mrs. Horrocks," he +said, and their hands touched. + +Horrocks held the door open with a ceremonial politeness +unusual in him towards men. Raut went out, and then, after a +wordless look at her, her husband followed. She stood motionless +while Raut's light footfall and her husband's heavy tread, like +bass and treble, passed down the passage together. The front door +slammed heavily. She went to the window, moving slowly, and stood +watching--leaning forward. The two men appeared for a moment at +the gateway in the road, passed under the street lamp, and were +hidden by the black masses of the shrubbery. The lamp-light fell +for a moment on their faces, showing only unmeaning pale patches, +telling nothing of what she still feared, and doubted, and craved +vainly to know. Then she sank down into a crouching attitude in +the big arm-chair, her eyes wide open and staring out at the red +lights from the furnaces that flickered in the sky. An hour after +she was still there, her attitude scarcely changed. + +The oppressive stillness of the evening weighed heavily upon +Raut. They went side by side down the road in silence, and in +silence turned into the cinder-made by-way that presently opened +out the prospect of the valley. + +A blue haze, half dust, half mist, touched the long valley +with mystery. Beyond were Hanley and Etruria, grey and dark +masses, outlined thinly by the rare golden dots of the street +lamps, and here and there a gaslit window, or the yellow glare of +some late-working factory or crowded public-house. Out of the +masses, clear and slender against the evening sky, rose a multitude +of tall chimneys, many of them reeking, a few smokeless during a +season of "play." Here and there a pallid patch and ghostly +stunted beehive shapes showed the position of a pot-bank, or a +wheel, black and sharp against the hot lower sky, marked some +colliery where they raise the iridescent coal of the place. Nearer +at hand was the broad stretch of railway, and half invisible trains +shunted--a steady puffing and rumbling, with every run a ringing +concussion and a rhythmic series of impacts, and a passage of +intermittent puffs of white steam across the further view. And +to the left, between the railway and the dark mass of the low hill +beyond, dominating the whole view, colossal, inky-black, and +crowned with smoke and fitful flames, stood the great cylinders of +the Jeddah Company Blast Furnaces, the central edifices of the big +ironworks of which Horrocks was the manager. They stood heavy and +threatening, full of an incessant turmoil of flames and seething +molten iron, and about the feet of them rattled the rolling-mills, +and the steam hammer beat heavily and splashed the white iron +sparks hither and thither. Even as they looked, a truckful of fuel +was shot into one of the giants, and the red flames gleamed out, +and a confusion of smoke and black dust came boiling upwards +towards the sky. + +"Certainly you get some fine effects of colour with your +furnaces," said Raut, breaking a silence that had become +apprehensive. + +Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets, +frowning down at the dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks +beyond, frowning as if he were thinking out some knotty problem. + +Raut glanced at him and away again. "At present your +moonlight effect is hardly ripe," he continued, looking upward. +"The moon is still smothered by the vestiges of daylight." + +Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has +suddenly awakened. "Vestiges of daylight? . . . . Of course, of +course." He too looked up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer +sky. "Come along," he said suddenly, and, gripping Raut's arm in +his hand, made a move towards the path that dropped from them to +the railway. + +Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in +a moment that their eyes came near to say. Horrocks' hand +tightened and then relaxed. He let go, and before Raut was aware +of it, they were arm in arm, and walking, one unwillingly enough, +down the path. + +"You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards +Burslem," said Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding +fast, and tightening the grip of his elbow the while. " Little +green lights and red and white lights, all against the haze. You +have an eye for effect, Raut. It's a fine effect. And look at +those furnaces of mine, how they rise upon us as we come down the +hill. That to the right is my pet--seventy feet of him. I packed +him myself, and he's boiled away cheerfully with iron in his guts +for five long years. I've a particular fancy for HIM. That +line of red there--a lovely bit of warm orange you'd call it, +Raut--that's the puddlers' furnaces, and there, in the hot light, +three black figures--did you see the white splash of the +steam-hammer then?--that's the rolling mills. Come along! Clang, +clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin, Raut, +--amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff comes +from the mill. And, squelch!--there goes the hammer again. Come +along!" + +He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm +twisted into Raut's with benumbing tightness. He had come striding +down the black path towards the railway as though he was possessed. + +Raut had not spoken a word, had simply hung back against Horrocks' +pull with all his strength. + +"I say," he said now, laughing nervously, but with an +undernote of snarl in his voice, "why on earth are you nipping my +arm off, Horrocks, and dragging me along like this?" + +At length Horrocks released him. His manner changed again. +"Nipping your arm off?" he said. "Sorry. But it's you taught me +the trick of walking in that friendly way." + +"You haven't learnt the refinements of it yet then," said +Raut, laughing artificially again. "By Jove! I'm black and blue." + +Horrocks offered no apology. They stood now near the bottom of the +hill, close to the fence that bordered the railway. The ironworks +had grown larger and spread out with their approach. They looked +up to the blast furnaces now instead of down; the further view of +Etruria and Hanley had dropped out of sight with their descent. +Before them, by the stile rose a notice-board, bearing still dimly +visible, the words, "BEWARE OF THE TRAINS," half hidden by splashes +of coaly mud. + +"Fine effects," said Horrocks, waving his arm. "Here comes a +train. The puffs of smoke, the orange glare, the round eye of +light in front of it, the melodious rattle. Fine effects! But +these furnaces of mine used to be finer, before we shoved cones in +their throats, and saved the gas." + +"How?" said Raut. "Cones?" + +"Cones, my man, cones. I'll show you one nearer. The flames +used to flare out of the open throats, great--what is it?--pillars +of cloud by day, red and black smoke, and pillars of fire by night. + +Now we run it off in pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the +top is shut by a cone. You'll be interested in that cone." + +"But every now and then," said Raut, "you get a burst of fire +and smoke up there." + +"The cone's not fixed, it's hung by a chain from a lever, and +balanced by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of +course, there'd be no way of getting fuel into the thing. Every +now and then the cone dips, and out comes the flare." + +"I see," said Raut. He looked over his shoulder. "The moon +gets brighter," he said. + +"Come along," said Horrocks abruptly, gripping his shoulder +again, and moving him suddenly towards the railway crossing. And +then came one of those swift incidents, vivid, but so rapid that +they leave one doubtful and reeling. Halfway across, Horrocks' +hand suddenly clenched upon him like a vice, and swung him backward +and through a half-turn, so that he looked up the line. And there +a chain of lamp-lit carriage-windows telescoped swiftly as it came +towards them, and the red and yellow lights of an engine grew +larger and larger, rushing down upon them. As he grasped what this +meant, he turned his face to Horrocks, and pushed with all +his strength against the arm that held him back between the rails. +The struggle did not last a moment. Just as certain as it was that +Horrocks held him there, so certain was it that he had been +violently lugged out of danger. + +"Out of the way," said Horrocks, with a gasp, as the train +came rattling by, and they stood panting by the gate into the +ironworks. + +"I did not see it coming," said Raut, still, even in spite of +his own apprehensions, trying to keep up an appearance of ordinary +intercourse. + +Horrocks answered with a grunt. "The cone," he said, and +then, as one who recovers himself, "I thought you did not hear." + +"I didn't," said Raut. + +"I wouldn't have had you run over then for the world," said +Horrocks. + +"For a moment I lost my nerve," said Raut. + +Horrocks stood for half a minute, then turned abruptly towards +the ironworks again. "See how fine these great mounds of mine, +these clinker-heaps, look in the night! That truck yonder, up +above there! Up it goes, and out-tilts the slag. See the +palpitating red stuff go sliding down the slope. As we get nearer, +the heap rises up and cuts the blast furnaces. See the quiver up +above the big one. Not that way! This way, between the heaps. +That goes to the puddling furnaces, but I want to show you the +canal first." He came and took Raut by the elbow, and so they went +along side by side. Raut answered Horrocks vaguely. What, he +asked himself, had really happened on the line? Was he deluding +himself with his own fancies, or had Horrocks actually held him +back in the way of the train? Had he just been within an ace of +being murdered? + +Suppose this slouching, scowling monster DID know +anything? For a minute or two then Raut was really afraid for his +life, but the mood passed as he reasoned with himself. After all, +Horrocks might have heard nothing. At any rate, he had pulled him +out of the way in time. His odd manner might be due to the mere +vague jealousy he had shown once before. He was talking now of the +ash-heaps and the canal. "Eigh?" said Horrocks. + +"What?" said Raut. "Rather! The haze in the moonlight. +Fine!" + +"Our canal," said Horrocks, stopping suddenly. "Our canal by +moonlight and firelight is an immense effect. You've never seen +it? Fancy that! You've spent too many of your evenings +philandering up in Newcastle there. I tell you, for real florid +effects--But you shall see. Boiling water . . . " + +As they came out of the labyrinth of clinker-heaps and mounds +of coal and ore, the noises of the rolling-mill sprang upon them +suddenly, loud, near, and distinct. Three shadowy workmen went by +and touched their caps to Horrocks. Their faces were vague in the +darkness. Raut felt a futile impulse to address them, and before +he could frame his words, they passed into the shadows. Horrocks +pointed to the canal close before them now: a weird-looking place +it seemed, in the blood-red reflections of the furnaces. The hot +water that cooled the tuyeres came into it, some fifty yards up-- +a tumultuous, almost boiling affluent, and the steam rose up from +the water in silent white wisps and streaks, wrapping damply about +them, an incessant succession of ghosts coming up from the black +and red eddies, a white uprising that made the head swim. The +shining black tower of the larger blast-furnace rose overhead out +of the mist, and its tumultuous riot filled their ears. Raut kept +away from the edge of the water, and watched Horrocks. + +"Here it is red," said Horrocks, "blood-red vapour as red and +hot as sin; but yonder there, where the moonlight falls on it, and +it drives across the clinker-heaps, it is as white as death." + +Raut turned his head for a moment, and then came back hastily +to his watch on Horrocks. "Come along to the rolling-mills," said +Horrocks. The threatening hold was not so evident that time, and +Raut felt a little reassured. But all the same, what on earth did +Horrocks mean about "white as death" and "red as sin?" +Coincidence, perhaps? + +They went and stood behind the puddlers for a little while, +and then through the rolling-mills, where amidst an incessant din +the deliberate steam-hammer beat the juice out of the succulent +iron, and black, half-naked Titans rushed the plastic bars, like +hot sealing-wax, between the wheels. "Come on," said Horrocks in +Raut's ear, and they went and peeped through the little glass hole +behind the tuyeres, and saw the tumbled fire writhing in the pit of +the blast-furnace. It left one eye blinded for a while. Then, +with green and blue patches dancing across the dark, they went to +the lift by which the trucks of ore and fuel and lime were raised +to the top of the big cylinder. + +And out upon the narrow rail that overhung the furnace, Raut's +doubts came upon him again. Was it wise to be here? If Horrocks +did know--everything! Do what he would, he could not resist a +violent trembling. Right under foot was a sheer depth of seventy +feet. It was a dangerous place. They pushed by a truck of fuel to +get to the railing that crowned the place. The reek of the +furnace, a sulphurous vapor streaked with pungent bitterness, +seemed to make the distant hillside of Hanley quiver. The moon was +riding out now from among a drift of clouds, halfway up the sky +above the undulating wooded outlines of Newcastle. The steaming +canal ran away from below them under an indistinct bridge, and +vanished into the dim haze of the flat fields towards Burslem. + +"That's the cone I've been telling you of," shouted Horrocks; +"and, below that, sixty feet of fire and molten metal, with the air +of the blast frothing through it like gas in soda-water." + +Raut gripped the hand-rail tightly, and stared down at the +cone. The heat was intense. The boiling of the iron and the +tumult of the blast made a thunderous accompaniment to Horrocks' +voice. But the thing had to be gone through now. Perhaps, after +all . . . + +"In the middle," bawled Horrocks, "temperature near a thousand +degrees. If YOU were dropped into it . . . . flash into +flame like a pinch of gunpowder in a candle. Put your hand out and +feel the heat of his breath. Why, even up here I've seen the +rain-water boiling off the trucks. And that cone there. It's a +damned sight too hot for roasting cakes. The top side of it's +three hundred degrees." + +"Three hundred degrees!" said Raut. + +"Three hundred centigrade, mind!" said Horrocks. "It will +boil the blood out of you in no time." + +"Eigh?" said Raut, and turned. + +"Boil the blood out of you in . . . No, you don't!" + +"Let me go!" screamed Raut. "Let go my arm!" + +With one hand he clutched at the hand-rail, then with both. +For a moment the two men stood swaying. Then suddenly, with a +violent jerk, Horrocks had twisted him from his hold. He clutched +at Horrocks and missed, his foot went back into empty air; in +mid-air he twisted himself, and then cheek and shoulder and knee +struck the hot cone together. + +He clutched the chain by which the cone hung, and the thing +sank an infinitesimal amount as he struck it. A circle of glowing +red appeared about him, and a tongue of flame, released from the +chaos within, flickered up towards him. An intense pain assailed +him at the knees, and he could smell the singeing of his hands. He +raised himself to his feet, and tried to climb up the chain, and +then something struck his head. Black and shining with the +moonlight, the throat of the furnace rose about him. + +Horrocks, he saw, stood above him by one of the trucks of fuel +on the rail. The gesticulating figure was bright and white in the +moonlight, and shouting, "Fizzle, you fool! Fizzle, you hunter of +women! You hot-blooded hound! Boil! boil! boil!" + +Suddenly he caught up a handful of coal out of the truck, and +flung it deliberately, lump after lump, at Raut. + +"Horrocks!" cried Raut. "Horrocks!" + +He clung crying to the chain, pulling himself up from the +burning of the cone. Each missile Horrocks flung hit him. His +clothes charred and glowed, and as he struggled the cone dropped, +and a rush of hot suffocating gas whooped out and burned round him +in a swift breath of flame. + +His human likeness departed from him. When the momentary red +had passed, Horrocks saw a charred, blackened figure, its head +streaked with blood, still clutching and fumbling with the chain, +and writhing in agony--a cindery animal, an inhuman, monstrous +creature that began a sobbing intermittent shriek. + +Abruptly, at the sight, the ironmaster's anger passed. A +deadly sickness came upon him. The heavy odour of burning flesh +came drifting up to his nostrils. His sanity returned to him. + +"God have mercy upon me!" he cried. "O God! what have I +done?" + +He knew the thing below him, save that it still moved and +felt, was already a dead man--that the blood of the poor wretch +must be boiling in his veins. An intense realisation of that agony +came to his mind, and overcame every other feeling. For a moment +he stood irresolute, and then, turning to the truck, he hastily +tilted its contents upon the struggling thing that had once been a +man. The mass fell with a thud, and went radiating over the cone. +With the thud the shriek ended, and a boiling confusion of smoke, +dust, and flame came rushing up towards him. As it passed, he saw +the cone clear again. + +Then he staggered back, and stood trembling, clinging to the +rail with both hands. His lips moved, but no words came to them. + +Down below was the sound of voices and running steps. The +clangour of rolling in the shed ceased abruptly. + + + + + +A MOONLIGHT FABLE + +There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit +of clothes. It was green and gold and woven so that I cannot +describe how delicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of +orange fluffiness that tied up under his chin. And the buttons +in their newness shone like stars. He was proud and pleased by his +suit beyond measure, and stood before the long looking-glass when +first he put it on, so astonished and delighted with it that he +could hardly turn himself away. + +He wanted to wear it everywhere and show it to all sorts of +people. He thought over all the places he had ever visited and all +the scenes he had ever heard described, and tried to imagine what +the feel of it would be if he were to go now to those scenes and +places wearing his shining suit, and he wanted to go out forthwith +into the long grass and the hot sunshine of the meadow wearing it. +Just to wear it! But his mother told him, "No." She told him he +must take great care of his suit, for never would he have another +nearly so fine; he must save it and save it and only wear it on +rare and great occasions. It was his wedding suit, she said. And +she took his buttons and twisted them up with tissue paper for fear +their bright newness should be tarnished, and she tacked little +guards over the cuffs and elbows and wherever the suit was most +likely to come to harm. He hated and resisted these things, but +what could he do? And at last her warnings and persuasions had +effect and he consented to take off his beautiful suit and fold it +into its proper creases and put it away. It was almost as though +he gave it up again. But he was always thinking of wearing it +and of the supreme occasion when some day it might be worn without +the guards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and +delightfully, never caring, beautiful beyond measure. + +One night when he was dreaming of it, after his habit, he +dreamed he took the tissue paper from one of the buttons and found +its brightness a little faded, and that distressed him mightily in +his dream. He polished the poor faded button and polished it, and +if anything it grew duller. He woke up and lay awake thinking of +the brightness a little dulled and wondering how he would feel if +perhaps when the great occasion (whatever it might be) should +arrive, one button should chance to be ever so little short of its +first glittering freshness, and for days and days that thought +remained with him, distressingly. And when next his mother let him +wear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave way to the temptation +just to fumble off one little bit of tissue paper and see if indeed +the buttons were keeping as bright as ever. + +He went trimly along on his way to church full of this wild +desire. For you must know his mother did, with repeated and +careful warnings, let him wear his suit at times, on Sundays, for +example, to and fro from church, when there was no threatening of +rain, no dust nor anything to injure it, with its buttons covered +and its protections tacked upon it and a sunshade in his hand to +shadow it if there seemed too strong a sunlight for its colours. +And always, after such occasions, he brushed it over and folded it +exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it away again. + +Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of +his suit he obeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night +he woke up and saw the moonlight shining outside his window. It +seemed to him the moonlight was not common moonlight, nor the night +a common night, and for a while he lay quite drowsily with this odd +persuasion in his mind. Thought joined on to thought like things +that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he sat up in his little +bed suddenly, very alert, with his heart beating very fast and a +quiver in his body from top to toe. He had made up his mind. He +knew now that he was going to wear his suit as it should be worn. +He had no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but +glad, glad. + +He got out of his bed and stood a moment by the window looking +at the moonshine-flooded garden and trembling at the thing he meant +to do. The air was full of a minute clamor of crickets and +murmurings, of the infinitesimal shouting of little living things. +He went very gently across the creaking boards, for fear that he +might wake the sleeping house, to the big dark clothes-press +wherein his beautiful suit lay folded, and he took it out garment +by garment and softly and very eagerly tore off its tissue-paper +covering and its tacked protections, until there it was, perfect +and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother had given it +to him--a long time it seemed ago. Not a button had tarnished, not +a thread had faded on this dear suit of his; he was glad enough for +weeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then back he +went, soft and quick, to the window and looked out upon the garden +and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his +buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out on the sill and, +making as little of a rustling as he could, clambered down to the +garden path below. He stood before his mother's house, and it was +white and nearly as plain as by day, with every window-blind but +his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The trees cast still shadows +like intricate black lace upon the wall. + +The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden +by day; moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in +phantom cobwebs from spray to spray. Every flower was gleaming +white or crimson black, and the air was aquiver with the thridding +of small crickets and nightingales singing unseen in the depths of +the trees. + +There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious +shadows; and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with +iridescent jewels of dew. The night was warmer than any night had +ever been, the heavens by some miracle at once vaster and nearer, +and spite of the great ivory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the +sky was full of stars. + +The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite +gladness. He stood for a time like one awe-stricken, and then, +with a queer small cry and holding out his arms, he ran out as if +he would embrace at once the whole warm round immensity of the +world. He did not follow the neat set paths that cut the garden +squarely, but thrust across the beds and through the wet, tall, +scented herbs, through the night stock and the nicotine and the +clusters of phantom white mallow flowers and through the thickets +of southern-wood and lavender, and knee-deep across a wide space of +mignonette. He came to the great hedge and he thrust his way +through it, and though the thorns of the brambles scored him deeply +and tore threads from his wonderful suit, and though burs and +goosegrass and havers caught and clung to him, he did not care. He +did not care, for he knew it was all part of the wearing for which +he had longed. "I am glad I put on my suit," he said; "I am glad +I wore my suit." + +Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what +was the duck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of +silver moonshine all noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver +moonshine twisted and clotted with strange patternings, and the +little man ran down into its waters between the thin black rushes, +knee-deep and waist-deep and to his shoulders, smiting the water to +black and shining wavelets with either hand, swaying and shivering +wavelets, amid which the stars were netted in the tangled +reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank. He waded until he +swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon the other side, +trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very silver in +long, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went through the +transfigured tangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grass +of the farther bank. And so he came glad and breathless into the +highroad. "I am glad," he said, "beyond measure, that I had +clothes that fitted this occasion." + +The highroad ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the +deep blue pit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road +between the singing nightingales, and along it he went, running now +and leaping, and now walking and rejoicing, in the clothes his +mother had made for him with tireless, loving hands. The road was +deep in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness, and as he +went a great dim moth came fluttering round his wet and shimmering +and hastening figure. At first he did not heed the moth, and then +he waved his hands at it and made a sort of dance with it as it +circled round his head. "Soft moth!" he cried, "dear moth! And +wonderful night, wonderful night of the world! Do you think my +clothes are beautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your scales and +all this silver vesture of the earth and sky?" + +And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its +velvet wings just brushed his lips . . . . . + +And next morning they found him dead with his neck broken in +the bottom of the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little +bloody and foul and stained with the duckweed from the pond. But +his face was a face of such happiness that, had you seen it, you +would have understood indeed how that he had died happy, never +knowing the cool and streaming silver for the duckweed in the pond. + + + + + +THE DIAMOND MAKER + + +Some business had detained me in Chancery Lane nine in the +evening, and thereafter, having some inkling of a headache, I was +disinclined either for entertainment or further work. So much of +the sky as the high cliffs of that narrow canon of traffic left +visible spoke of a serene night, and I determined to make my way +down to the Embankment, and rest my eyes and cool my head by +watching the variegated lights upon the river. Beyond comparison +the night is the best time for this place; a merciful darkness +hides the dirt of the waters, and the lights of this transitional +age, red glaring orange, gas-yellow, and electric white, are set in +shadowy outlines of every possible shade between grey and deep +purple. Through the arches of Waterloo Bridge a hundred points of +light mark the sweep of the Embankment, and above its parapet rise +the towers of Westminster,warm grey against the starlight. The +black river goes by with only a rare ripple breaking its silence, +and disturbing the reflections of the lights that swim upon its +surface. + +"A warm night," said a voice at my side. + +I turned my head, and saw the profile of a man who was leaning +over the parapet beside me. It was a refined face, not unhandsome, +though pinched and pale enough, and the coat collar turned up and +pinned round the throat marked his status in life as sharply as a +uniform. I felt I was committed to the price of a bed and +breakfast if I answered him. + +I looked at him curiously. Would he have anything to tell me +worth the money, or was he the common incapable--incapable even of +telling his own story? There was a quality of intelligence in his +forehead and eyes, and a certain tremulousness in his nether lip +that decided me. + +"Very warm," said I; "but not too warm for us here." + +"No," he said, still looking across the water, "it is pleasant +enough here . . . . just now." + +"It is good," he continued after a pause, "to find anything so +restful as this in London. After one has been fretting about +business all day, about getting on, meeting obligations, and +parrying dangers, I do not know what one would do if it were not +for such pacific corners." He spoke with long pauses between the +sentences. "You must know a little of the irksome labour of the +world, or you would not be here. But I doubt if you can be so +brain-weary and footsore as I am . . . . Bah! Sometimes I doubt if +the game is worth the candle. I feel inclined to throw the whole +thing over--name, wealth and position--and take to some modest +trade. But I know if I abandoned my ambition--hardly as she uses +me--I should have nothing but remorse left for the rest of my +days." + +He became silent. I looked at him in astonishment. If ever +I saw a man hopelessly hard-up it was the man in front of me. He +was ragged and he was dirty, unshaven and unkempt; he looked as +though he had been left in a dust-bin for a week. And he was +talking to ME of the irksome worries of a large business. +I almost laughed outright. Either he was mad or playing a sorry +jest on his own poverty. + +"If high aims and high positions," said I, "have their +drawbacks of hard work and anxiety, they have their compensations. +Influence, the power of doing good, of assisting those weaker and +poorer than ourselves; and there is even a certain gratification in +display . . . . . " + +My banter under the circumstances was in very vile taste. I +spoke on the spur of the contrast of his appearance and speech. I +was sorry even while I was speaking. + +He turned a haggard but very composed face upon me. Said he: +"I forgot myself. Of course you would not understand." + +He measured me for a moment. "No doubt it is very absurd. +You will not believe me even when I tell you, so that it is fairly +safe to tell you. And it will be a comfort to tell someone. I +really have a big business in hand, a very big business. But there +are troubles just now. The fact is . . . . I make diamonds." + +"I suppose," said I, "you are out of work just at present?" + +"I am sick of being disbelieved," he said impatiently, and +suddenly unbuttoning his wretched coat he pulled out a little +canvas bag that was hanging by a cord round his neck. From this he +produced a brown pebble. "I wonder if you know enough to know what +that is?" He handed it to me. + +Now, a year or so ago, I had occupied my leisure in taking a +London science degree, so that I have a smattering of physics and +mineralogy. The thing was not unlike an uncut diamond of the +darker sort, though far too large, being almost as big as the top +of my thumb. I took it, and saw it had the form of a regular +octahedron, with the curved faces peculiar to the most precious of +minerals. I took out my penknife and tried to scratch it--vainly. +Leaning forward towards the gas-lamp, I tried the thing on my +watch-glass, and scored a white line across that with the greatest +ease. + +I looked at my interlocutor with rising curiosity. "It +certainly is rather like a diamond. But, if so, it is a Behemoth +of diamonds. Where did you get it?" + +"I tell you I made it," he said. "Give it back to me." + +He replaced it hastily and buttoned his jacket. "I will sell +it you for one hundred pounds," he suddenly whispered eagerly. +With that my suspicions returned. The thing might, after all, be +merely a lump of that almost equally hard substance, corundum, with +an accidental resemblance in shape to the diamond. Or if it was a +diamond, how came he by it, and why should he offer it at a hundred +pounds? + +We looked into one another's eyes. He seemed eager, but +honestly eager. At that moment I believed it was a diamond he was +trying to sell. Yet I am a poor man, a hundred pounds would leave +a visible gap in my fortunes and no sane man would buy a diamond by +gaslight from a ragged tramp on his personal warranty only. Still, +a diamond that size conjured up a vision of many thousands of +pounds. Then, thought I, such a stone could scarcely exist without +being mentioned in every book on gems, and again I called to mind +the stories of contraband and light-fingered Kaffirs at the Cape. +I put the question of purchase on one side. + +"How did you get it?" said I. + +"I made it." + +I had heard something of Moissan, but I knew his artificial +diamonds were very small. I shook my head. + +"You seem to know something of this kind of thing. I will +tell you a little about myself. Perhaps then you may think better +of the purchase." He turned round with his back to the river, and +put his hands in his pockets. He sighed. "I know you will not +believe me." + +"Diamonds," he began--and as he spoke his voice lost its faint +flavour of the tramp and assumed something of the easy tone of an +educated man--are to be made by throwing carbon out of combination +in a suitable flux and under a suitable pressure; the carbon +crystallises out, not as black-lead or charcoal-powder, but as +small diamonds. So much has been known to chemists for years, but +no one yet had hit upon exactly the right flux in which to melt up +the carbon, or exactly the right pressure for the best results. +Consequently the diamonds made by chemists are small and dark, +and worthless as jewels. Now I, you know, have given up my life to +this problem--given my life to it. + +"I began to work at the conditions of diamond making when I +was seventeen, and now I am thirty-two. It seemed to me that it +might take all the thought and energies of a man for ten years, or +twenty years, but, even if it did, the game was still worth the +candle. Suppose one to have at last just hit the right trick +before the secret got out and diamonds became as common as coal, +one might realize millions. Millions!" + +He paused and looked for my sympathy. His eyes shone +hungrily. "To think," said he, "that I am on the verge of it all, +and here! + +"I had," he proceeded, "about a thousand pounds when I was +twenty-one, and this, I thought, eked out by a little teaching, +would keep my researches going. A year or two was spent in study, +at Berlin chiefly, and then I continued on my own account. The +trouble was the secrecy. You see, if once I had let out what I was +doing, other men might have been spurred on by my belief in the +practicability of the idea; and I do not pretend to be such a +genius as to have been sure of coming in first, in the case of a +race for the discovery. And you see it was important that if I +really meant to make a pile, people should not know it was an +artificial process and capable of turning out diamonds by the ton. +So I had to work all alone. At first I had a little laboratory, +but as my resources began to run out I had to conduct my +experiments in a wretched unfurnished room in Kentish Town, where +I slept at last on a straw mattress on the floor among all my +apparatus. The money simply flowed away. I grudged myself +everything except scientific appliances. I tried to keep things +going by a little teaching, but I am not a very good teacher, and +I have no university degree, nor very much education except in +chemistry, and I found I had to give a lot of time and labour for +precious little money. But I got nearer and nearer the thing. +Three years ago I settled the problem of the composition of the +flux, and got near the pressure by putting this flux of mine and a +certain carbon composition into a closed-up gun-barrel, filling up +with water, sealing tightly, and heating." + +He paused. + +"Rather risky," said I. + +"Yes. It burst, and smashed all my windows and a lot of my +apparatus; but I got a kind of diamond powder nevertheless. +Following out the problem of getting a big pressure upon the molten +mixture from which the things were to crystallise, I hit upon some +researches of Daubree's at the Paris Laboratorie des Poudres et +Salpetres. He exploded dynamite in a tightly screwed steel +cylinder, too strong to burst, and I found he could crush rocks +into a muck not unlike the South African bed in which diamonds are +found. It was a tremendous strain on my resources, but I got a +steel cylinder made for my purpose after his pattern. I put in all +my stuff and my explosives, built up a fire in my furnace, put the +whole concern in, and--went out for a walk." + +I could not help laughing at his matter-of-fact manner. "Did +you not think it would blow up the house? Were there other people +in the place?" + +"It was in the interest of science," he said, ultimately. +"There was a costermonger family on the floor below, a +begging-letter writer in the room behind mine, and two flower-women +were upstairs. Perhaps it was a bit thoughtless. But possibly +some of them were out. + +"When I came back the thing was just where I left it, among +the white-hot coals. The explosive hadn't burst the case. And +then I had a problem to face. You know time is an important +element in crystallisation. If you hurry the process the crystals +are small--it is only by prolonged standing that they grow to any +size. I resolved to let this apparatus cool for two years, letting +the temperature go down slowly during the time. And I was now +quite out of money; and with a big fire and the rent of my room, as +well as my hunger to satisfy, I had scarcely a penny in the world. + +"I can hardly tell you all the shifts I was put to while I was +making the diamonds. I have sold newspapers, held horses, opened +cab-doors. For many weeks I addressed envelopes. I had a place as +assistant to a man who owned a barrow, and used to call down one +side of the road while he called down the other. + +"Once for a week I had absolutely nothing to do, and I begged. +What a week that was! One day the fire was going out and I had +eaten nothing all day, and a little chap taking his girl out, gave +me sixpence--to show off. Thank heaven for vanity! How the +fish-shops smelt! But I went and spent it all on coals, and had +the furnace bright red again, and then--Well, hunger makes a fool +of a man. + +"At last, three weeks ago, I let the fire out. I took my +cylinder and unscrewed it while it was still so hot that it +punished my hands, and I scraped out the crumbling lava-like mass +with a chisel, and hammered it into a powder upon an iron plate. +And I found three big diamonds and five small ones. As I sat on +the floor hammering, my door opened, and my neighbour, the +begging-letter writer came in. He was drunk--as he usually is. +"'Nerchist,' said he. 'You're drunk,' said I. ''Structive +scoundrel,' said he. 'Go to your father,' said I, meaning the +Father of Lies. 'Never you mind,' said he, and gave me a cunning +wink, and hiccuped, and leaning up against the door, with his other +eye against the door-post, began to babble of how he had been +prying in my room, and how he had gone to the police that morning, +and how they had taken down everything he had to say--''siffiwas +a ge'm,' said he. Then I suddenly realised I was in a hole. +Either I should have to tell these police my little secret, and get +the whole thing blown upon, or be lagged as an Anarchist. So I +went up to my neighbour and took him by the collar, and rolled him +about a bit, and then I gathered up my diamonds and cleared out. +The evening newspapers called my den the Kentish Town Bomb Factory. +And now I cannot part with the things for love or money. + +"If I go in to respectable jewellers they ask me to wait, and +go and whisper to a clerk to fetch a policeman, and then I say I +cannot wait. And I found out a receiver of stolen goods, and he +simply stuck to the one I gave him and told me to prosecute if I +wanted it back. I am going about now with several hundred thousand +pounds-worth of diamonds round my neck, and without either food or +shelter. You are the first person I have taken into my confidence. +But I like your face and I am hard-driven." + +He looked into my eyes. + +"It would be madness," said I, "for me to buy a diamond under +the circumstances. Besides, I do not carry hundreds of pounds +about in my pocket. Yet I more than half believe your story. I +will, if you like, do this: come to my office to-morrow . . . . " + +"You think I am a thief!" said he keenly. "You will tell the +police. I am not coming into a trap." + +"Somehow I am assured you are no thief. Here is my card. +Take that, anyhow. You need not come to any appointment. Come +when you will." + +He took the card, and an earnest of my good-will. + +"Think better of it and come," said I. + +He shook his head doubtfully. "I will pay back your +half-crown with interest some day--such interest as will amaze +you," said he. "Anyhow, you will keep the secret? . . . . Don't +follow me." + +He crossed the road and went into the darkness towards the +little steps under the archway leading into Essex Street, and I let +him go. And that was the last I ever saw of him. + +Afterwards I had two letters from him asking me to send +bank-notes--not cheques--to certain addresses. I weighed the +matter over and took what I conceived to be the wisest course. +Once he called upon me when I was out. My urchin described him as +a very thin, dirty, and ragged man, with a dreadful cough. He left +no message. That was the finish of him so far as my story goes. +I wonder sometimes what has become of him. Was he an ingenious +monomaniac, or a fraudulent dealer in pebbles, or has he really +made diamonds as he asserted? The latter is just sufficiently +credible to make me think at times that I have missed the most +brilliant opportunity of my life. He may of course be dead, and +his diamonds carelessly thrown aside--one, I repeat, was almost as +big as my thumb. Or he may be still wandering about trying to sell +the things. It is just possible he may yet emerge upon society, +and, passing athwart my heavens in the serene altitude sacred to +the wealthy and the well-advertised, reproach me silently for my +want of enterprise. I sometimes think I might at least have risked +five pounds. + + + + +THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS + +The chief attendant of the three dynamos that buzzed and rattled at +Camberwell, and kept the electric railway going, came out of +Yorkshire, and his name was James Holroyd. He was a practical +electrician, but fond of whisky, a heavy red-haired brute with +irregular teeth. He doubted the existence of the deity, but +accepted Carnot's cycle, and he had read Shakespeare and found him +weak in chemistry. His helper came out of the mysterious East, and +his name was Azuma-zi. But Holroyd called him Pooh-bah. Holroyd +liked a nigger because he would stand kicking--a habit with +Holroyd--and did not pry into the machinery and try to learn the +ways of it. Certain odd possibilities of the negro mind brought +into abrupt contact with the crown of our civilisation Holroyd +never fully realised, though just at the end he got some inkling of +them. + +To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology. He was, perhaps, +more negroid than anything else, though his hair was curly rather +than frizzy, and his nose had a bridge. Moreover, his skin was +brown rather than black, and the whites of his eyes were yellow. +His broad cheekbones and narrow chin gave his face something of the +viperine V. His head, too, was broad behind, and low and narrow at +the forehead, as if his brain had been twisted round in the reverse +way to a European's. He was short of stature and still shorter of +English. In conversation he made numerous odd noises of no known +marketable value, and his infrequent words were carved and wrought +into heraldic grotesqueness. Holroyd tried to elucidate his +religious beliefs, and--especially after whisky--lectured to him +against superstition and missionaries. Azuma-zi, however, shirked +the discussion of his gods, even though he was kicked for it. + +Azuma-zi had come, clad in white but insufficient raiment, out +of the stokehole of the Lord Clive, from the Straits +Settlements, and beyond, into London. He had heard even in his +youth of the greatness and riches of London, where all the women +are white and fair, and even the beggars in the streets are white, +and he arrived, with newly earned gold coins in his pocket, to +worship at the shrine of civilisation. The day of his landing was +a dismal one; the sky was dun, and a wind-worried drizzle filtered +down to the greasy streets, but he plunged boldly into the delights +of Shadwell, and was presently cast up, shattered in health, +civilised in costume, penniless and, except in matters of the +direst necessity, practically a dumb animal, to toil for James +Holroyd and to be bullied by him in the dynamo shed at Camberwell. +And to James Holroyd bullying was a labour of love. + +There were three dynamos with their engines at Camberwell. +The two that had been there since the beginning were small +machines; the larger one was new. The smaller machines made a +reasonable noise; their straps hummed over the drums, every now and +then the brushes buzzed and fizzled, and the air churned steadily, +whoo! whoo! whoo! between their poles. One was loose in its +foundations and kept the shed vibrating. But the big dynamo +drowned these little noises altogether with the sustained drone of +its iron core, which somehow set part of the ironwork humming. The +place made the visitor's head reel with the throb, throb, throb of +the engines, the rotation of the big wheels, the spinning +ball-valves, the occasional spittings of the steam, and over all +the deep, unceasing, surging note of the big dynamo. This last +noise was from an engineering point of view a defect, but Azuma-zi +accounted it unto the monster for mightiness and pride. + +If it were possible we would have the noises of that shed +always about the reader as he reads, we would tell all our story to +such an accompaniment. It was a steady stream of din, from which +the ear picked out first one thread and then another; there was the +intermittent snorting, panting, and seething of the steam engines, +the suck and thud of their pistons, the dull beat on the air as the +spokes of the great driving-wheels came round, a note the leather +straps made as they ran tighter and looser, and a fretful tumult +from the dynamos; and over all, sometimes inaudible, as the ear +tired of it, and then creeping back upon the senses again, was this +trombone note of the big machine. The floor never felt steady and +quiet beneath one's feet, but quivered and jarred. It was a +confusing, unsteady place, and enough to send anyone's thoughts +jerking into odd zigzags. And for three months, while the big +strike of the engineers was in progress, Holroyd, who was a +blackleg, and Azuma-zi, who was a mere black, were never out of the +stir and eddy of it, but slept and fed in the little wooden shanty +between the shed and the gates. + +Holroyd delivered a theological lecture on the text of his big +machine soon after Azuma-zi came. He had to shout to be heard in +the din. "Look at that," said Holroyd; "where's your 'eathen idol +to match 'im?" And Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd was +inaudible, and then Azuma-zi heard: "Kill a hundred men. Twelve +per cent. on the ordinary shares," said Holroyd, "and that's +something like a Gord!" + +Holroyd was proud of his big dynamo, and expatiated upon its +size and power to Azuma-zi until heaven knows what odd currents of +thought that and the incessant whirling and shindy set up within +the curly black cranium. He would explain in the most graphic +manner the dozen or so ways in which a man might be killed by it, +and once he gave Azuma-zi a shock as a sample of its quality. +After that, in the breathing-times of his labour--it was heavy +labour, being not only his own, but most of Holroyd's--Azuma-zi +would sit and watch the big machine. Now and then the brushes +would sparkle and spit blue flashes, at which Holroyd would swear, +but all the rest was as smooth and rhythmic as breathing. The band +ran shouting over the shaft, and ever behind one as one watched was +the complacent thud of the piston. So it lived all day in this big +airy shed, with him and Holroyd to wait upon it; not prisoned up +and slaving to drive a ship as the other engines he knew--mere +captive devils of the British Solomon--had been, but a machine +enthroned. Those two smaller dynamos, Azuma-zi by force of +contrast despised; the large one he privately christened the Lord +of the Dynamos. They were fretful and irregular, but the big +dynamo was steady. How great it was! How serene and easy in its +working! Greater and calmer even than the Buddhas he had seen at +Rangoon, and yet not motionless, but living! The great black coils +spun, spun, spun, the rings ran round under the brushes, and the +deep note of its coil steadied the whole. It affected Azuma-zi +queerly. + +Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watch +the Lord of the Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade the +yard porter to get whisky, although his proper place was not in the +dynamo shed but behind the engines, and, moreover, if Holroyd +caught him skulking he got hit for it with a rod of stout copper +wire. He would go and stand close to the colossus and look up at +the great leather band running overhead. There was a black patch +on the band that came round, and it pleased him somehow among all +the clatter to watch this return again and again. Odd thoughts +spun with the whirl of it. Scientific people tell us that savages +give souls to rocks and trees--and a machine is a thousand times +more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was practically a +savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper than his +slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and hands. +His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindred +blood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut. + +He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and +hand, ling the great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished +and cleaned it until the metal parts were blinding in the sun. He +felt a mysterious sense of service in doing this. He would go up +to it and touch its spinning coils gently. The gods he had +worshipped were all far away. The people in London hid their gods. + +At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape in +thoughts and at last in acts. When he came into the roaring shed +one morning he salaamed to the Lord of the Dynamos, and then when +Holroyd was away, he went and whispered to the thundering machine +that he was its servant, and prayed it to have pity on him and save +him from Holroyd. As he did so a rare gleam of light came in +through the open archway of the throbbing machine-shed, and the +Lord of the Dynamos, as he whirled and roared, was radiant with +pale gold. Then Azuma-zi knew that his service was acceptable to +his Lord. After that he did not feel so lonely as he had done, and +he had indeed been very much alone in London. And even when his +work time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the shed. + +Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi went +presently to the Lord of the Dynamos and whispered, "Thou seest, O +my Lord!" and the angry whir of the machinery seemed to answer him. +Thereafter it appeared to him that whenever Holroyd came into the +shed a different note came into the sounds of the dynamo. "My Lord +bides his time," said Azuma-zi to himself. "The iniquity of the +fool is not yet ripe." And he waited and watched for the day of +reckoning. One day there was evidence of short circuiting, and +Holroyd, making an unwary examination--it was in the afternoon--got +a rather severe shock. Azuma-zi from behind the engine saw him +jump off and curse at the peccant coil. + +"He is warned," said Azuma-zi to himself. "Surely my Lord is +very patient." + +Holroyd had at first initiated his "nigger" into such +elementary conceptions of the dynamo's working as would enable him +to take temporary charge of the shed in his absence. But when he +noticed the manner in which Azuma-zi hung about the monster he +became suspicious. He dimly perceived his assistant was "up to +something," and connecting him with the anointing of the coils with +oil that had rotted the varnish in one place, he issued an edict, +shouted above the confusion of the machinery, "Don't 'ee go nigh +that big dynamo any more, Pooh-bah, or a'll take thy skin off!" +Besides, if it pleased Azuma-zi to be near the big machine, it was +plain sense and decency to keep him away from it. + +Azuma-zi obeyed at the time, but later he was caught bowing +before the Lord of the Dynamos. At which Holroyd twisted his arm +and kicked him as he turned to go away. As Azuma-zi presently +stood behind the engine and glared at the back of the hated +Holroyd, the noises of the machinery took a new rhythm, and sounded +like four words in his native tongue. + +It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-zi +was mad. The incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may have +churned up his little store of knowledge and his big store of +superstitious fancy, at last, into something akin to frenzy. At +any rate, when the idea of making Holroyd a sacrifice to the Dynamo +Fetich was thus suggested to him, it filled him with a strange +tumult of exultant emotion. + +That night the two men and their black shadows were alone in +the shed together. The shed was lit with one big arc light that +winked and flickered purple. The shadows lay black behind the +dynamos, the ball governors of the engines whirled from light to +darkness, and their pistons beat loud and steady. The world +outside seen through the open end of the shed seemed incredibly dim +and remote. It seemed absolutely silent, too, since the riot of +the machinery drowned every external sound. Far away was the black +fence of the yard with grey shadowy houses behind, and above was +the deep blue sky and the pale little stars. Azuma-zi suddenly +walked across the centre of the shed above which the leather bands +were running, and went into the shadow by the big dynamo. Holroyd +heard a click, and the spin of the armature changed. + +"What are you dewin' with that switch?" he bawled in surprise. +"Han't I told you--" + +Then he saw the set expression of Azuma-zi's eyes as the +Asiatic came out of the shadow towards him. + +In another moment the two men were grappling fiercely in front +of the great dynamo. + +"You coffee-headed fool!" gasped Holroyd, with a brown hand at +his throat. "Keep off those contact rings." In another moment he +was tripped and reeling back upon the Lord of the Dynamos. He +instinctively loosened his grip upon his antagonist to save himself +from the machine. + +The messenger, sent in furious haste from the station to find +out what had happened in the dynamo shed, met Azuma-zi at the +porter's lodge by the gate. Azuma-zi tried to explain something, +but the messenger could make nothing of the black's incoherent +English, and hurried on to the shed. The machines were all noisily +at work, and nothing seemed to be disarranged. There was, however, +a queer smell of singed hair. Then he saw an odd-looking crumpled +mass clinging to the front of the big dynamo, and, approaching, +recognised the distorted remains of Holroyd. + +The man stared and hesitated a moment. Then he saw the face, +and shut his eyes convulsively. He turned on his heel before he +opened them, so that he should not see Holroyd again, and went out +of the shed to get advice and help. + +When Azuma-zi saw Holroyd die in the grip of the Great Dynamo +he had been a little scared about the consequences of his act. Yet +he felt strangely elated, and knew that the favour of the Lord +Dynamo was upon him. His plan was already settled when he met the +man coming from the station, and the scientific manager who +speedily arrived on the scene jumped at the obvious conclusion of +suicide. This expert scarcely noticed Azuma-zi, except to ask a +few questions. Did he see Holroyd kill himself? Azuma-zi +explained that he had been out of sight at the engine furnace until +he heard a difference in the noise from the dynamo. It was not a +difficult examination, being untinctured by suspicion. + +The distorted remains of Holroyd, which the electrician +removed from the machine, were hastily covered by the porter with +a coffee-stained tablecloth. Somebody, by a happy inspiration, +fetched a medical man. The expert was chiefly anxious to get the +machine at work again, for seven or eight trains had stopped midway +in the stuffy tunnels of the electric railway. Azuma-zi, answering +or misunderstanding the questions of the people who had by +authority or impudence come into the shed, was presently sent back +to the stoke-hole by the scientific manager. Of course a crowd +collected outside the gates of the yard--a crowd, for no known +reason, always hovers for a day or two near the scene of a sudden +death in London; two or three reporters percolated somehow into the +engine-shed, and one even got to Azuma-zi; but the scientific +expert cleared them out again, being himself an amateur journalist. + +Presently the body was carried away, and public interest +departed with it. Azuma-zi remained very quietly at his furnace, +seeing over and over again in the coals a figure that wriggled +violently and became still. An hour after the murder, to anyone +coming into the shed it would have looked exactly as if nothing had +ever happened there. Peeping presently from his engine-room the +black saw the Lord Dynamo spin and whirl beside his little +brothers, and the driving wheels were beating round, and the steam +in the pistons went thud, thud, exactly as it had been earlier in +the evening. After all, from the mechanical point of view, it had +been a most insignificant incident--the mere temporary deflection +of a current. But now the slender form and slender shadow of the +scientific manager replaced the sturdy outline of Holroyd +travelling up and down the lane of light upon the vibrating floor +under the straps between the engines and the dynamos. + +"Have I not served my Lord?" said Azuma-zi inaudibly, from his +shadow, and the note of the great dynamo rang out full and clear. +As he looked at the big whirling mechanism the strange fascination +of it that had been a little in abeyance since Holroyd's death, +resumed its sway. + +Never had Azuma-zi seen a man killed so swiftly and +pitilessly. The big humming machine had slain its victim without +wavering for a second from its steady beating. It was indeed a +mighty god. + +The unconscious scientific manager stood with his back to him, +scribbling on a piece of paper. His shadow lay at the foot of the +monster. + +"Was the Lord Dynamo still hungry? His servant was ready." + +Azuma-zi made a stealthy step forward; then stopped. The +scientific manager suddenly stopped writing, and walked down the +shed to the endmost of the dynamos, and began to examine the +brushes. + +Azuma-zi hesitated, and then slipped across noiselessly into +shadow by the switch. There he waited. Presently the manager's +footsteps could be heard returning. He stopped in his old +position, unconscious of the stoker crouching ten feet away from +him. Then the big dynamo suddenly fizzled, and in another moment +Azuma-zi had sprung out of the darkness upon him. + +First, the scientific manager was gripped round the body and +swung towards the big dynamo, then, kicking with his knee and +forcing his antagonist's head down with his hands, he loosened the +grip on his waist and swung round away from the machine. Then the +black grasped him again, putting a curly head against his chest, +and they swayed and panted as it seemed for an age or so. Then the +scientific manager was impelled to catch a black ear in his teeth +and bite furiously. The black yelled hideously. + +They rolled over on the floor, and the black, who had +apparently slipped from the vice of the teeth or parted with some +ear--the scientific manager wondered which at the time--tried to +throttle him. The scientific manager was making some ineffectual +attempts to claw something with his hands and to kick, when the +welcome sound of quick footsteps sounded on the floor. The next +moment Azuma-zi had left him and darted towards the big dynamo. +There was a splutter amid the roar. + +The officer of the company who had entered, stood staring as +Azuma-zi caught the naked terminals in his hands, gave one horrible +convulsion, and then hung motionless from the machine, his face +violently distorted. + +"I'm jolly glad you came in when you did," said the scientific +manager, still sitting on the floor. + +He looked at the still quivering figure. + +"It's not a nice death to die, apparently--but it is quick." + +The official was still staring at the body. He was a man of +slow apprehension. + +There was a pause. + +The scientific manager got up on his feet rather awkwardly. +He ran his fingers along his collar thoughtfully, and moved his +head to and fro several times. + +"Poor Holroyd! I see now." Then almost mechanically he went +towards the switch in the shadow and turned the current into the +railway circuit again. As he did so the singed body loosened its +grip upon the machine and fell forward on its face. The core of +the dynamo roared out loud and clear, and the armature beat the +air. + +So ended prematurely the Worship of the Dynamo Deity, perhaps +the most short-lived of all religions. Yet withal it could at +least boast a Martyrdom and a Human Sacrifice. + + + + +THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND + +Three hundred miles and more from Chimborazo, one hundred from the +snows of Cotopaxi, in the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there +lies that mysterious mountain valley, cut off from all the world of +men, the Country of the Blind. Long years ago that valley lay so +far open to the world that men might come at last through frightful +gorges and over an icy pass into its equable meadows, and thither +indeed men came, a family or so of Peruvian half-breeds fleeing +from the lust and tyranny of an evil Spanish ruler. Then came the +stupendous outbreak of Mindobamba, when it was night in Quito for +seventeen days, and the water was boiling at Yaguachi and all the +fish floating dying even as far as Guayaquil; everywhere along the +Pacific slopes there were land-slips and swift thawings and sudden +floods, and one whole side of the old Arauca crest slipped and came +down in thunder, and cut off the Country of the Blind for ever from +the exploring feet of men. But one of these early settlers had +chanced to be on the hither side of the gorges when the world had +so terribly shaken itself, and he perforce had to forget his wife +and his child and all the friends and possessions he had left up +there, and start life over again in the lower world. He started it +again but ill, blindness overtook him, and he died of punishment in +the mines; but the story he told begot a legend that lingers along +the length of the Cordilleras of the Andes to this day. + +He told of his reason for venturing back from that fastness, +into which he had first been carried lashed to a llama, beside a +vast bale of gear, when he was a child. The valley, he said, had +in it all that the heart of man could desire--sweet water, pasture, +an even climate, slopes of rich brown soil with tangles of a shrub +that bore an excellent fruit, and on one side great hanging forests +of pine that held the avalanches high. Far overhead, on three +sides, vast cliffs of grey-green rock were capped by cliffs of ice; +but the glacier stream came not to them, but flowed away by the +farther slopes, and only now and then huge ice masses fell on the +valley side. In this valley it neither rained nor snowed, but the +abundant springs gave a rich green pasture, that irrigation would +spread over all the valley space. The settlers did well indeed +there. Their beasts did well and multiplied, and but one thing +marred their happiness. Yet it was enough to mar it greatly. A +strange disease had come upon them and had made all the children +born to them there--and, indeed, several older children +also--blind. It was to seek some charm or antidote against this +plague of blindness that he had with fatigue and danger and +difficulty returned down the gorge. In those days, in such cases, +men did not think of germs and infections, but of sins, and it +seemed to him that the reason of this affliction must he in the +negligence of these priestless immigrants to set up a shrine so +soon as they entered the valley. He wanted a shrine--a handsome, +cheap, effectual shrine--to be erected in the valley; he wanted +relics and such-like potent things of faith, blessed objects and +mysterious medals and prayers. In his wallet he had a bar of +native silver for which he would not account; he insisted there was +none in the valley with something of the insistence of an inexpert +liar. They had all clubbed their money and ornaments together, +having little need for such treasure up there, he said, to buy them +holy help against their ill. I figure this dim-eyed young +mountaineer, sunburnt, gaunt, and anxious, hat brim clutched +feverishly, a man all unused to the ways of the lower world, +telling this story to some keen-eyed, attentive priest before the +great convulsion; I can picture him presently seeking to return +with pious and infallible remedies against that trouble, and the +infinite dismay with which he must have faced the tumbled vastness +where the gorge had once come out. But the rest of his story of +mischances is lost to me, save that I know of his evil death after +several years. Poor stray from that remoteness! The stream that +had once made the gorge now bursts from the mouth of a rocky cave, +and the legend his poor, ill-told story set going developed into +the legend of a race of blind men somewhere "over there" one may +still hear to-day. + +And amidst the little population of that now isolated and +forgotten valley the disease ran its course. The old became +groping, the young saw but dimly, and the children that were born +to them never saw at all. But life was very easy in that +snow-rimmed basin, lost to all the world, with neither thorns nor +briers, with no evil insects nor any beasts save the gentle breed +of llamas they had lugged and thrust and followed up the beds of +the shrunken rivers in the gorges up which they had come. The +seeing had become purblind so gradually that they scarcely noticed +their loss. They guided the sightless youngsters hither and +thither until they knew the whole valley marvellously, and when at +last sight died out among them the race lived on. They had even +time to adapt themselves to the blind control of fire, which they +made carefully in stoves of stone. They were a simple strain of +people at the first, unlettered, only slightly touched with the +Spanish civilisation, but with something of a tradition of the arts +of old Peru and of its lost philosophy. Generation followed +generation. They forgot many things; they devised many things. +Their tradition of the greater world they came from became mythical +in colour and uncertain. In all things save sight they were strong +and able, and presently chance sent one who had an original mind +and who could talk and persuade among them, and then afterwards +another. These two passed, leaving their effects, and the little +community grew in numbers and in understanding, and met and settled +social and economic problems that arose. Generation followed +generation. Generation followed generation. There came a time +when a child was born who was fifteen generations from that +ancestor who went out of the valley with a bar of silver to seek +God's aid, and who never returned. Thereabout it chanced that a +man came into this community from the outer world. And this is the +story of that man. + +He was a mountaineer from the country near Quito, a man who +had been down to the sea and had seen the world, a reader of books +in an original way, an acute and enterprising man, and he was taken +on by a party of Englishmen who had come out to Ecuador to climb +mountains, to replace one of their three Swiss guides who had +fallen ill. He climbed here and he climbed there, and then came +the attempt on Parascotopetl, the Matterhorn of the Andes, in which +he was lost to the outer world. The story of that accident has +been written a dozen times. Pointer's narrative is the best. He +tells how the little party worked their difficult and almost +vertical way up to the very foot of the last and greatest +precipice, and how they built a night shelter amidst the snow upon +a little shelf of rock, and, with a touch of real dramatic power, +how presently they found Nunez had gone from them. They shouted, +and there was no reply; shouted and whistled, and for the rest of +that night they slept no more. + +As the morning broke they saw the traces of his fall. It +seems impossible he could have uttered a sound. He had slipped +eastward towards the unknown side of the mountain; far below he had +struck a steep slope of snow, and ploughed his way down it in the +midst of a snow avalanche. His track went straight to the edge of +a frightful precipice, and beyond that everything was hidden. Far, +far below, and hazy with distance, they could see trees rising out +of a narrow, shut-in valley--the lost Country of the Blind. But +they did not know it was the lost Country of the Blind, nor +distinguish it in any way from any other narrow streak of upland +valley. Unnerved by this disaster, they abandoned their attempt in +the afternoon, and Pointer was called away to the war before he +could make another attack. To this day Parascotopetl lifts an +unconquered crest, and Pointer's shelter crumbles unvisited amidst +the snows. + +And the man who fell survived. + +At the end of the slope he fell a thousand feet, and came down +in the midst of a cloud of snow upon a snow-slope even steeper than +the one above. Down this he was whirled, stunned and insensible, +but without a bone broken in his body; and then at last came to +gentler slopes, and at last rolled out and lay still, buried amidst +a softening heap of the white masses that had accompanied and saved +him. He came to himself with a dim fancy that he was ill in bed; +then realized his position with a mountaineer's intelligence and +worked himself loose and, after a rest or so, out until he saw the +stars. He rested flat upon his chest for a space, wondering where +he was and what had happened to him. He explored his limbs, and +discovered that several of his buttons were gone and his coat +turned over his head. His knife had gone from his pocket and his +hat was lost, though he had tied it under his chin. He recalled +that he had been looking for loose stones to raise his piece of the +shelter wall. His ice-axe had disappeared. + +He decided he must have fallen, and looked up to see, +exaggerated by the ghastly light of the rising moon, the tremendous +flight he had taken. For a while he lay, gazing blankly at the +vast, pale cliff towering above, rising moment by moment out of a +subsiding tide of darkness. Its phantasmal, mysterious beauty held +him for a space, and then he was seized with a paroxysm of sobbing +laughter . . . . + +After a great interval of time he became aware that he was +near the lower edge of the snow. Below, down what was now a +moon-lit and practicable slope, he saw the dark and broken +appearance of rock-strewn turf He struggled to his feet, aching in +every joint and limb, got down painfully from the heaped loose snow +about him, went downward until he was on the turf, and there +dropped rather than lay beside a boulder, drank deep from the flask +in his inner pocket, and instantly fell asleep . . . . + +He was awakened by the singing of birds in the trees far +below. + +He sat up and perceived he was on a little alp at the foot of +a vast precipice that sloped only a little in the gully down which +he and his snow had come. Over against him another wall of rock +reared itself against the sky. The gorge between these precipices +ran east and west and was full of the morning sunlight, which lit +to the westward the mass of fallen mountain that closed the +descending gorge. Below him it seemed there was a precipice +equally steep, but behind the snow in the gully he found a sort of +chimney-cleft dripping with snow-water, down which a desperate man +might venture. He found it easier than it seemed, and came at last +to another desolate alp, and then after a rock climb of no +particular difficulty, to a steep slope of trees. He took his +bearings and turned his face up the gorge, for he saw it opened out +above upon green meadows, among which he now glimpsed quite +distinctly a cluster of stone huts of unfamiliar fashion. At times +his progress was like clambering along the face of a wall, and +after a time the rising sun ceased to strike along the gorge, the +voices of the singing birds died away, and the air grew cold and +dark about him. But the distant valley with its houses was all the +brighter for that. He came presently to talus, and among the rocks +he noted--for he was an observant man--an unfamiliar fern that +seemed to clutch out of the crevices with intense green hands. He +picked a frond or so and gnawed its stalk, and found it helpful. + +About midday he came at last out of the throat of the gorge +into the plain and the sunlight. He was stiff and weary; he sat +down in the shadow of a rock, filled up his flask with water from +a spring and drank it down, and remained for a time, resting before +he went on to the houses. + +They were very strange to his eyes, and indeed the whole +aspect of that valley became, as he regarded it, queerer and more +unfamiliar. The greater part of its surface was lush green meadow, +starred with many beautiful flowers, irrigated with extraordinary +care, and bearing evidence of systematic cropping piece by piece. +High up and ringing the valley about was a wall, and what appeared +to be a circumferential water channel, from which the little +trickles of water that fed the meadow plants came, and on the +higher slopes above this flocks of llamas cropped the scanty +herbage. Sheds, apparently shelters or feeding-places for the +llamas, stood against the boundary wall here and there. The +irrigation streams ran together into a main channel down the centre +of the valley, and this was enclosed on either side by a wall +breast high. This gave a singularly urban quality to this secluded +place, a quality that was greatly enhanced by the fact that a +number of paths paved with black and white stones, and each with a +curious little kerb at the side, ran hither and thither in an +orderly manner. The houses of the central village were quite +unlike the casual and higgledy-piggledy agglomeration of the +mountain villages he knew; they stood in a continuous row on either +side of a central street of astonishing cleanness, here and there +their parti-coloured facade was pierced by a door, and not a +solitary window broke their even frontage. They were +parti-coloured with extraordinary irregularity, smeared with a sort +of plaster that was sometimes grey, sometimes drab, sometimes +slate-coloured or dark brown; and it was the sight of this wild +plastering first brought the word "blind" into the thoughts of the +explorer. "The good man who did that," he thought, "must have been +as blind as a bat." + +He descended a steep place, and so came to the wall and +channel that ran about the valley, near where the latter spouted +out its surplus contents into the deeps of the gorge in a thin and +wavering thread of cascade. He could now see a number of men and +women resting on piled heaps of grass, as if taking a siesta, in +the remoter part of the meadow, and nearer the village a number of +recumbent children, and then nearer at hand three men carrying +pails on yokes along a little path that ran from the encircling +wall towards the houses. These latter were clad in garments of +llama cloth and boots and belts of leather, and they wore caps of +cloth with back and ear flaps. They followed one another in single +file, walking slowly and yawning as they walked, like men who have +been up all night. There was something so reassuringly prosperous +and respectable in their bearing that after a moment's hesitation +Nunez stood forward as conspicuously as possible upon his rock, and +gave vent to a mighty shout that echoed round the valley. + +The three men stopped, and moved their heads as though they +were looking about them. They turned their faces this way and +that, and Nunez gesticulated with freedom. But they did not appear +to see him for all his gestures, and after a time, directing +themselves towards the mountains far away to the right, they +shouted as if in answer. Nunez bawled again, and then once more, +and as he gestured ineffectually the word "blind" came up to the +top of his thoughts. "The fools must be blind," he said. + +When at last, after much shouting and wrath, Nunez crossed the +stream by a little bridge, came through a gate in the wall, and +approached them, he was sure that they were blind. He was sure +that this was the Country of the Blind of which the legends told. +Conviction had sprung upon him, and a sense of great and rather +enviable adventure. The three stood side by side, not looking at +him, but with their ears directed towards him, judging him by his +unfamiliar steps. They stood close together like men a little +afraid, and he could see their eyelids closed and sunken, as though +the very balls beneath had shrunk away. There was an expression +near awe on their faces. + +"A man," one said, in hardly recognisable Spanish. "A man it +is--a man or a spirit--coming down from the rocks." + +But Nunez advanced with the confident steps of a youth who +enters upon life. All the old stories of the lost valley and the +Country of the Blind had come back to his mind, and through his +thoughts ran this old proverb, as if it were a refrain:-- + +"In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." + +"In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." + +And very civilly he gave them greeting. He talked to them and +used his eyes. + +"Where does he come from, brother Pedro?" asked one. + +"Down out of the rocks." + +"Over the mountains I come," said Nunez, "out of the country +beyond there--where men can see. From near Bogota--where there are +a hundred thousands of people, and where the city passes out of +sight." + +"Sight?" muttered Pedro. "Sight?" + +"He comes," said the second blind man, "out of the rocks." + +The cloth of their coats, Nunez saw was curious fashioned, +each with a different sort of stitching. + +They startled him by a simultaneous movement towards him, each +with a hand outstretched. He stepped back from the advance of +these spread fingers. + +"Come hither," said the third blind man, following his motion +and clutching him neatly. + +And they held Nunez and felt him over, saying no word further +until they had done so. + +"Carefully," he cried, with a finger in his eye, and found +they thought that organ, with its fluttering lids, a queer thing in +him. They went over it again. + +"A strange creature, Correa," said the one called Pedro. +"Feel the coarseness of his hair. Like a llama's hair." + +"Rough he is as the rocks that begot him," said Correa, +investigating Nunez's unshaven chin with a soft and slightly moist +hand. "Perhaps he will grow finer." + +Nunez struggled a little under their examination, but they +gripped him firm. + +"Carefully," he said again. + +"He speaks," said the third man. "Certainly he is a man." + +"Ugh!" said Pedro, at the roughness of his coat. + +"And you have come into the world?" asked Pedro. + +"OUT of the world. Over mountains and glaciers; right +over above there, half-way to the sun. Out of the great, big world +that goes down, twelve days' journey to the sea." + +They scarcely seemed to heed him. "Our fathers have told us +men may be made by the forces of Nature," said Correa. "It is the +warmth of things, and moisture, and rottenness--rottenness." + +"Let us lead him to the elders," said Pedro. + +"Shout first," said Correa, "lest the children be afraid. +This is a marvellous occasion." + +So they shouted, and Pedro went first and took Nunez by the +hand to lead him to the houses. + +He drew his hand away. "I can see," he said. + +"See?" said Correa. + +"Yes; see," said Nunez, turning towards him, and stumbled +against Pedro's pail. + +"His senses are still imperfect," said the third blind man. +"He stumbles, and talks unmeaning words. Lead him by the hand." + +"As you will," said Nunez, and was led along laughing. + +It seemed they knew nothing of sight. + +Well, all in good time he would teach them. + +He heard people shouting, and saw a number of figures +gathering together in the middle roadway of the village. + +He found it tax his nerve and patience more than he had +anticipated, that first encounter with the population of the +Country of the Blind. The place seemed larger as he drew near to +it, and the smeared plasterings queerer, and a crowd of children +and men and women (the women and girls he was pleased to note had, +some of them, quite sweet faces, for all that their eyes were shut +and sunken) came about him, holding on to him, touching him with +soft, sensitive hands, smelling at him, and listening at every +word he spoke. Some of the maidens and children, however, kept +aloof as if afraid, and indeed his voice seemed coarse and rude +beside their softer notes. They mobbed him. His three guides kept +close to him with an effect of proprietorship, and said again and +again, "A wild man out of the rocks." + +"Bogota," he said. "Bogota. Over the mountain crests." + +"A wild man--using wild words," said Pedro. "Did you hear +that--"BOGOTA? His mind has hardly formed yet. He has only +the beginnings of speech." + +A little boy nipped his hand. "Bogota!" he said mockingly. + +"Aye! A city to your village. I come from the great world +--where men have eyes and see." + +"His name's Bogota," they said. + +"He stumbled," said Correa--" stumbled twice as we came +hither." + +"Bring him in to the elders." + +And they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as +black as pitch, save at the end there faintly glowed a fire. The +crowd closed in behind him and shut out all but the faintest +glimmer of day, and before he could arrest himself he had fallen +headlong over the feet of a seated man. His arm, outflung, struck +the face of someone else as he went down; he felt the soft impact +of features and heard a cry of anger, and for a moment he struggled +against a number of hands that clutched him. It was a one-sided +fight. An inkling of the situation came to him and he lay quiet. + +"I fell down," be said; I couldn't see in this pitchy +darkness." + +There was a pause as if the unseen persons about him tried to +understand his words. Then the voice of Correa said: "He is but +newly formed. He stumbles as he walks and mingles words that mean +nothing with his speech." + +Others also said things about him that he heard or understood +imperfectly. + +"May I sit up?" he asked, in a pause. "I will not struggle +against you again." + +They consulted and let him rise. + +The voice of an older man began to question him, and Nunez +found himself trying to explain the great world out of which he had +fallen, and the sky and mountains and such-like marvels, to these +elders who sat in darkness in the Country of the Blind. And they +would believe and understand nothing whatever that he told them, a +thing quite outside his expectation. They would not even +understand many of his words. For fourteen generations these +people had been blind and cut off from all the seeing world; the +names for all the things of sight had faded and changed; the story +of the outer world was faded and changed to a child's story; and +they had ceased to concern themselves with anything beyond the +rocky slopes above their circling wall. Blind men of genius had +arisen among them and questioned the shreds of belief and tradition +they had brought with them from their seeing days, and had +dismissed all these things as idle fancies and replaced them with +new and saner explanations. Much of their imagination had +shrivelled with their eyes, and they had made for themselves new +imaginations with their ever more sensitive ears and finger-tips. +Slowly Nunez realised this: that his expectation of wonder and +reverence at his origin and his gifts was not to be borne out; and +after his poor attempt to explain sight to them had been set aside +as the confused version of a new-made being describing the marvels +of his incoherent sensations, he subsided, a little dashed, into +listening to their instruction. And the eldest of the blind men +explained to him life and philosophy and religion, how that the +world (meaning their valley) had been first an empty hollow in the +rocks, and then had come first inanimate things without the gift of +touch, and llamas and a few other creatures that had little sense, +and then men, and at last angels, whom one could hear singing and +making fluttering sounds, but whom no one could touch at all, which +puzzled Nunez greatly until he thought of the birds. + +He went on to tell Nunez how this time had been divided into +the warm and the cold, which are the blind equivalents of day and +night, and how it was good to sleep in the warm and work during the +cold, so that now, but for his advent, the whole town of the blind +would have been asleep. He said Nunez must have been specially +created to learn and serve the wisdom they had acquired, and that +for all his mental incoherency and stumbling behaviour he must have +courage and do his best to learn, and at that all the people in the +door-way murmured encouragingly. He said the night--for the blind +call their day night--was now far gone, and it behooved everyone to +go back to sleep. He asked Nunez if he knew how to sleep, and +Nunez said he did, but that before sleep he wanted food. They +brought him food, llama's milk in a bowl and rough salted bread, +and led him into a lonely place to eat out of their hearing, and +afterwards to slumber until the chill of the mountain evening +roused them to begin their day again. But Nunez slumbered not at +all. + +Instead, he sat up in the place where they had left him, +resting his limbs and turning the unanticipated circumstances of +his arrival over and over in his mind. + +Every now and then he laughed, sometimes with amusement and +sometimes with indignation. + +"Unformed mind!" he said. "Got no senses yet! They little +know they've been insulting their Heaven-sent King and master . . +. . . + +"I see I must bring them to reason. + +"Let me think. + +"Let me think." + +He was still thinking when the sun set. + +Nunez had an eye for all beautiful things, and it seemed to +him that the glow upon the snow-fields and glaciers that rose about +the valley on every side was the most beautiful thing he had ever +seen. His eyes went from that inaccessible glory to the village +and irrigated fields, fast sinking into the twilight, and suddenly +a wave of emotion took him, and he thanked God from the bottom of +his heart that the power of sight had been given him. + +He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village. + +"Yaho there, Bogota! Come hither!" + +At that he stood up, smiling. He would show these people once +and for all what sight would do for a man. They would seek him, +but not find him. + +"You move not, Bogota," said the voice. + +He laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from +the path. + +"Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed." + +Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He +stopped, amazed. + +The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path +towards him. + +He stepped back into the pathway. "Here I am," he said. + +"Why did you not come when I called you?" said the blind man. +"Must you be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you +walk?" + +Nunez laughed. "I can see it," he said. + +"There is no such word as SEE," said the blind man, +after a pause. "Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet." + +Nunez followed, a little annoyed. + +"My time will come," he said. + +"You'll learn," the blind man answered. "There is much to +learn in the world." + +"Has no one told you, 'In the Country of the Blind the +One-Eyed Man is King?'" + +"What is blind?" asked the blind man, carelessly, over his +shoulder. + +Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind +still incognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his +subjects. + +It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than +he had supposed, and in the meantime, while he meditated his +coup d'etat, he did what he was told and learnt the manners +and customs of the Country of the Blind. He found working and +going about at night a particularly irksome thing, and he decided +that that should be the first thing he would change. + +They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the +elements of virtue and happiness as these things can be understood +by men. They toiled, but not oppressively; they had food and +clothing sufficient for their needs; they had days and seasons of +rest; they made much of music and singing, and there was love among +them and little children. It was marvellous with what confidence +and precision they went about their ordered world. Everything, you +see, had been made to fit their needs; each of the radiating paths +of the valley area had a constant angle to the others, and was +distinguished by a special notch upon its kerbing; all obstacles +and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been cleared +away; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from their +special needs. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they +could hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces +away--could hear the very beating of his heart. Intonation had +long replaced expression with them, and touches gesture, and their +work with hoe and spade and fork was as free and confident as +garden work can be. Their sense of smell was extraordinarily fine; +they could distinguish individual differences as readily as a dog +can, and they went about the tending of llamas, who lived among +the rocks above and came to the wall for food and shelter, with +ease and confidence. It was only when at last Nunez sought to +assert himself that he found how easy and confident their movements +could be. + +He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion. + +He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. +"Look you here, you people," he said. "There are things you do not +understand in me." + +Once or twice one or two of them attended to him; they sat +with faces downcast and ears turned intelligently towards him, and +he did his best to tell them what it was to see. Among his hearers +was a girl, with eyelids less red and sunken than the others, so +that one could almost fancy she was hiding eyes, whom especially he +hoped to persuade. He spoke of the beauties of sight, of watching +the mountains, of the sky and the sunrise, and they heard him with +amused incredulity that presently became condemnatory. They told +him there were indeed no mountains at all, but that the end of the +rocks where the llamas grazed was indeed the end of the world; +thence sprang a cavernous roof of the universe, from which the dew +and the avalanches fell; and when he maintained stoutly the world +had neither end nor roof such as they supposed, they said his +thoughts were wicked. So far as he could describe sky and clouds +and stars to them it seemed to them a hideous void, a terrible +blankness in the place of the smooth roof to things in which they +believed--it was an article of faith with them that the cavern roof +was exquisitely smooth to the touch. He saw that in some manner he +shocked them, and gave up that aspect of the matter altogether, and +tried to show them the practical value of sight. One morning he +saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards the +central houses, but still too far off for hearing or scent, and he +told them as much. "In a little while," he prophesied, "Pedro will +be here." An old man remarked that Pedro had no business on path +Seventeen, and then, as if in confirmation, that individual as he +drew near turned and went transversely into path Ten, and so back +with nimble paces towards the outer wall. They mocked Nunez when +Pedro did not arrive, and afterwards, when he asked Pedro questions +to clear his character, Pedro denied and outfaced him, and was +afterwards hostile to him. + +Then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping +meadows towards the wall with one complaisant individual, and to +him he promised to describe all that happened among the houses. He +noted certain goings and comings, but the things that really seemed +to signify to these people happened inside of or behind the +windowless houses--the only things they took note of to test him +by--and of those he could see or tell nothing; and it was after the +failure of this attempt, and the ridicule they could not repress, +that he resorted to force. He thought of seizing a spade and +suddenly smiting one or two of them to earth, and so in fair combat +showing the advantage of eyes. He went so far with that resolution +as to seize his spade, and then he discovered a new thing about +himself, and that was that it was impossible for him to hit a blind +man in cold blood. + +He hesitated, and found them all aware that he had snatched up +the spade. They stood all alert, with their heads on one side, and +bent ears towards him for what he would do next. + +"Put that spade down," said one, and he felt a sort of +helpless horror. He came near obedience. + +Then he had thrust one backwards against a house wall, and +fled past him and out of the village. + +He went athwart one of their meadows, leaving a track of +trampled grass behind his feet, and presently sat down by the side +of one of their ways. He felt something of the buoyancy that comes +to all men in the beginning of a fight, but more perplexity. He +began to realise that you cannot even fight happily with creatures +who stand upon a different mental basis to yourself. Far away he +saw a number of men carrying spades and sticks come out of the +street of houses and advance in a spreading line along the several +paths towards him. They advanced slowly, speaking frequently to +one another, and ever and again the whole cordon would halt and +sniff the air and listen. + +The first time they did this Nunez laughed. But afterwards he +did not laugh. + +One struck his trail in the meadow grass and came stooping and +feeling his way along it. + +For five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon, +and then his vague disposition to do something forthwith became +frantic. He stood up, went a pace or so towards the +circumferential wall, turned, and went back a little way. There +they all stood in a crescent, still and listening. + +He also stood still, gripping his spade very tightly in both +hands. Should he charge them? + +The pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of "In the Country +of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." + +Should he charge them? + +He looked back at the high and unclimbable wall +behind--unclimbable because of its smooth plastering, but withal +pierced with many little doors and at the approaching line of +seekers. Behind these others were now coming out of the street of +houses. + +Should he charge them? + +"Bogota!" called one. "Bogota! where are you?" + +He gripped his spade still tighter and advanced down the +meadows towards the place of habitations, and directly he moved +they converged upon him. "I'll hit them if they touch me," he +swore; "by Heaven, I will. I'll hit." He called aloud, "Look +here, I'm going to do what I like in this valley! Do you hear? +I'm going to do what I like and go where I like." + +They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving +rapidly. It was like playing blind man's buff with everyone +blindfolded except one. "Get hold of him!" cried one. He found +himself in the arc of a loose curve of pursuers. He felt suddenly +he must be active and resolute. + +"You don't understand," he cried, in a voice that was meant to +be great and resolute, and which broke. "You are blind and I can +see. Leave me alone!" + +"Bogota! Put down that spade and come off the grass!" + +The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced +a gust of anger. "I'll hurt you," he said, sobbing with emotion. +"By Heaven, I'll hurt you! Leave me alone!" + +He began to run--not knowing clearly where to run. He ran +from the nearest blind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He +stopped, and then made a dash to escape from their closing ranks. +He made for where a gap was wide, and the men on either side, with +a quick perception of the approach of his paces, rushed in on one +another. He sprang forward, and then saw he must be caught, and +SWISH! the spade had struck. He felt the soft thud of hand +and arm, and the man was down with a yell of pain, and he was +through. + +Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again, +and blind men, whirling spades and stakes, were running with a +reasoned swiftness hither and thither. + +He heard steps behind him just in time, and found a tall man +rushing forward and swiping at the sound of him. He lost his +nerve, hurled his spade a yard wide of this antagonist, and whirled +about and fled, fairly yelling as he dodged another. + +He was panic-stricken. He ran furiously to and fro, dodging +when there was no need to dodge, and, in his anxiety to see on +every side of him at once, stumbling. For a moment he was down and +they heard his fall. Far away in the circumferential wall a little +doorway looked like Heaven, and he set off in a wild rush for it. +He did not even look round at his pursuers until it was gained, and +he had stumbled across the bridge, clambered a little way among the +rocks, to the surprise and dismay of a young llama, who went +leaping out of sight, and lay down sobbing for breath. + +And so his coup d'etat came to an end. + +He stayed outside the wall of the valley of the blind for two +nights and days without food or shelter, and meditated upon the +Unexpected. During these meditations he repeated very frequently +and always with a profounder note of derision the exploded proverb: +"In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King." He thought +chiefly of ways of fighting and conquering these people, and it +grew clear that for him no practicable way was possible. He had no +weapons, and now it would be hard to get one. + +The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and +he could not find it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind +man. Of course, if he did that, he might then dictate terms on the +threat of assassinating them all. But--Sooner or later he must +sleep! . . . . + +He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be +comfortable under pine boughs while the frost fell at night, and-- +with less confidence--to catch a llama by artifice in order to try +to kill it--perhaps by hammering it with a stone--and so finally, +perhaps, to eat some of it. But the llamas had a doubt of him and +regarded him with distrustful brown eyes and spat when he drew +near. Fear came on him the second day and fits of shivering. +Finally he crawled down to the wall of the Country of the Blind and +tried to make his terms. He crawled along by the stream, shouting, +until two blind men came out to the gate and talked to him. + +"I was mad," he said. "But I was only newly made." + +They said that was better. + +He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had +done. + + +Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill +now, and they took that as a favourable sign. + +They asked him if he still thought he could SEE." + +"No," he said. "That was folly. The word means nothing. +Less than nothing!" + +They asked him what was overhead. + +"About ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above +the world--of rock--and very, very smooth. So smooth--so +beautifully smooth . . "He burst again into hysterical tears. +"Before you ask me any more, give me some food or I shall die!" + +He expected dire punishments, but these blind people were +capable of toleration. They regarded his rebellion as but one more +proof of his general idiocy and inferiority, and after they had +whipped him they appointed him to do the simplest and heaviest work +they had for anyone to do, and he, seeing no other way of living, +did submissively what he was told. + +He was ill for some days and they nursed him kindly. That +refined his submission. But they insisted on his lying in the +dark, and that was a great misery. And blind philosophers came and +talked to him of the wicked levity of his mind, and reproved him so +impressively for his doubts about the lid of rock that covered +their cosmic casserole that he almost doubted whether indeed +he was not the victim of hallucination in not seeing it overhead. + +So Nunez became a citizen of the Country of the Blind, and +these people ceased to be a generalised people and became +individualities to him, and familiar to him, while the world beyond +the mountains became more and more remote and unreal. There was +Yacob, his master, a kindly man when not annoyed; there was Pedro, +Yacob's nephew; and there was Medina-sarote, who was the youngest +daughter of Yacob. She was little esteemed in the world of the +blind, because she had a clear-cut face and lacked that satisfying, +glossy smoothness that is the blind man's ideal of feminine beauty, +but Nunez thought her beautiful at first, and presently the most +beautiful thing in the whole creation. Her closed eyelids were +not sunken and red after the common way of the valley, but lay as +though they might open again at any moment; and she had long +eyelashes, which were considered a grave disfigurement. And her +voice was weak and did not satisfy the acute hearing of the valley +swains. So that she had no lover. + +There came a time when Nunez thought that, could he win her, +he would be resigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his +days. + +He watched her; he sought opportunities of doing her little +services and presently he found that she observed him. Once at a +rest-day gathering they sat side by side in the dim starlight, and +the music was sweet. His hand came upon hers and he dared to clasp +it. Then very tenderly she returned his pressure. And one day, as +they were at their meal in the darkness, he felt her hand very +softly seeking him, and as it chanced the fire leapt then, and he +saw the tenderness of her face. + +He sought to speak to her. + +He went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer +moonlight spinning. The light made her a thing of silver and +mystery. He sat down at her feet and told her he loved her, and +told her how beautiful she seemed to him. He had a lover's voice, +he spoke with a tender reverence that came near to awe, and she had +never before been touched by adoration. She made him no definite +answer, but it was clear his words pleased her. + +After that he talked to her whenever he could take an +opportunity. The valley became the world for him, and the world +beyond the mountains where men lived by day seemed no more than a +fairy tale he would some day pour into her ears. Very tentatively +and timidly he spoke to her of sight. + +Sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies, and she +listened to his description of the stars and the mountains and her +own sweet white-lit beauty as though it was a guilty indulgence. +She did not believe, she could only half understand, but she was +mysteriously delighted, and it seemed to him that she completely +understood. + +His love lost its awe and took courage. Presently he was for +demanding her of Yacob and the elders in marriage, but she became +fearful and delayed. And it was one of her elder sisters who first +told Yacob that Medina-sarote and Nunez were in love. + +There was from the first very great opposition to the marriage +of Nunez and Medina-sarote; not so much because they valued her as +because they held him as a being apart, an idiot, incompetent thing +below the permissible level of a man. Her sisters opposed it +bitterly as bringing discredit on them all; and old Yacob, though +he had formed a sort of liking for his clumsy, obedient serf, shook +his head and said the thing could not be. The young men were all +angry at the idea of corrupting the race, and one went so far as to +revile and strike Nunez. He struck back. Then for the first time +he found an advantage in seeing, even by twilight, and after that +fight was over no one was disposed to raise a hand against him. +But they still found his marriage impossible. + +Old Yacob had a tenderness for his last little daughter, and +was grieved to have her weep upon his shoulder. + +"You see, my dear, he's an idiot. He has delusions; he can't +do anything right." + +"I know," wept Medina-sarote. "But he's better than he was. +He's getting better. And he's strong, dear father, and +kind--stronger and kinder than any other man in the world. And he +loves me--and, father, I love him." + +Old Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable, +and, besides--what made it more distressing--he liked Nunez for +many things. So he went and sat in the windowless council-chamber +with the other elders and watched the trend of the talk, and said, +at the proper time, "He's better than he was. Very likely, some +day, we shall find him as sane as ourselves." + +Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had an +idea. He was a great doctor among these people, their +medicine-man, and he had a very philosophical and inventive mind, +and the idea of curing Nunez of his peculiarities appealed to him. +One day when Yacob was present he returned to the topic of Nunez. +"I have examined Nunez," he said, "and the case is clearer to me. +I think very probably he might be cured." + +"This is what I have always hoped," said old Yacob. + +"His brain is affected," said the blind doctor. + +The elders murmured assent. + +"Now, WHAT affects it?" + +"Ah!" said old Yacob. + +THIS," said the doctor, answering his own question. +"Those queer things that are called the eyes, and which exist to +make an agreeable depression in the face, are diseased, in the case +of Nunez, in such a way as to affect his brain. They are greatly +distended, he has eyelashes, and his eyelids move, and consequently +his brain is in a state of constant irritation and distraction." + +"Yes?" said old Yacob. "Yes?" + +"And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in +order to cure him complete, all that we need to do is a simple and +easy surgical operation--namely, to remove these irritant bodies." + +"And then he will be sane?" + +"Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable +citizen." + +"Thank Heaven for science!" said old Yacob, and went forth at +once to tell Nunez of his happy hopes. + +But Nunez's manner of receiving the good news struck him as +being cold and disappointing. + +"One might think," he said, "from the tone you take that you +did not care for my daughter." + +It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind +surgeons. + +"YOU do not want me," he said, "to lose my gift of +sight?" + +She shook her head. + +"My world is sight." + +Her head drooped lower. + +"There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little +things--the flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and +softness on a piece of fur, the far sky with its drifting dawn of +clouds, the sunsets and the stars. And there is YOU. For +you alone it is good to have sight, to see your sweet, serene face, +your kindly lips, your dear, beautiful hands folded together. . . +. . It is these eyes of mine you won, these eyes that hold me to +you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I must touch you, hear you, +and never see you again. I must come under that roof of rock and +stone and darkness, that horrible roof under which your +imaginations stoop . . . NO; YOU would not have me do that?" + +A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped and left +the thing a question. + +"I wish," she said, "sometimes--" She paused. + +"Yes?" he said, a little apprehensively. + +"I wish sometimes--you would not talk like that." + +"Like what?" + +"I know it's pretty--it's your imagination. I love it, but NOW--" + +He felt cold. "NOW?" he said, faintly. + +She sat quite still. + +"You mean--you think--I should be better, better perhaps--" + +He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger perhaps, +anger at the dull course of fate, but also sympathy for her lack of +understanding--a sympathy near akin to pity. + +"DEAR," he said, and he could see by her whiteness how +tensely her spirit pressed against the things she could not say. +He put his arms about her, he kissed her ear, and they sat for a +time in silence. + +"If I were to consent to this?" he said at last, in a voice +that was very gentle. + +She flung her arms about him, weeping wildly. "Oh, if you +would," she sobbed, "if only you would!" + +For a week before the operation that was to raise him from his +servitude and inferiority to the level of a blind citizen Nunez +knew nothing of sleep, and all through the warm, sunlit hours, +while the others slumbered happily, he sat brooding or wandered +aimlessly, trying to bring his mind to bear on his dilemma. He had +given his answer, he had given his consent, and still he was not +sure. And at last work-time was over, the sun rose in splendour +over the golden crests, and his last day of vision began for him. +He had a few minutes with Medina-sarote before she went apart to +sleep. + +"To-morrow," he said, "I shall see no more." + +"Dear heart!" she answered, and pressed his hands with all her +strength. + +"They will hurt you but little," she said; "and you are going +through this pain, you are going through it, dear lover, for +ME . . . . Dear, if a woman's heart and life can do it, I +will repay you. My dearest one, my dearest with the tender voice, +I will repay." + +He was drenched in pity for himself and her. + +He held her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers and +looked on her sweet face for the last time. "Good-bye!" he +whispered to that dear sight, "good-bye!" + +And then in silence he turned away from her. + +She could hear his slow retreating footsteps, and something in +the rhythm of them threw her into a passion of weeping. + +He walked away. + +He had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows +were beautiful with white narcissus, and there remain until the +hour of his sacrifice should come, but as he walked he lifted up +his eyes and saw the morning, the morning like an angel in golden +armour, marching down the steeps . . . . + +It seemed to him that before this splendour he and this blind +world in the valley, and his love and all, were no more than a pit +of sin. + +He did not turn aside as he had meant to do, but went on and +passed through the wall of the circumference and out upon the +rocks, and his eyes were always upon the sunlit ice and snow. + +He saw their infinite beauty, and his imagination soared over +them to the things beyond he was now to resign for ever! + +He thought of that great free world that he was parted from, +the world that was his own, and he had a vision of those further +slopes, distance beyond distance, with Bogota, a place of +multitudinous stirring beauty, a glory by day, a luminous mystery +by night, a place of palaces and fountains and statues and white +houses, lying beautifully in the middle distance. He thought how +for a day or so one might come down through passes drawing ever +nearer and nearer to its busy streets and ways. He thought of the +river journey, day by day, from great Bogota to the still vaster +world beyond, through towns and villages, forest and desert places, +the rushing river day by day, until its banks receded, and the big +steamers came splashing by and one had reached the sea--the +limitless sea, with its thousand islands, its thousands of islands, +and its ships seen dimly far away in their incessant journeyings +round and about that greater world. And there, unpent by +mountains, one saw the sky--the sky, not such a disc as one saw it +here, but an arch of immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps in which +the circling stars were floating . . . . + +His eyes began to scrutinise the great curtain of the +mountains with a keener inquiry. + +For example; if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney +there, then one might come out high among those stunted pines that +ran round in a sort of shelf and rose still higher and higher as it +passed above the gorge. And then? That talus might be managed. +Thence perhaps a climb might be found to take him up to the +precipice that came below the snow; and if that chimney failed, +then another farther to the east might serve his purpose better. +And then? Then one would be out upon the amber-lit snow there, and +half-way up to the crest of those beautiful desolations. And +suppose one had good fortune! + +He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and +regarded it with folded arms. + +He thought of Medina-sarote, and she had become small and +remote. + +He turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day +had come to him. + +Then very circumspectly he began his climb. + +When sunset came he was not longer climbing, but he was far and high. +His clothes were torn, his limbs were bloodstained, he was bruised +in many places, but he lay as if he were at his ease, and there +was a smile on his face. + +From where he rested the valley seemed as if it were in a pit +and nearly a mile below. Already it was dim with haze and shadow, +though the mountain summits around him were things of light and +fire. The mountain summits around him were things of light and +fire, and the little things in the rocks near at hand were drenched +with light and beauty, a vein of green mineral piercing the grey, +a flash of small crystal here and there, a minute, +minutely-beautiful orange lichen close beside his face. There +were deep, mysterious shadows in the gorge, blue deepening into +purple, and purple into a luminous darkness, and overhead was the +illimitable vastness of the sky. But he heeded these things no +longer, but lay quite still there, smiling as if he were content +now merely to have escaped from the valley of the Blind, in which +he had thought to be King. And the glow of the sunset passed, and +the night came, and still he lay there, under the cold, clear stars. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Door in the Wall, et. al. + + diff --git a/old/tditw10.zip b/old/tditw10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..373dca0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tditw10.zip |